Keep it Secret
Authors: Olivia Snow
Tags: #romance, #love, #love triangle, #na, #new adult, #new adult romance, #steamy romace
Ava is everything Vanessa
isn’t. Vanessa is innocence incarnate and Ava well, she’s the
completely opposite. The two cousins’ have nothing in common…except
Gabriel Mason.
Ava is thrown into a love
triangle without even knowing it. Normally, she wouldn’t care but
this particular triangle involves her beloved cousin Vanessa. She
doesn’t want to hurt Vanessa. But the more time she spends with
Gabriel the more she finds it difficult to stay away. Then again
who will Gabriel choose, Ava or Vanessa?
Vanessa has lived a life of
luxury, but all that comes with a price. She is kept on a pedestal
by her parents and is expected to act a certain way. After her
cousin Ava moves in with her mother, she quickly realizes the
family she thought she knew is full of secrets, secrets that will
completely shatter the illusion of her perfect life, secrets that
involve a bathroom, Gabriel Mason and her cousin Ava.
Olivia Snow
Copyright 2014 by Olivia
Snow
Smashwords
Edition
Notes
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of
the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is
purely coincidental.
Prologue
Five years ago…
Beep
Beep
The sounds of the heart
monitors bounced around within the hospital hallway walls, as I
stood frozen outside the waiting room.
Beep
Beep
God, it smelled awful,
sterilized death
, that’s
what I’d call it.
Beep
Beep
“Avie? Honey, come inside.”
Uncle Bill softly tugged my wrist pulling me in the room.
Mamma’s
curled up on a
chair, her head buried in between her knees. Aunt Cynthia sat next
to her petting her head. Uncle Bill grabbed both of my shoulders
gently forcing me to sit across from my aunt and mother he sits
next to me holding my tiny hands in his large ones.
“How did it happen?” All I
knew was that my dad had been in an accident. Aunt Cynthia pulled
me out of school without any explanation of what had happened to
my
babbo
.
“Well, honey—” Uncle Bill
begins to speak but is suspended by my aunt.
“William, don’t.” She snaps
her attention to us but never stops caressing
Mamma’s
head.
“Cynthia, she wants to find
out. It’s her father.” Aunt Cynthia doesn't say anything after that
just continues to pet
Mamma, Mamma
doesn't move from her position. I do not think
she is even aware I’m in the room.
“He was struck by a car,
honey.” Uncle Bill said as gently as possible.
“Was the truck ruined?” I’m
not sure why that was the first thing to emerge from my mouth. My
thirteen-year-old mind didn’t comprehend the severity of the
situation.
“He was not in the truck. He
was crossing the street when he was struck by a speeding driver.”
Uncle Bill squeezed my hands a little tighter. My breath hitched as
the realization of what was happening finally dawned on me. There’s
a chance my
babbo
could die. He might never return to me. No, that wouldn't
happen.
Babbo
was
tough he could get through anything. He would fight this and get
better. I looked up at Uncle Bill expecting to see the same hope in
his eyes, but they were empty. I desperately looked over at Aunt
Cynthia her expression was the same ones, blank without emotion.
They've given up hope without even trying. Uncle Bill tightened his
hold wanting to get my attention back to him.
“Ava, it doesn't look go—”
he was interrupted once again by a knock at the door. A short man
with black slacks, green sweater and a clipboard carefully walked
in. I already hated him; no one in the middle of May wears a
sweater unless you're some kind of freak.
“Hello, my name is Harold
Simpson, I work with the Trauma Unit.” He stood in front of the
room commanding everyone’s attention. We all looked at him waiting
for whatever he had to tell, except for
Mamma
, she still hadn’t
moved.
“I’m sorry to be the one to
tell you as of 1:45 this afternoon Tomas Veneziano has passed away.
I’m so sorry for your loss.” His words were cold and used one too
many times it was a well-practiced speech. An ice-cold blanket
covered my entire body as I processed the words that had just been
spoken to me. Uncle Bill released my hands to cover his face to
cry. Aunt Cynthia held
Mamma
as they both sobbed. Me, I just sat there feeling
numb and cold. My teeth shattered. My hands stiffen turning
white.
“Breath,” the man said
kneeling down next to me. “You’re having a panic attack. If you
don't breath you'll pass out.” I nodded filling my lungs with
air.
“Would you like to see him?”
He asked softly placing a hand on my shoulder. My mind screamed
yes, but my mouth, my body wasn't moving.
“Absolutely not!” Aunt
Cynthia responded as if his question were the most depraved words
ever spoken.
“I’m sorry ma'am I did not
mean to upset you. Some people find saying good-bye to their loved
ones therapeutic.”
“How would it be therapeutic
for a thirteen year old girl to see the body of her dead father?
You're a sick, sick man.” She spit her words in disgust.
“Cynthia, he’s just trying
to help.” Uncle Bill’s voice was shaky with emotion as he defended
the man.
“That wouldn't help her. It
would burn the horrible image in her mind forever. I won’t allow
that. Thank you very much for your services. You may go now.” He
had been dismissed. The man stood tightening his clipboard. “I
apologize for upsetting you. It wasn't my intention.” He smiled
tightly at Aunt Cynthia, but for me, he smiled apologetically
before leaving. Throughout the entire conversation I was
speechless, my mind was screaming at Aunt Cynthia for not letting
me see him one last time. She had taken my chance to say goodbye to
my father.
My lifeline had been
cut.
One
Ava
I stared. I looked at my face
for so long it became distorted. Facial features blurred into
malformed shapes until I looked like a bad interpretation of
Picasso’s
The Weeping
Woman
. It’s amazing how your mind can
manipulate things to resemble something else, something foreign.
Inside, I was like an ugly monster flawed beyond repair. I was
rotten to the core and made no attempt to conceal it. To my
disgust, my outside did not match, not even close.
I was beautiful
.
Cascading jet-black hair that reached the top of my ass, almond
shaped honey colored eyes, lightly bronzed skin and curves a bikini
model would die for. The beautiful pod served only as a distraction
from what lay within. Standing right in front of the bathroom
mirror, Rose tapped lightly on the door disrupting myself
loathing.
“Yeah?” I asked, tilting my
head towards the doors direction.
“Can you make sure you walk
through your room one more time? Before the movers get here?” Her
question was muffled behind the door but still audible.
“Sure.” I responded with
disinterest. With one hand on the doorknob, I say a silent prayer
hoping it would open on the first attempt but as usual the warped
wood stuck to the frame. I chuckled in frustration smacking my
forehead against the stubborn wood. Trying again, this time with
both hands on the doorknob. I twisted and pulled as it finally gave
flying open, sounding like a giant band-aide begin stripped off
skin.
Coming out of the bathroom
into my room, a breeze blew inside carrying the scent of freshly
made bread. The mouth-watering smell came from the Mexican bakery
that stood behind our dilapidating Aurora, Colorado apartment
building. Like any place in the country, there were the nice areas
and the not so nice areas. We, live in the worst type of area.
Aurora is approximately thirty minutes away from Denver depending
on your location and two hours away from Vail; where we would be
moving. Standing in the middle of my semi-empty room I gripped the
gold crucifix that hangs around my neck for, reassurance. I plopped
down on the floor crossing my legs as I looked around the room that
had been mine for the past four years. These four white walls were
filled with unwanted memories. Now only a few small pieces of paper
remained scattered throughout the dingy worn out tan carpet along
with taped up cardboard boxes labeled:
Ava’s Shit
.
Laying down on the carpet
staring up at the popcorn ceiling I released a heavy sigh pinching
the bridge of my nose as my thoughts began to wonder to the world
of no return. The dark pit in my heart was difficult to miss while
the memories of my father played back in my mind.
At the influential age of
thirteen, my father was killed in a car accident. After his death,
my mother went into a deep depression leaving me to fend for
myself. She wouldn’t step out of bed despite how much I begged or
cried. Even at that age I felt ashamed of what my family had
become, how quickly it shattered. Pride inevitably took over,
unwilling to disgrace my father’s name. I never told any one of my
mother’s
condition
. Except, for my older cousin Declan. I had confessed it all
to him after one of my drunken escapades. After my father’s death
and my mother’s emotional abandonment it felt like my heart had
become emotionally blocked. Blocking any love to enter or leave. I
find it hard to show any emotion and when I do it’s faked. No, I
lie. Anger and lust; those emotions I do not fake.