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An Unbroken Promise
By Ashley Frigstad
AuthorHouse LLCCopyright © 2014 Ashley Frigstad
All rights reserved.
I looked over the numbers again, and nothing added up. I was only 27, so how did this happen? Wait, I know: school. I planned my whole life to go to university, any university, to prove to the other kids in school and my step-mother that I was a somebody and not a loser. When you're bullied a lot, that tends to be the way you think. My mother had passed, and my father married my step-mom, who saw who I and my younger sister were—and doted on my sister, Clara.
I was in trouble. I knew my parents could bail me out, but I didn't need the guilt trip that followed. Just like my step-sister's wedding or my career to be—I wanted to be a freelance photographer—I had saved my entire life for school, and I had enough money to work part-time. I made it though university and graduated at the top of my class.
Now I was at my best friend's wedding, standing at an ATM, looking at my bank account, and thinking, Why do I have only $2.35 in my account when I checked last night, and it said I had $30.00 more than this? I felt silly. I looked in my savings ... Nope, there was only ten cents in there. I shook my head. Now I knew why my card was rejected. I was in Vegas with my best friend since high school, and she is married, smart, funny, and skinny. That's something I should have mentioned: I have dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, I'm 5,10, I am curvy, not big or heavy, and a size sixteen ... I think. My scale and I are not on speaking terms.
How did this happen? I, Angela Meagan Fairchild, did not know. I looked at Daniela, a vision in white. Only two hours earlier, she sat with me in the bride's room waiting for Ryan, her husband to be; he came five minutes late. She looked at me and asked, "You okay?"
I smiled. "Everything is good." I spoke too sweetly, so she knew I was lying. It was the tone I used—a dead giveaway. She knew how hard it was for me to get here, knowing I had school debts and lawyer fees up to 50 thousand dollars. She knew my parents wouldn't like me taking time off of my job of being a nanny for my step-sister Michelle's kid, Tyler. But it was only one weekend, and I never get away. It was saving and saving, and bills.
She looked over at me and sighed. "God, girl, you need a rich husband or boyfriend." She was right—well, half right. I needed to do the other half, to make it worth my while. Daniela whipped a hundred dollars out of her clutch.
"I can't!" I protested.
"Take it! I hate to see you like this." Daniela married Ryan not because he had money, but because he was the best man at Michelle's first wedding, and he loved her. I am the maid of honour—again. Three times I had been a maid of honour, but no man for me. I didn't need to be married. Neither would a man love me, I knew that much. My step-mother ingrained into my head that only skinny girls got married, only skinny girls won, only skinny girls got financial support from two wonderful parents. I tried so hard to make my step-mother, Bunny, see that I could be skinny, however size eight wasn't small enough, and I was that size once—at 14 years old. I tried and tried to be small. When Michelle chose her bridesmaids, I wasn't one of them because, and I quote, "Don't pick Angela—she is too big to fit into the dresses." I overheard Bunny while I was changing at the engagement party.
I said to myself, Forget it—I am not trying for her any longer. I started eating, and I ate a lot!
I followed the happy bride and groom. We were stopped by well wishers, other brides and brides-to-be—it was madness. I sighed and enjoyed the bliss as Ryan and Daniela would stop to kiss. I would look around at where we were. It was endless walking, and I didn't have my flats on, so my feet were swollen and had started to blister. I had to go to our hotel before my feet gave out.
"Daniela, I have to go—my feet are making me their bitch!"
She smiled and said, "Okay. The car is coming for all of us in five minutes. Can you wait?"
"Sure." We walked one more block, turned left, and found ourselves outside of New York, New York Hotel. As I looked up and down I saw that smug son of a bitch that'd ruined Michelle's first wedding. It wasCHAPTER 2
Nicolas Michael Pratt, a 33-year-old playboy and a multi-millionaire, was born into a family who owned the richest and biggest Canadian cell phone and commutation companies. As for ruining Michelle's wedding, he wasn't the groom—I would have cut his throat right there at the hotel if he was. It was his younger brother, Alex, who had commitment phobia the day of the wedding. It was an hour before, and Nicolas was the only one who was with Alex all day and the night before. As he got closer, I backed up in my sliver dress. I was hot enough to chew him out. Ryan ran over to Nicolas and hugged him. God, I could be sick.
Daniela looked at me and said, "He wanted to be here for Ryan"
I rolled my eyes, this man knew people such as Charlie Mills. Hell, Bunny knew Charlie was married, and she still tried to set up Michelle and him. I never laughed harder when Michelle told me that story of how Charlie's pregnant wife came in, and Bunny was talking Charlie up a storm about "Please go out with my daughter." I have been single for a year, twenty days, six hours, and ... okay it's been a long time. At least I'm not a virgin—haven't been since I was raped.
Nicolas walked over to me and said, "Hello, Angela, how are you?" I had my arms crossed, but he moved in for a hug. I moved a little behind Daniela, I knew him I just had a problem with men, any strange man, who shook hands, hugged or kissed me.
I said, "Sorry, I don't kiss assholes anymore."
He backed off and looked at me, apparently realising I was still feeling hurt after I'd had to pick up the pieces of Michelle's broken heart. He said, "I'm sorry I made you feel like that, Angel. But he made his own mind. I only provided alcohol for him that night." I can't believe he wasn't owning up to what he said when Michelle called him and asked where Alexander was. Nicolas simply said Alex wasn't coming, wasn't sure, had cold feet. Mind you, he was on speaker phone and was slurring his words. We knew both of them were drunk, and we heard strippers in the background. That was a bad day and night.
Nicolas and I walked side by side, not touching or talking to each other, just moving quickly to keep up to the newlyweds. I was in my silver gown, and the beautiful A-line held out my boobs nice; it had pushed my boobs together so one couldn't see my scar on my chest. My hair was done up in a bun and had wisps of hair falling down my face, curled just right. Nicolas was in his sliver-grey suit, white shirt, striped navy blue and grey tie, and black Converse shoes. Not that I was looking, but I did have my sliver Manolo Blahniks on, and I was in pain. I was doing fine until Nicolas grabbed my arm and pulled me close; he was wearing something that smelled sweet as he looked down at me with his hazel eyes and said, "You owe me a dance," he said, reminding of the night before at the rehearsal dinner, when I promised him one.
"I don't owe you anything. Your brother broke my sister's heart because of your actions and what you said." He grabbed my hand and moved with me. I knew he could waltz and foxtrot. I could keep up with him; it was a matter of what his heart felt like. He picked the tango—good choice. As we moved, a crowd of people surrounded us and watched, thinking we were some kind of act.
I held my breath as he looked into my blue eyes and said, "Angel, you still hold a candle in my heart." Oh god. I couldn't be more sick. I didn't do romance. I did fucking—it was straight to the point, and nobody got hurt—unless they wanted to get hurt. As we moved, I didn't talk to him or look at him.
Towards the last turn, he grabbed me and looked at me. I tried to look away, but he breathed down my neck and said, "Angel, spend the night with me. I will make you feel better than you have ever felt in your life."
I sighed. The reason I came to Vegas was to get away, and also to get laid—by anybody but him. I looked up and said, "I will, but only if you take me to breakfast tomorrow and call me pretty." I figured he'd take it as a joke, but he didn't.
"You got it!" We looked up and heard people applauding us. Some wanted a picture, and a girl wanted a quick lesson, but Nicolas smiled and declined politely.
As we walked towards Daniela and Ryan, they looked memorized by us. I was trying to get over the fact that I was going to spend the night with Nicolas Pratt on my best friend's wedding night. I was holding my breath the whole time we danced. Why was I feeling scared? Was it for my heart? What if I fell for him? What if he fell for me? How would I pay for my dinner? Why did I dance with a man who broke my sister's heart. These thoughts went through my mind, but mostly I wondered, How big is his dick?CHAPTER 3
As I stared out Nicolas's hotel room window, the view was breathtaking, I couldn't believe I was in his room. The air-conditioning was on, and there was a chill in the room. He had a room in the Aria Hotel, the penthouse suite's view sweeping over Vegas. There I was in my dress, and I figured in a matter of minutes it would fall to my ankles, he would get sick or not get hard, and I would have a horrible time falling sleep until I gathered my dress and silently left. Or so I thought.
"So all the cities in the world. Why did Daniela and Ryan pick here?" Nicolas asked.
"They wanted to do a quick, white-trash wedding. They didn't want do a big event, plus they have school in September, and it was cheaper to come here than go home. They are having their honeymoon here after I leave. Even if I did stay, I would be alone for most of it."
"Come here often?" he asked as he gave me some champagne and rubbed my shoulders slowly.
"No, first time."
"How long you here for?"
"I have the weekend off, and then Michelle needs me back soon. I'd stay, but I'm flat broke, and I don't make real money, and I ..." My voice cracked a bit as I turned to look at him. "I don't want to talk about it."
"That's fine, Angela." he cupped my face in his hands, "I want to ask you where you see yourself in five years." I started to cry. "Angel, no, don't cry, please! I'm sorry. I meant to ask because Ryan thought you were taking pictures, and I wanted to know. If you wanted to do that forever, I could help you."
I stopped crying and looked up. "Nobody asked me. I've been in school since I was 18. My step-mother made me feel I wasn't good enough for anything, and my father was swayed by her affections; all he wanted was her and my sisters to be happy. Me, I'm a fat misfit!" I held up my arm and then dropped it by my side. "I look like my mom, and nobody wanted to be reminded that she was beautiful in her own way." I looked at him. I couldn't put my face on his shirt and get it black and yucky with make-up. I passed back my glass. "I'm going to go."
As I started towards the door, I felt him grab my wrist. "Don't go. I don't like sleeping alone. I want you to sleep with me. Please, I have missed you." I thought back to a time when he and I got drunk at the engagement party, and he pulled me into a hotel room and fell on to the bed. Sadly I passed out before he had time to take off his clothes. That night we took turns roasting both bride and the groom; Bunny was not impressed. It was funny, though, and we laughed so hard it hurt. We had tears running down our faces, and by the end of the night I was dancing with him in a room and he was kissing me. Then I pulled off my shoes and jacket, and he started to get naked. I hit the bed with my jeans and shirt still on; he had on just his jeans. My hands caressed his beautiful chest, and he was about to pull out his cock when I reached up, pulled his face towards mine and kissed him good night. I passed out; he snuggled in beside me.
"You don't know me. How can you miss me?"
He looked at me with a fire in his eyes. "I miss the girl I met at the engagement party—you told some funny jokes. I miss the girl I fell asleep with. I miss the girl I woke up with the first time. Because of you, you're the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing in my mind when I fall asleep. Angel, you turn me on in more ways than one—you just didn't know it." He pulled me into his arms and locked lips with me. There it was, the uncontrollable fire I hadn't felt with anybody in years; no other man could put it out. I tried to move past it, but the kiss and the way we moved put me in a spot where I wanted to be taken. It build something inside of me something wild, it shook me but he kept me still, I felt his hands all over my body and I loved his touch, it made me feel, alive.
The knock on the door made us both jump apart. My lips were swollen from our passionate kiss, and my dress was slightly unzipped. His tie and shirt were roughed up. The knock came again.
"Nick, let me in, please?"
I stepped back. "Who is that?" I asked loudly enough so the woman knew there was another girl in here.
"My sister. I didn't think she'd be back this early." He walked to the door and opened it.
In bounced a girl who was five feet five and early twenties. She had on a knockout outfit and had purple hair. "Sorry to bust in, but Luke is trying to take me to this club, and I forgot my ID. So I will be like ..." She turned and looked at me. "Oh, I didn't know whores looked like that in Vegas. She's different than the Toronto ones you bring home." She ran to her dresser and yanked out her id's, and waved as she bounced back to the door. "Anyways, bye!"
"Jesse, don't forget your ID. Second, Angela is not that. Third, what did I tell you about keeping your mouth shut if you don't have anything nice to say?"
"Whatever, Nick. If you bang her, don't bother bringing her home. Mom is still not impressed with the last one."
As she walked out of the room, he tried to do damage control. "Angela, I am so sorry."
"Whatever, it's fine. Your sister basically cock-blocked you from using her room for a sex pad, so I am going back to my hotel and going to bed—alone!" I grabbed my bag and left.
"Angela, wait!" he yelled.
I walked a bit faster, caught the elevator, and raced down to lobby. I walked in the hot balmy night into my hotel, the Flamingo. After pulling off my sliver dress while trying not to cry, I turned on the water and let my make-up and hair fall down around me.
I got a text from Daniela asking where I was after I jumped out of the shower, and I replied I had been in Nicolas's room, nothing happened, and she should enjoy her wedding night. I pulled on a pair of old, faded, ripped blue jeans and a tight pink tank top. Then I blow-dried my hair, put on a little make-up, and went downstairs to get something stiff to drink. As I passed Daniela's room, I heard a giggle and a groan, and I kept walking.
* * *
I sat at the bar and said to the bartender, "This is a hundred bucks. Make something strong, and add more so I can walk into the wrong room." I laughed at my own joke. There was a blond guy at the end of the bar; he was married and great singer, or so he told me. We laughed until my money was gone. I laughed so hard I snorted. "I'm broke again!"
I felt a hand on my shoulder. "You'll never be broke when I'm around, baby." I looked up at Nicolas and laughed. I wanted to introduce the singer to Nicolas, but he took a hint and ran off.
"What're you doing here?" I asked. He sat down next to me and said, "We need to talk."
"Let's play twenty questions as a drinking game. Every time we get a wrong answer, we take a drink. Okay?" I was in an alcoholic haze and had nothing to lose. He smelled good.
"Okay. Why do you work for your sister? I think it is to get experience."
"Nope, you're wrong. I was left feeling guilty into working by my step-mother, Bunny the bitch. I did finish school, just the debt was piling up I had no jobs, my sister wiped my debts clean, but they found a need for me to work and pay off my debt."
"Oh that's rough. Bartender, can you bring a tequila shot? And don't stop until we've finished answering questions." The guy nodded and headed off. "Okay, your turn."
Excerpted from An Unbroken Promise by Ashley Frigstad. Copyright © 2014 Ashley Frigstad. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse LLC.
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