Bespoken: An Opposites-Attract Standalone Romance (Carmel Cove Book 2) Read online

  Bespoken (Carmel Cove, Book 2)

  Published by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Copyright © 2019 Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying, or recording, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design:

  Najla Qamber, Qamber Designs and Media

  Formatting:

  Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Design

  Editing:

  Ellie McLove, My Brother’s Editor

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Visit www.drrebeccasharp.com

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Preview of Besotted

  Other Works by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Be bold enough to find your voice,

  brave enough to listen to your heart,

  and strong enough to live the life you’ve always imagined.

  Jules

  Thirteen years ago

  “Mama?” I called into the Chinese sitting room, glancing around the brightly colored space that was filled with oriental furniture, the wood ornately carved to look like bamboo shoots, the walls plastered with cherry blossom wallpaper, and decorated with tiny Bonsai trees—at least ten of them—that were meticulously maintained each day.

  Once I was sure there were no guests who’d wandered inside despite the ‘Closed for a Private Event’ sign, I then began to worry that maybe she had said to go to the River Room instead.

  Crap.

  I’d been on the phone with Laurel, going over some last-minute notes for our science test tomorrow, when my mother yelled through my door that she wanted to speak to me down here after the party.

  No, she had definitely said this room. She and my dad were probably just running late at their meeting. Yes, she’d said it was a New Year’s party, but I was old enough to know better.

  Rock Beach was the mecca of luxury golf resorts in the state of California. And I believed it even if it hadn’t been the first phrase I was taught to say. And just like any prestigious locale that drew in anyone from politicians to princes to pop stars, its purpose was more intricate and important than a few putts out on the green. Like a tree, on the surface it provided shade and a home for wildlife, but working behind the scenes was the process of turning carbon dioxide into oxygen, a process that enabled life to continue.

  The golf course and the spa were the shade. It was the meetings and conversations and deals that happened here that turned potentials into realities and changed lives—in a good way, of course.

  I never heard all the details. Mostly catching bits and pieces of phrases and whispers behind closed doors as I wandered the back hallways from my room down to the kitchen or into the Violet Library, where I liked to study. Most of my friends from school thought it was so cool that I lived on a resort. I mean, I guess it was cool. Rooms upon rooms, butlers, waiters… I had everyone and everything at my chipped pink fingertips. Everything except my family.

  I plopped down on the largest sofa in the room and pulled out my anatomy coloring book. My very best friend and cousin, Laurel Ocean, had given it to me for my birthday back in August, knowing how much I wanted to go to college to become a nurse. It wasn’t until the past week or so that I’d made a lot of headway, being out of school for Christmas and ending up alone most days.

  Such a big place. So many people. And still, I was mostly alone any time I was home.

  It felt like the wrong answer to a math problem. Two plus two equals one.

  Especially now. The whole resort had over one hundred Christmas trees put up and decorated, some even including fake gifts underneath. And none of them belonged to me, to my family. I woke up to presents on Christmas morning, but they were unwrapped and stacked neatly in my room for me to look over before breakfast. When I was younger, I asked my mom why we didn’t cut down a tree like Laurel’s family and why we didn’t wrap presents for each other like all the other kids in my class?

  “Because we are Vandelsens and we pay people to do that for us, Julia,” my mother had scoffed and then patted my head. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  I loved my parents and from how the kids in my class reacted to my life, I knew I should feel really lucky. I lived in luxury and riches with my parents who’d given me anything I’d ever asked for. And that was why I only ever confessed to Laurel how guilty I felt because all I could seem to focus on was all the things that money couldn’t buy. Like warm hot chocolate at my grandparents’ coffee shop, Ocean Roasters, after a night of Christmas caroling through the town. Or spending Christmas Eve with my grandparents, aunt and uncle, and Laurel, eating spaghetti and meatballs with my grandfather’s magic marinara sauce and unwrapping presents; Laurel had even saved a few ornaments for me to hang on the tree.

  There, with them, I felt a glimpse of a different meaning of family, one that I felt guilty for wanting.

  “Jules!”

  I jumped, sending the pencils that had piled in my lap flying onto the floor as my mom and dad pushed through the door, dressed in shimmering silver and black.

  Jackie Vandelsen was beautiful in that way it seemed only rich people could be. Beautiful because of what was attached to the outside of her rather than from a natural goodness inside. And my dad, Rich, was always dressed for the case of an emergency interview or photo-op or any other press or marketable opportunity. I’d never seen him not put together. Maybe because I couldn’t recall a time I’d seen him do anything that wasn’t for the resort or with the resort in mind.

  I’d learned from an early age about the appropriate attire for every holiday, event, outing, and possible social gathering known to man. The knowledge inspired my firm belief that there were more species of social functions than there were animals in the animal kingdom.

  “Richard” —she turned to my dad—“perhaps this should wait until morning.”

  I watched their interaction with wide eyes. They frequently talked about me like I wasn’
t in the room listening, like it didn’t matter because I wasn’t going to have a say.

  “Jacqueline,” my father said curtly. “We’ve discussed this. It’s final. And we have breakfast with the Herons in the morning. Jim is going to be the next mayor, so I don’t want us running late. Having his support is going to be crucial for the resort’s expansion.”

  If there was one thing I admired about my father, Rich Vandelsen, it was his dedication to his business. Even though his family had come from money and had owned Rock Beach Golf Club, my father had been the one to turn it into a five-star resort. If there was one thing I wished my father was more of, it was just that… my father. He sacrificed a lot to turn this place into what it was, to keep it thriving, and to push toward expansion—and some of those sacrifices were spending time with me. In big ways and small.

  My birthday parties were always big, perfectly decorated to the theme for that year, with the best cake and countless gifts—but without my father.

  It was the same with school events. Sports games. Awards ceremonies. He didn’t even have time to try some of the apple fritters my grandmother taught me to make when I’d baked them for a school fundraiser. Instead, he’d just told me to ask my mom for whatever money I was trying to raise and not to worry about actually baking the treats. I’d stood in the doorway as he breezed by me with one fritter in my hand, the one I’d saved for him to try.

  “Jules,” my mother sighed, stepping around my scattered pencils on the floor to sit on the couch beside me. “We need to have a little talk about the future of the resort.”

  My shoulders slumped slightly as I reached down and gathered the rest of the colors from the floor, prompting my mother to wave at me and say, “Darling, just let housekeeping get that later.”

  I quickly swiped up the rest of them before she could stop me. I never felt right about having people clean up after me, even if it was part of their job.

  “Momma, I know how important the resort is, I promise. You don’t have to tell me again.” I set my book down on the marbled coffee table and crossed my legs, linking my hands together to rest on my knee. Even if there was no one else around, there was a certain expectation of decorum when I was in any of the public rooms. Even at this time of night. Even in my pajamas.

  “Julia,” my father huffed, coming to stand behind my mother, one hand resting on her shoulder, the other on the couch. “I hope you aren’t forgetting everything that our business has given you. Every other kid you know would be lucky to have half of what you do, live in the place that you do, experience the things you do.”

  “Yes, of course, Papa.” I nodded insistently, heat rising to my cheeks; I hadn’t meant to sound ungrateful. “I know how lucky I am.”

  There was nothing I knew more of in life.

  While Laurel would be inheriting my grandparents’ coffeehouse, the Rock Beach Resort was my legacy. Built up from a modest golf course with my father’s determination and his inheritance, it was everything to my family.

  I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t know the importance of the resort and that, just like my parents, I was expected to do whatever necessary to help it succeed. Rock Beach was my family… my home… of course, I’d do whatever it took to keep it running and make it better. Still, they reminded me any chance they got. It was their pride and joy, and I wanted nothing more than to make them happy—and have it succeed.

  Maybe then they would spend a little more time with me.

  “Good.” My mom reached over and patted my folded hands, the sentiment feeling cold than comforting because of all her rings that were stacked like miniature platinum and diamond finger-armor. “I should’ve been more specific. Really, what we want to talk to you about, darling, is your school.”

  “M-My school?” I squeaked as my head jerked back in surprise.

  Out of all the things, how could school be a problem? I studied. I did well—all my grades were A’s. I was in the top of my class. I wasn’t taking any chances; I wanted to get into the best nursing program in the state.

  “Yes, dear.” She glanced up at my father, whose eyes stared in my direction but beyond me. I knew he was already thinking about tomorrow—the meetings, the people, the next steps toward more wealth and status. “We’re transferring you to a different school for the rest of the year… for the rest of high school.”

  Years of social etiquette training masked the jaw-dropping announcement into just the slightest part of my lips.

  “W-what?” I asked in soft disbelief. “What school? I-I don’t understand.”

  School felt like my only interaction with real life. This place—with its world-class food, fancy furniture, maids, and parties—wasn’t real life. School was where my friends were, where Laurel was. It was the gateway to how I got to spend time with the side of my family that my mother most days pretended didn’t really exist.

  Her spine straightened along with her smile. “We’re moving you to Our Lady of Mount Carmel for the remainder of high school.”

  Our Lady of Mount Carmel was a Catholic boarding school about twenty minutes south of Carmel. But twenty miles might as well have been twenty thousand leagues for how effectively it would cut me off from my friends and family.

  “Why?” I managed to ask in a calm whisper. Ladies didn’t raise their voice, especially in moments of disagreement. Ladies were always calm, collected, and demure.

  “Your father and I feel that your education will be much better there, especially without so many distractions.” Her smile twitched. “Don’t you want the best education you can get, darling?”

  I did.

  I couldn’t argue that I did.

  But school was more than just my education.

  “W-What about my friends?”

  “Oh.” She waved me off. “You’ll make new ones, Jules. Better ones. You’ll make the kind of friends that would come here regularly.”

  I blinked, realizing that I was fighting back tears. What about Laurel? What about my grandparents? Would I still see them?

  I knew better than to ask. When my parents had married, my mom stayed away from her side of the family and I still couldn’t understand why.

  “Of course,” I began hesitantly. “I want the best education. I’m sure that would be an even bigger help on my applications for nursing school and, of course, I want that. But…” My fingers dug into my knee, willing my leg not to shake. “Maybe it would be okay if I just stayed at Carmel High? I’m doing really well and I’m in all the hardest classes,” I pressed. “I’m sure that will be good enough.”

  “Jules.” The smile that flickered over my mom’s face was brief and patronizing. “I’m sorry, darling, but this isn’t a discussion. We’re doing what we think is going to be best for your future—and your future here at the resort. At Our Lady, you will be in school with many of the children whose influential parents frequent the resort. It’s absolutely critical that we foster good relationships with these people, don’t you agree? Don’t you want to help us make sure that Rock Beach does well so that you can continue to live such a nice life?”

  No.

  The thought came unbidden and instantaneously to my frenzied mind.

  “Darling, this isn’t just about school, it’s about what’s best for you. It’s about what’s best for the family.” There was a duplicitous firmness to her tone, her words strong yet hollow. “Sometimes, we have to sacrifice a little of what we want so that no harm befalls the family and the greater good, yes?”

  The silver of her evening dress shimmered in the soft light. It was strange how a single color could transform both lighter and darker—kind of like the facts I was being given. They shifted and twisted under the light until my stomach turned because I realized I was doubting my own mother.

  I swallowed hard, contemplating a choice that I didn’t have. A better school, a better education, and all in all something that would help not only me but my family and Rock Beach. I couldn’t argue. More than that, my heart screamed
that I shouldn’t. I should be grateful. I should do this for my family after everything that they’d done for me.

  “Of course, Mama,” I said softly with a small smile. “Thank you.”

  “Good girl,” my dad injected, patting the couch before eyeing the door. “Alright, now that that’s settled, time for bed, Julia, and Jackie, we need to go over tomorrow’s agenda.”

  The goodnight wishes felt foreign and the kisses on my head didn’t register. Slowly, with limbs that felt like lumber, I collected my coloring book and pencils and walked back to my room.

  It was too late to call Laurel back now. I’d have to break the news to her tomorrow.

  When my head hit the pillow, I felt the first tears leak onto the fabric. Ladies don’t cry.

  But I wasn’t a lady right now. Right now, I was just a girl who felt like she was losing the only people who really seemed to care about her.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen to rich people. That was the whole point of having wealth, so that nothing bad could happen to you. But the only thing I could think as I drifted off into sad slumber was that something bad had happened. No matter who my parents were. No matter where I lived. No matter how few worries in life I had.

  That night was the start of a domino of disasters. One slight tipping into the next.

  Until one day, I would learn that my life was carefully crafted to sparkle like the rarest gem, refracting light but not reflecting the truth.

  One day, I would see that all the gilded and fancy things I was conditioned to be grateful for were nothing more than sparkling shackles and bejeweled bars of the cage I’d been raised in.

  One day, I would realize that all the money and the shiny things were nothing more than crystalline codes to the world of what and not who I was—messages I would accept because they came with rationales and excuses from my parents who I loved and trusted to do what was best for me.

  One day, I would realize that I was bespoken—claimed by my parents and the resort, and worse, that my life was bespoke—tailor-made for a specific purpose and no longer my own.