Kissing Toads , livre ebook

Kissing Toads
Karen Anderson
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-04-30
Kissing Toads About the Author About the Book Dedication Copyright © Acknowledgement Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30
About the Author
The author is an Australian citizen based in Brisbane, Australia.
About the Book
After a lifetime of turbulence and exhaustion, all Kate wants is security and stability—or so she thinks. Her fairytale marriage to a wealthy doctor, and later the birth of her three children, fails to fill the gaping hole in her heart.
Thinking what she craves is sexual excitement, Kate finds a lover who satisfies her every physical need, but few of her deepest desires. Left wanting, Kate continues her search.
It seems the stars have aligned, as Kate meets Ryan—a man capable of giving her everything she never realised she was missing. Everything is perfect…until the mask slips, and Ryan is revealed as the philandering charlatan he’s always been.
Kate suddenly finds herself embroiled in a vicious love triangle with the man she simultaneously loathes and craves, and the mistress who threatens everything Kate has worked for. Will the crafty Emily force Kate to make the ultimate sacrifice, or will Ryan’s affections belong to Kate, once more?
Dedication
I would like to dedicate this book to anyone who has ever been lost, lonely, discouraged or mistreated. I would like to remind you that the love you are searching for, outside of yourself, has always been within you.
Copyright ©
Karen Anderson (2019)
The right of Karen Anderson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528979900 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
To all the ‘toads’ I’ve kissed… Thank you for the blessing.
Chapter 1
It was a sunny afternoon in Brisbane, way too sunny a day for a funeral; I had always for some reason imagined funeral days to be slightly rainy and gloomy or with just a little bit of sunshine. Certainly not blazing sunshine. Somehow it didn’t seem fitting.
I looked critically at my refection in the mirror. It was still me. My body was firm and trim. Most people seemed surprised to learn on meeting me that I have had three boys. Though I always took care of myself.
I smoothed the black trousers over my flat stomach. I was still wondering whether or not I should go. I knew deep down I was going to. The arrangements were already made.
But a large part of me knew my presence was inappropriate. Who was I really?
Usually, when you go to a funeral, your place in their life is relatively well defined. Was I a friend? No, I think at one point you could say we were that, and more. Sex tends to take you out of the ‘Casual Friend’ zone pretty fast.
But through the course of our complicated relationship, any claim of friendship was long gone. But, I couldn’t NOT be there. Not after all we have been through.
For two years now, we have been partners in this dysfunctional relationship. Seldom on the same side, but unable to exist without the other. Tied together with love, lust, lies, deceit and betrayal.
It was sad, but at the same time, I could not feel a slight sense of victory that I had come out the other side of this convoluted situation. I slipped on my shoes, pulled on my suit jacket and put on a pair of black sunglasses. I had to go, at least to honour what could have been.
The funeral was small. It really wasn’t surprising under the circumstances. I stuck to the back and did not talk to anyone. Several people shot me curious glances. I know I stand out. I always have.
Everyone else seemed to be a family member. Again, I was not surprised. The deceased was a manipulative person, and that seldom leads to long lasting friendships.
Later, by the graveside, I felt a moment of sadness as the casket was lowered into the open grave, and I found myself wondering if it could have been me. The obsession had worked on both of us. Maybe if I had been weaker. With less drive to be the independent person I am.
My father had not been a forever type of person. I don’t know much about him. In fact, the memories I do hold, I am not sure if they are even my own, or if they are images I put together based on old photos and stories, and not a little bit of longing. I sometimes like to think of him as a father proud of his young offspring; of course, he never was and would never be. My mother hated him, and, I think, pressured me into hating him to, or I would feel like I was betraying the one parent who stayed in my life.
My mother remarried when I was four. He was a vile man. He was insecure and obnoxious, a lout with a bellowing voice, and fists that fell hard on my mother. She tried to shield me from his violence. I often missed the sight of him slapping and punching her but I didn’t miss the bruises on her face and body.
When I was fourteen he left her for good. The day he left ranks as one of the happiest days of my life. I was happy to see the end of him. But not my mother. She fell into a deep depression. She stopped taking care of herself. She let herself become fat, and rarely did she smile or laugh, as she did before the horrid stepfather invaded our lives. It was as if he had drained every ounce of her confidence and love of life in their eleven long years of marriage. All that was left was a shell of a woman who had no interest in life and no energy to take care of herself, my two brothers or me.
I was fine. Keeping out of the way of my stepfather had taught me to be self-sufficient. I learned to watch out for myself, and I had a very independent nature. Something, no doubt I had inherited from my father.
I think it was his lack of involvement in my teenage years that made me grow up so quickly. One thing was for sure, I was not going to get caught up in other people’s drama. I resolved I was going to work hard so that I could depend on the one person I was sure would never let me down – me.
It was in high school, when I was sixteen, that I met Kevin. He was smart, charming and had a lot going for him. He was older than I was, but I think that appealed to me at the time, as I had been abandoned by all the parental figures in my life. He was also my history teacher. At the end of the school year, he decided to leave teaching and move on to greener pastures and he offered to take me with him.
I jumped at the opportunity.
Kevin and I were off and on for a period of five years. I finished high school while living with him, and, to his credit, he supported me through my schooling. While in high school, I did some modelling, mostly on the catwalk. I also worked as a waitress in clubs during that time. After high school, I started working in an exclusive restaurant as a receptionist. It was during this time Kevin moved on. We split up for good as the sizable discrepancy in our ages was beginning to show. I should have felt angry at yet another abandonment, but instead I was grateful for the time we had together and most of all I was just happy to be free.
I stayed at the restaurant for a long time. I learned the business from the ground up. Eventually, by my mid -twenties I bought into a partnership in the business. I finally felt like I had arrived. I owned a business. I had the stability I longed for throughout my young life.
It was there, at the bar of the restaurant that I met Greg. He was a young doctor who worked at a nearby hospital not far from where I worked. He was handsome and charming, and asked me out whenever he came in, and I politely declined. It was hard to trust anyone, especially when so many people let you down. I think underneath it all I was also terrified of being like my mum. She depended on her man so much that her entire sense of self was lost to her role to him. I liked my life, my independence, and I wasn’t ready to have that threatened by any one, no matter how charming.
He was persistent. Eventually, I was wooed by his single-minded pursuit and allowed him to take me out. He was charming, sweet and very good at breaking down my barriers.
We talked about our broken childhoods. We bonded over our youthful fears and dreams.
He understood my drives and ambitions and even admired all I had done and accomplished on my own, especially at such a young age. I admired his strength and intelligence. Being a doctor took a lot of commitment.
We continued to see each other after that, several times a week, until eventually he asked me to marry him. I must admit, the idea of being a doctor’s wife and living in a beautiful home and having beautiful children fulfilled my every childhood fantasy. My children would always know the protection and love of their parents. My children would have happy and secure lives and never have to grow up too soon and take care of themselves. The allure of the life I wanted was almost as big of a temptation as the man himself.
Greg was like an anchor. Although a bit older than me, he was solid and attentive. Sometimes he could be jealous and possessive but after a childhood of neglect I confused jealousy for love