Fallen Angel, Part 6
A continuation of the Fallen Angel Series
By Tracie Podger
Italy, the mistress that Brooke can no longer compete with was consuming her husband. He changed when he was there, and she wasn’t sure the Band Aid she’s placed over their fractures was man enough to hold.
There was something about Italy that was both loved and hated for very different reasons by Brooke and Robert Stone.
For Robert, Italy was in his blood, she ran through his genes, tantalising, calling to him constantly.
After a month apart, Brooke and Robert are reunited and it isn’t all smooth sailing. Devastation, pain, and more hurt than the couple could ever imagine is to be endured, but can they walk hand-in-hand from it this time?
Does Italy and the change in Robert become too much for Brooke to cope with?
Available from all retailers 12th November 2018
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A tsunami had washed through my family. A typhoon, tornado, and hurricane all rolled into one had rocked the very fabric that held us together. We survived, of course, we survive everything—Well, some of us did.
I don’t think I’d ever cried so much. I’d sobbed alone into my pillow at night, and I’d wailed onto the shoulders of my friends and family. The one I needed, I wanted, whose absence made my heart and chest physically ache was missing. My body hurt, my throat was permanently sore from the shouts and screams lodged in there. I had to keep my profanities, my anger, inside for the sake of my son. He had lost as well, and I had to remind myself of that on a regular basis. The bitterness that constantly bubbled in my stomach in the form of acid was beginning to rot me from within. I found myself constantly taking medication. I doubted the copious amounts of wine helped the situation.
During the day I smiled, I went about business as normal, or as normal as my life was at that point. I’d spent many a minute lying in the footwell of the car as we exited the house to dodge the fucking paparazzi and the constant flashes against the darkened windows of the Range Rover. Every time I blinked, I saw flashes of white light. I kept my son indoors for the longest period of time for fear of telephoto lenses capturing his tears and sorrow.
Security was so tight, I couldn’t breathe. I wanted it and I loathed it in equal measure. I switched from anger to sadness to resentment, and then to understanding like a swing in a strong wind.
I spoke to him, regularly. At first, all I could do was curse and shout. Then it was tears and explanations. I was still angry, I was still sad, but I understood, and there was a part of me that actually didn’t like myself for understanding. I was a ball of confusion. I craved normality, knowing that was never going to happen.
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