Northern Lights: A Novel: A Navy SEAL Romance, page 1
Northern Lights
A Novel
By
KB Winters and Evie Monroe
Copyright © 2016 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC
Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC
Copyright and Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Contents
Northern Lights - A Novel
Copyright and Disclaimer
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
More from KB Winters
Acknowledgements
About The Author
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Chapter One
“Taylor.”
I sighed as the sound of my mother calling my name echoed through the halls. No matter how loud I had my music, her voice always penetrated like a knife gliding through butter.
“Taylor!”
On second thought, make that like a knife stabbing directly into my brain. I put my head in my hands being mindful of the makeup I’d carefully applied to my face. With a sigh I looked up, catching my own doe-like sapphire blue gaze in the vanity mirror in front of me. Anyone looking at me would probably assume I had everything together for myself. My blonde hair was styled into gentle waves with not a hair out of place. The highlights that were routinely put in my hair every six weeks caught the light and my milky white skin was blemish free, thanks to years of avoiding too much sun exposure and having regular maintenance. All in all, I knew my visage screamed money and privilege, and anyone assuming that wouldn’t be wrong.
“There you are.”
I blinked slowly before turning to look at my mother. She stood in the doorway of my room with her hands on her hips. Anyone who looked at her and then at me would know instantly we were related. My friends often joked about me being my mother’s clone, and I’d always laughed along with them—even though I was dying inside.
Where my blue eyes were dull, hers were now blazing with annoyance and anxiety. The annoyance I was sure was for me. It was often the most present emotion in my mother’s eyes when she’d look at me and had been for as long as I could remember. My relationship with my mother was one I’d struggled with for a long time.
Like any other girl, I’d always desperately sought out her approval, though I usually failed. Still, I had trouble brushing off the feelings of guilt I had—I’d never quite measured up to her expectations. The anxiety was a new emotion, although I was sure she could see it reflected in my own eyes, thanks to the uncertainty of our future.
At fifty-two, Beatrice Vanderfelt was a new widow thanks to the sudden and recent death of my father. Had it been caused by some natural cause, I’m sure her anxiety wouldn’t have been as pronounced as it was. Unfortunately, my late father’s death was a suicide brought on by an impending bankruptcy. I didn’t know exact details, but suffice to say my mother and I were now situated firmly in the middle class—a shock for me to be sure, but an even bigger dip for my mother. While I had always—in a way—longed to see how the other half lived, my mother was the opposite. She’d grown up in a poor family with a school teacher mother and blue-collar worker father. My mother probably figured she’d won the lottery when her good looks and charm attracted my father back in high school. His family had started a business that elevated their financial position and secured my mother as never needing to work another day in her life.
Until now.
“Why are you still dawdling in here? The photographer is here to take your photos.”
“Why can’t I just use the photos I already have?” I stood up from the stool in front of my vanity and brushed my hands down my fitted baby-blue dress. The color, I knew, brought out the blue of my eyes and the cut was very flattering to my curves. It was a dress I’d normally wear if my girlfriends and I planned on going out and being seen, though since news broke of my father’s suicide, I hadn’t been in much of a mood to be seen—by anyone.
The news of our future bankruptcy had blessedly not broken yet, but I figured it would be inevitable. The company my grandfather built was all but in ruins and now we could only sit back and wait to hear of the true damage. Reportedly there were talks on the table of being bought and dissolved into another company, but even so, I doubted either my mother or I would see any of the money involved.
“I am really not in the mood for this,” I sighed.
My mother’s blue eyes took on a more grayish hue and I braced myself to be chastised. “Taylor Vanderfelt, after everything I have done for you and everything I have gone through, I believe I deserve a bit more respect than I am getting. First your father goes off and kills himself, and now you have the nerve to—get downstairs for this photo shoot. I do not want to have to come back up here again.”
I clenched my fists at my side at the mention of my father. It was still a touchy subject between us and other than a late night crying session with my closest friends, I hadn’t spoken a word about him to anyone. “Fine.”
My mother’s gaze lingered for a moment before she whirled around and left my doorway. I could hear the sharp click of her heels as she walked down the long hallway towards one of the many guest rooms in our home. She’d been sleeping in there since my father’s death. I wasn’t sure if it was because the bedroom she’d shared with him brought back too many memories, or if it was because that was where the maid found his body. Either way, it was another thing she and I didn’t discuss. What we did discuss—often loudly—with our voices echoing against the walls, was the reason for why the photographer was here.
Though my mother had finished high school, she’d never actually finished college. She’d been a freshman in high school when she met my father—him being a senior. My father had begun working at the family company when he graduated college within three years, and he’d immediately asked my mother to marry him. She’d completed two years of university classes before dropping out and living the life of a stay-at-home wife because the business was doing so well.
At twenty-three, she’d given birth to my older brother Tyler and then I came along four years later. Both Tyler and I had attended private schools with him eventually getting into Yale and studying microbiology. Rather than go the normal doctor route, he’d defied our parents’ wishes and attended medical school before moving to Ecuador and setting up a small medical practice. Our parents had been furious that he’d chosen that rather than becoming a resident at one of the ritzy hospitals they donated to.
Secretly I’d always cheered my brother on from the sidelines. I’d always been so envious of his determination and strong will when it came to defying our parents’ wishes for him. He’d somehow found his own happiness living with less than what we grew up with, and had even found love marrying one of the local teachers there and having a daughter of his own. While our father had eventually caved and visited, our mother never did. She barely talked to Tyler or his wife, Daniela, and only briefly acknowledged her own granddaughter. I’d been angry for him, but Tyler seemed unaffected and left to go back to Ecuador two days after our father’s funeral. He’d asked me to return with him, but one look from my mother and I knew that was impossible.
Like Tyler, I’d also gone to Yale University majoring in political science, but unlike Tyler I hadn’t done anything with it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to work; it was just that I didn’t know what type of work I wanted to do. I’d saved up my own money thanks to the part-time modeling I did occasionally, but it wasn’t near enough to keep up with the lifestyle I was accustomed to, and I really didn’t want to get some menial job just to say I had a job. Plus, that didn’t solve the problem of how my mom was going to get by. I knew Tyler would let her move in with them no questions asked, but I seriously doubted she’d like their modest two-bedroom home in a rural part of Ecuador. When I’d visited them last year, I enjoyed the slower pace of things and seeing how Daniela grew up. Her family had treated me like one of them and spending time with my baby niece was invaluable, but even I thought I’d grow bored after a few months.
“Ms. Vanderfelt?”
I looked up as someone called my name. I had to blink back the fog over my mind as I realized that in my musings, I’d walked all the way down to the living room. Thankfully, I hadn’t tripped and fallen walking down the staircase.
The photographer was an older man, probably in his early forties with salt and pepper hair. For a split second, I wondered how much money he made and if he liked older women. Maybe a new fling with a middle-aged man could get Mommy Dearest off my back.
“Please, call me Taylor,” I said as I reached out my hand to shake his. Hm…firm grip. Blue eyes. She might really like him. His smile was kind and though I had no desire to do this photoshoot, I forced myself to relax and be nice.
“Okay, Taylor. Was there anything in particular you wanted to do? The setting? Anything special?”
I glanced around. “Nope. The setting is completely at your discretion. I’ll surrender myself to your professional guidance.” I said with a smile. I blushed when I saw his eyes light up.
“Well then, why don’t we have you sit on the couch here in the foyer and then we could get a few shots of you outside in the natural light?” He looked down and fiddled with his camera as if he was nervous.
I shrugged. “That sounds fine with me.” Truly, I didn’t give a shit about where we took the pictures as long as this photo session went by fast. I moved to sit on the couch and pasted a smile on my face. Thankfully with my upbringing, I’d had lots of practice making a fake smile look one-hundred percent believable. My brother would’ve seen through it instantly, but I doubt some random person would notice at all. “What should I call you?”
The question seemed to startle the photographer, and I suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for him. I wondered if he ever regretted getting stuck taking pictures for stuck up rich people.
“My name is Ralph, so you can call me…Ralph.”
My smile turned into something a bit more believable. “Okay Ralph. Well I’m ready so shoot away.”
His lips curled up into a hesitant smile before he put his camera up to his face and I heard the first click. I let out a long breath and let myself relax as my mind wandered following his prompts. Thanks to genetics, I knew I’d look fine from whatever angle he decided to shoot from—and that was less bragging and more fact. A fact that would hopefully help me pull my family out of the fire.
These pictures were going to help me find a very rich man.
Chapter Two
“Mother, I do not need your help creating a profile,” I grumbled as my fingers clacked over the keyboard. I was sitting at my computer as my mother gave orders from somewhere over my left shoulder. “I have been on a dating website before so I know what I am doing, whereas you do not.”
“But I do know what to do and say in order to attract a wealthy man with good breeding,” she shot back. “You only seem to know how to attract bad boys and vagabonds.”
“Clark was not a vagabond, Mother. He was an artist.”
She let out a very un-ladylike snort. “He was an artist who’d never sold a single work except to his own family—an artist who had a warrant out for his arrest and always smelled of marijuana smoke and a con artist who traded company secrets and got us into this mess to begin with.”
I sighed, not wanting to have this argument with her again. “Whatever.” Sure, it was a known fact that my man picker was broken and I was terrible at choosing men to go out with. For some reason I’d always attracted guys with varying levels of badness. Clark was my last boyfriend-turned-fiancé and other than his very talented paintings, he had nothing else going for him. No, that wasn’t quite right. He was apparently a very skilled manipulator who had monetary desires completely at odds with his slacker lifestyle. Clark had lived with three other roommates who all seemed to be high whenever I stopped by, and I always wondered where they’d gotten the money to keep renewing their stash. Perhaps men were my little act of rebellion, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to like changing things up to my mother’s standards.
“Make sure to mention your attendance at Yale as well as your GPA. You want the men to know you’re smart.”
“I doubt any of these men are going to want someone smarter than them,” I said sarcastically. “Most of them probably want some trophy wife to smile, look pretty, and laugh at their terrible jokes.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother purse her lips. “Well, if you were smarter than them, then you would have gotten a job after you graduated. Since that never happened, I’m sure they have nothing to worry about.”
The insult stung, though I made sure not to let that show. “For someone who didn’t even finish college, you’re one to talk.” I ignored her stare and instead focused on filling out the rest of my profile.
“You really are an ungrateful little bitch sometimes, Taylor. Did you forget about your little thief of a boy toy who got us into this mess?”
I swallowed hard against the pain I felt at my mother’s words. Maybe I was going about this husband search all wrong. Although I knew my mother’s reasons for wanting me to find a rich man to marry, I was unsure of my own. Maybe instead of seeing it as a prison sentence where I’d be legally bound to someone I had no feelings for, I should see it as a sense of freedom and a way to get out from under my mother’s wrath. I also felt pain at the underlying truth in her words. It was my fault for falling in love with the person who caused this mess.
The beep of my computer drew my focus back to the webpage. Completing the profile had been easy and with the multitude of professional pictures I’d uploaded, I was sure I’d get messaged quickly. The problem was going to be weeding out the crap and finding someone I could at least stand to be around, even if I didn’t grow to love them. I wasn’t worried about the men lying about their wealth. For them to even join cost around one-hundred grand so I knew they would be worth at least a few millions. Paying that much to join the website wouldn’t be practical if they were worth anything less.
“Oh, he looks promising,” my mother said as she put a finger to the screen. “Davis Wilmington, age twenty-eight. Wilmington…” Her voice trailed off as she leaned back. “That last name sounds so familiar.”
I turned back to the screen while she thought. The man was unquestionably attractive with light brown eyes and perfectly styled dark brown hair. His profile picture was of him in a crisp suit that screamed money, but his eyes looked warm and inviting. I smiled slightly as I read through the rest of his profile.
“Oh my goodness!” She exclaimed. The volume of her voice startled me into turning around.
“What? What happened?”
She pointed at the screen. “I know why his name sounds so familiar. He’s the youngest of the Wilmington family.” She looked at me as if I were supposed to know who she was talking about. “The Wilmington’s are old money, very rich and a member of the most expensive country club in the Hamptons. God, child, how is it you don’t know these things?”
“Because I don’t know how to sniff out the rich, mother,” I said turning back to the screen. “Gold-digging is your job, remember?”
“It says he’s the Global Head of M&A—”
“What the hell does that mean?” I interrupted.
“Don’t interrupt, Taylor—that’s rude. As I was saying, he’s the Global Head of M&A which I’m assuming is something to do with management. Regardless, it means he has to be bringing home at least a million per year and combine that with his already wealthy family—”
“Then we’ll be set for life, blah blah blah, I got it. I’ll send him a message saying hello.” I could feel my mother glaring at me, but I ignored her and clicked on the message icon.
“Well at least make sure you are charming. Try saying whatever it is you say to attract those ruffians you dated and remember; I won’t be the only one affected by this bankruptcy, Taylor.”
My fingers faltered slightly, but I ignored it and continued crafting my first message. I could hear her footsteps as she left my room, but I didn’t let out a sigh of relief until I heard her exit and close the door behind her. I wasn’t stupid—I knew the truth behind her words and as much as I hated to do it, I was going to send this Davis guy a message. At least he was handsome and his profile didn’t scream ‘cocky rich bastard’ at me. Still, there was nothing about the man that excited me either. His profile was good, but not great and his picture, though highlighting the nice brown hue of his eyes, didn’t get me going in any kind of way. He was the generic type and I’d never gone for that.
