The Trouble With Love, page 1
THE TROUBLE WITH LOVE
Faith & Fortune 1
TONI SHILOH
Contents
Praise for
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
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Sneak Peak
Chapter One
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Toni Shiloh
Praise for The Trouble With Love
“In her iconic soulful fashion, Toni Shiloh has penned another heartfelt page-turner…this time with a dash of suspense thrown in!”
- Sarah Monzon, award-winning author of Finders Keepers
“In The Trouble With Love, Toni Shiloh offers a fresh take on modern romance that will twirl you about the New York City high life, yet still manage to keep the characters completely relatable with their fears, longs, and faith struggles. The romance between Holiday and Emmett is flirty, fun, and completely squeal-inducing. Enjoy this escape from everyday life and dive into Shiloh’s world of faith and fortune!”
- Janine Rosche, author of This Wandering Heart
“Swoony, sweet and a little sassy, The Trouble With Love is Toni Shiloh's best novel yet! A beautiful story of friendship, romance, and brokenness meeting grace.”
- Carrie Schmidt, Reading is My SuperPower
Copyright © 2020 by Toni Shiloh.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or other—for brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Edited by Katie Donovan.
Cover design by Toni Shiloh.
Cover art photos © Depositphotos.com/LanaBrow and princerko used by permission.
Published in the United States of America by Toni Shiloh.
www.ToniShiloh.com
The Trouble With Love is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Dedication
To the Author and Finisher of my faith.
Chapter One
I strolled down the path through Central Park and exhaled. My tour was over and I was now free to be me, Holiday Brown, lover of all things Manhattan and self-proclaimed foodie. Not that I necessarily placed labels on myself. I spent the majority of my life trying to shed the ones the world affixed to me. Rick Brown’s daughter. Platinum-selling pop singer. Heiress to the Brown fortune.
But here on the streets of Manhattan, I was just another dot from a bird’s eye view. One of the throng, heading to a destination only I knew.
As if I actually had a clue. I was living one day at a time, filling it with music and friendship. Life was more than I expected but lacking in ways I couldn’t seem to pinpoint.
My best friends and roommates would say I was burned out. They’d be right. My music career had already gone on longer than most artists dared hope for. My fuse had lit at an early age thanks to my dad’s ambition. He swears up and down I came out of the womb singing. No nonsense babbling for Rick Brown’s child. He’d groomed me, hiring a vocal coach before I’d even entered formal education. He also taught me how to play the guitar and piano, delegating lessons to professionals whenever he left to tour the world for his own career.
At seventeen, I landed my first record deal—without my father’s help, despite what the press believed. Honestly, my last name probably did help in that arena, but I worked my tail off to prove I was more than just Rick Brown’s daughter.
Still, every time my name was printed in the press, Dad’s was always attached. I couldn’t shake him or the expectations that came with his legacy, and I was so very tired of it all.
I shook my head, tilting my chin and letting my hair fall away from my face. Now wasn’t the time to sink into the exhaustion that threatened to drown me. A stroll through Central Park would clear my head and hopefully, by the time I made it back to my Upper East Side townhouse, give some direction.
The summer humidity cast a sheen of perspiration across my brown skin, making my arms glow beneath my tank top. The urge to stop in the middle of the walkway, fling my arms out wide, and swing around in a circle tempted me for a startling moment. Of course, I’d totally look like a tourist or the opening credits for a rom com set in New York. I snorted and continued walking.
As much as I wanted to find happiness again, that elusive feeling wouldn’t be discovered twirling in Central Park. I needed to get back to songwriting. I hadn’t penned a single word in six months.
Ack! Wouldn’t the press love to hear that!
Grimacing, I headed down 75th. An iced pineapple espresso would do the trick. Cool me down in the heat and get my mind off my troubles. I pulled up the coffee app on my phone, placing my order. By Lexington Avenue, my drink had already been placed in the pickup cooler. I smiled, toasting to Brendan the barista in thanks as I headed home.
A quick glance at my phone revealed the time. Yep. My roommates would be awake. Well, Octavia would be. She rose with the sun for her morning barre exercises before eating a balanced breakfast. Usually that weird chia pudding with blueberries. Just the thought made me want to scrub my tongue. I couldn’t help but feel sorry that she deprived herself of carbs.
My stomach growled and I tapped on the app for my favorite bakery. Octavia could eat like a bird if she wanted, but the only seeds entering my mouth would be the ones found on the everything bagel I’d slather with cream cheese.
I crossed a few more streets and slowed to a stroll as the tan five-story townhouse came into view. I loved the bay windows with the jutted jade terraces—strictly for curb appeal, as there was no space to stand outside and enjoy the view. Thankfully we had a balcony in the back that afforded privacy and overlooked the garden my other roommate, Tori, had designed.
I jogged up the steps and slid my key into the ornate lock my father had demanded be installed. He’d also pulled a few strings to provide us a grade-A security system. I thought the extra measures were a little over the top, but considering we were all ladies of fortune, maybe he had a point.
I would never tell him that though.
The house was quiet as I placed my keys in the Venetian glass bowl Octavia had brought back from one of her visits to Italy. Her father ran a winery in the Tuscan countryside, and she’d spent every summer of her childhood in an honest to goodness villa. Which meant we had awesome authentic Italian pieces throughout our home.
I headed for the kitchen and laughed softly. Tori sat on a bar stool, slumped over the kitchen island.
“Hey. Didn’t expect you to be awake so early.”
Tori groaned. “Tell me about it,” she mumbled into the marble top, cheek pressed against the slab. “I’d still be languishing in dreamworld, but Emmett’s coming. I’m picking him up from LaGuardia.”
“Why don’t you just send a car?” Tori’s dad made sure we all had access to a topnotch car service.
“I thought about it since I had a late night but…” She shrugged.
“You miss your brother.” My stomach twisted at the thought of him.
“Exactly.” She sat up, placing her chin in her hand, eyes still closed as if trying to catch a few more winks of sleep.
“How long will he be in town?”
“I think he said a month.” Tori bit her lip and blinked at me. “And I might have said he could stay here.”
“What? Why?” Waldorf Emmett Bell—affectionately called Emmett by those who loved him and Wally by me, who definitely did not (love him, that is)—was a pain in my side. The feelings he evoked in me were akin to childbirth without the mitigating blessing of a bundle of joy.
More like a bundle of woe.
“His place is getting renovated. There was a delay with his plumbing, so his place isn’t finished yet.”
I held in a groan. Barely. “Did Octavia agree to this?”
“Yep. Why wouldn’t she? You’re the only one who doesn’t like my brother.”
“I don’t dislike him. I just…” Okay, so yeah, I kind of loathed him. He was arrogant, pretentious, overbearing, and…why did I feel like a thesaurus all of a sudden?
“Yeah, you do, Hol. And it’s okay, I get it.”
“You do?” Because even I wasn’t sure when my dislike started. Maybe
“Not really.” She laughed. “But as long as you agree to be civil, everything will be good.”
“He’ll be in the guest room then?”
Tori nodded, and a little puff of air escaped me. I would just avoid going to the rooftop until he left. It was my second favorite place in the whole house and right next to the guest room, but avoiding Wally and his arrogance was vital.
“Fine. I’ll be civil. Be sure to give him the same talk.”
“I already did.”
I nodded, feeling somewhat appeased. At least Tori knew the problem wasn’t all on me.
“Oh, your bagels came.” She pointed toward the toaster, where she’d already placed one inside.
“Thanks.” I grabbed the salmon cream cheese spread from the fridge and slathered it on my everything bagel.
I took a bite, closing my eyes as the explosion of flavors greeted my taste buds in a happy dance. When I opened my eyes, Tori and Tavia were staring at me in amusement. “What?” I mumbled.
“How do you stay skinny eating all those carbs?” Tavia placed a hand on her hip, looking elegant and regal, as if ready to pose for a ballerina photoshoot.
Every move she made was filled with the grace of a seasoned ballerina. It was actually a little annoying, since I had the grace of a fawn discovering how to walk for the first time. At least, until I got on stage. Once the lights hit my face, I transformed into a pop-singing, Billboard-chart-hitting platinum artist.
I turned to the question at hand. “Me and carbs have an agreement. They continue to delight me and agree to keep off any unsavory areas of my body.”
Tori snorted and stood. “I’ll be back, ladies.”
“We doing something later?” I raised an eyebrow in question. “Without Wally?”
“It depends. He may want to hang out. Can you do that? If so, we can hit Inclusion later.”
“Fine,” I grumbled. I really wanted to check out the newest all-night hangout. If I had to put up with Wally in order to do it, I would.
Tori strolled out of the kitchen in her runway model walk. Thankfully she had on a simple pair of jeans and a pink blouse, so no one would actually guess she was Astoria Bell, supermodel. No doubt she’d throw on some shades that would cover half her face. The black bob wig she currently sported would finish her incognito look. We both had disguises. Octavia’s notoriety wasn’t widespread enough that she needed one.
Then again, she had her own way of separating herself from the ballerina posters hanging outside the Met. She’d simply wear her hair down instead of in a neat little bun, and she’d put on baggy clothes. Me, I preferred a fedora and shades.
Octavia sat on one of the stools tucked under the kitchen island and arched a perfectly formed eyebrow. “Are you really going to behave?”
“Why am I the problem? How come you don’t point a finger at Wally? He started it.”
“Did he now?” Her voice was slightly amused, with the barest wisp of an accent.
“You know it’s true. Besides, I can still remember him pulling my hair.” I rubbed the back of my head as if the memory brought the pain back to life.
Tavia rolled her eyes. “Emmett doesn’t pull hair anymore.”
“More like he doesn’t pull punches.” I waited a beat. “See what I did there?”
Tavia shook her head, her lips twitching in amusement. She would never admit how much she admired my warped sense of humor. She was too composed for that.
“It’ll be fine. I’m sure he’ll be working and hardly here.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
Chapter Two
Music touched my soul like nothing else. It was the one time I truly came alive and all the cares of the world faded away. At least, when I sang. Songwriting was a whole other beast.
I sat at my keyboard waiting for inspiration to strike. For six months now, emptiness had greeted me each time I stepped into my studio. I looked around, my gaze taking in the white studio foam that covered the walls and offered the soundproofing my roommates required.
Where was my inspiration? Why couldn’t I find the music within?
Maybe I truly was burned out. But how did I overcome this?
I still had the urge to sing. A song was always bee-bopping in my mind. But no new words rested there begging for release, for their turn in my notebook. My hands rested over the piano keys but had no idea where to start. Being lyric-centric, I normally depended on the words to usher in the music, but I was willing to try anything to bring the words back.
Frustration boiled at the surface and I jerked to my feet. Obviously, today wasn’t the day to get back to work. After all, my tour had just ended last night. Maybe my creative well was dry.
I walked out of the studio and down the hall to my bedroom. I had the entire third floor to myself with Tori above me, Octavia above her, and the roof and guest room at the very top. Despite the age of our townhouse, I rarely heard any noise from Tori.
Granted, she was usually off in some beautiful location shooting photos for magazines and renowned fashion designers. And Octavia practically lived at the ballet studio during performance season. It just so happened she got the summers off. Not that she lazed around. She enrolled in ballet classes to keep in ready form.
I flopped onto the bed and exhaled as the duvet cushioned my fall and welcomed the weight of my body. The soothing navy-blue walls slowly pushed the melancholy away. I stared at the silver lines that crisscrossed to create a diamond pattern in the wallpaper.
“What am I going to do?” My stark whisper faded into nothingness.
It was such a horrid reminder of how I’d felt the past six months. And I couldn’t even pinpoint the change. Nothing traumatic had happened. No new transformations or routine in my life.
Everything was the same.
Exactly. The. Same.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe my world needed to be shaken. I could certainly find something to get into in the city. But what?
“Hol, get your sweet self down here.” Tori’s voice came loud and clear through the intercom.
I rolled my eyes. Guess it was time to be on my best behavior.
My hands glided along the white railing that circled our winding staircase. I stopped on the second-floor landing, listening. Tori hadn’t mentioned whether they were on the first floor or second. Nothing. First floor it was.
Laughter greeted me as I entered the kitchen. My stockinged feet made no sound, so I took the opportunity to observe Wally unnoticed. He looked completely relaxed, hands resting in the pockets of his navy cargo shorts. He wore a plain white T-shirt and a backwards Yankees cap, and a camera hung around his neck.
Made sense since he made his living taking pictures.
As if he felt my stare, he turned and our eyes locked. Wariness marred his ice blue eyes, which sometimes appeared sea green. Tori had the same shifting eye color. It was what she was famous for. Nothing caught more attention than an African American with eye color Caucasians were known for.
“Wally.” My voice came out clipped, but hopefully Tori would consider that better than the alternative.
“Columbus.”
My back stiffened. I had to be on my best behavior, but he could insult me? I turned my glare toward Tori.
She sighed audibly. “Emmett, chill.”
