Shattering Her Illusion (Fragments of Love #1)

Chapter 1

Charlie

“Do orcs go with aliens or shifters?”

My fingers pause, hovering over the keyboard as I look over at where Flossie is standing by the counter.

She’s holding a book up, the cover showing a green-skinned orc, his muscular torso bared, and a leather loincloth wrapped around his hips.

The orc is towering over a pint-sized, curvy woman, her mouth open and eyes wide as she gazes up at him.

I blink for a second, tilting my head as I consider the answer. “Shifters,” I decide. “Aliens are Sci-Fi. Shifters and orcs are paranormal.”

Flossie arches her dark red eyebrows. “I would argue that aliens also fall under the umbrella of the paranormal.” She pauses, attention dropping back to the book, her square-framed glasses doing nothing to hide the spark of interest in her green eyes. “But I’ll put it with the shifters anyway.”

I smile. “Or you’ll put it on your buy later pile.” I slide a look at the shelf under the counter and the five books already sitting there.

Flossie doesn’t look at me, her red curls bouncing as she walks away, telling me over her shoulder, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Charlie.

” She disappears down one of the aisles, and I roll my eyes.

We’ve worked together at Spellbound Books—a new and pre-loved bookstore—for well over a year now. I know how Flossie operates.

Not that I’m any better. I rang up today’s new inventory on my lunch break—a cozy small-town romance with a baker and her neighbor, and the first in an alien series where a group of women get trapped on an ice planet.

Flossie comes back empty-handed, the book shelved or stashed in the waistband of her pants. I eye her suspiciously, but she just ignores me, casually plucking the next stack of books from the box she’s been unpacking. “You and Dillon have plans tonight?” she asks casually.

“Not tonight.” I can’t stop my grimace from scrunching up my nose, staring at the computer screen until all the words blur.

I’m supposed to be putting in an order for next month, following the current trends of stalkers, stepbrothers, and cowboys—an eclectic mixture if there ever was one. “I’m having dinner with my parents.”

She pauses, sending me a concerned look. “You’re still not taking Dillon?”

I avoid her eyes, my cheeks heating. “I know it’s not healthy. But he doesn’t like the way they speak to me, so it’s just easier to not have him there, you know?”

Flossie stops what she’s doing, leaning a plump hip against the counter. “I thought Dillon didn’t agree with that.”

My smile is tight. “He doesn’t, but Dillon and I have only been living together six months, and not even together two years yet. ” Her mouth firms with disapproval, so I quickly add, “It feels too new to drag him into the drama of my family.”

“If a couple of years is too new,” Flossie counters, “when does it change? Five? Ten? Maybe when you have your first kid? I don’t understand why you keep your parents in your life anyway.”

“They’re my parents,” I remind her softly. “And I’m their only child. My mother is just—”

“A bitch,” Flossie supplies dryly, and a soft sound of amusement escapes.

“I was going to say she’s set in her ways, but bitch works.”

“Is Barrett going with you, at least?”

My shoulders loosen at the mention of my best friend even as I shake my head. “He’s playing poker. I can handle my parents and whatever they dish out. And hey…maybe this is the one time they’ll surprise me.”

Flossie nods, but this isn’t a new conversation, and she knows when to drop it. “So, when is Dillon going to pop the question, then?”

I shake my head with a laugh. “Probably about the same time that you decide to actually date a real person and not just a book boyfriend.”

Flossie gives me an exaggerated frown. “Why would I do that? Real boys are smelly, dumb, and always set you up for disappointment. Book boyfriends, however…” She waggles her brows. “All they need is a…companion,” she says suggestively, “and a few long-lasting batteries.”

I sidle closer, snatching the orc book out of the elastic waist of her tights before she can stop me. “Is that why you have this?” I cluck my tongue, smirking at her. “Well, you asked about my plans for the night, and now I know yours.”

Flossie giggles, yanking it back and clutching it to her chest. “Hey, if a big, manly orc wants to sweep me off my feet, who am I to argue?” She tucks the book onto her pile, fingers lingering over the cover. “I even got these yummy-smelling bath salts and a waterproof vib—”

I slap a hand over Flossie’s mouth as the soft patter of rainfall reaches us. A customer steps into the store, the open door triggering the rainstick mounted above the frame.

“Good afternoon!” I greet, smiling brightly. “Welcome to Spellbound Books. Can we help you find anything?”

The older woman pauses, her brow knitting together as she looks between us, my hand still clamped over Flossie’s mouth—just as she darts her tongue out, licking my palm. I yank my hand away with a yelp, scrubbing it against my pants.

The customer rolls her lips inward to hide her smile. “I was looking for a children’s baking book for my niece. She loves cupcakes and wants to start icing her own.”

Flossie grins impishly. “I know the perfect thing,” she states, rounding the counter.

“Oh, good. That will leave me plenty of time to browse for myself.” The customer laughs. “I don’t need any more books, but it won’t stop me from buying at least three.”

“You can never have too many books,” Flossie advises sagely. “And you know, if you buy a series, it actually only counts as one book. It’s just book math.”

I pull into the wide driveway and kill the engine of my little hatchback, staring up at the house looming over me. Dusk has already fallen, and it only makes the dark green Craftsman seem gloomier than usual, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

The place is way too big for two people, with five bedrooms and four bathrooms. My parents refuse to even consider downsizing, believing that the size and location of their home—an influential neighborhood of Boston—is a symbol of their status.

A physical representation of their wealth and success.

To me, it just represents the place I grew up in and couldn’t wait to escape.

A grimace twists my lips, but delaying the inevitable will only make this encounter worse.

I suck in a lungful of air and pull myself out of my car, slamming the door behind me and wincing when the hinges screech in protest.

My footsteps echo in the quiet evening as I head up the footpath to the concrete steps, hesitating at the ornate wooden door.

My stomach feels like it’s full of insects—flying ones that flutter around.

Nothing as nice as butterflies because there is nothing about this place that fills me with anticipation.

Before I can reach out and knock, the door swings open, the housekeeper giving me a curious smile. “Miss Charlie,” she greets smoothly. “Your mother was just wondering if you had arrived.”

My mind ticks over, trying to work out her name. My mother goes through more housekeepers in a year than I do shoes. “Sorry,” I murmur, even though I already know I’m right on time. Anxiety still has me checking my phone and seeing that I’m actually three minutes early.

“Your parents are already seated in the formal dining room. Can I take your coat?” She moves to the side to let me into the house, shutting the door behind us.

It makes any escape attempts harder, but it would also be churlish to refuse, so I shrug out of the burgundy wool coat, draping it over her outstretched arms. “Thank you…Uh…”

“Johanne.” The housekeeper doesn’t blink as she fills in the blank, and my chest feels tight and hot, knowing I’m already failing miserably. And I’m not even near my parents yet.

“Thank you, Johanne,” I say quietly.

She nods, and I head for the dining room, knowing my sanity requires this dinner to be over with as quickly as possible—like yanking a bandaid off. My father is sitting at the head of the grand table. My mother sits at his right, and my usual place setting has been put across from her on his left.

They’ve gone for complete ambience tonight, the full set of candles already lit and flickering over the room. The low thrum of an instrumental orchestra quietly plays in the background, making me feel like we’re in a giant elevator.

“Charlotte,” my mother says tonelessly. “We were just discussing whether you would be coming or not.” Her sharp eyes slide to the doorway. “Dillon wasn’t able to make it…again?” The question is full of insinuation. I ignore it as I take my seat, laying my cloth napkin over my lap.

“Not tonight,” I say. “Dillion had to work late.”

My father frowns at me quizzically. “What is it he does again?”

My smile grows more pinched because I’ve told him at least a dozen times since I started dating Dillon. Another reason he shouldn’t come to these things. “He’s an investment banker.”

I can’t tell whether the news impresses or disappoints my father. He just hums quietly before saying, “Well, that explains why you latched onto him. There will always be work in finance. Books, on the other hand…”

Frustration itches under my skin as my mother adds, “It doesn’t explain why he’s latched onto her, though, does it? You’ve seen the boy, Edmund.” She lowers her voice, but not actually enough that I can’t hear every single word. “They don’t suit.”

My father shakes his head disinterestedly.

“You were worried about the girl never finding a suitable husband, and now you worry that she’ll lose the one she has her hooks in.

” His lips carve a humorless smile across his angular face.

“We shall just hope for the best, Agatha. Hopefully, Charlotte will…seal the deal, as it were, before the boy realizes the disparity.”

A numbness washes over me—the usual state of being I have when I step into this house, and my parents discuss me and my failures.

It’s not enough to block out my mother when she whips her glare in my direction.

“The least you could do is try, Charlotte. It’s obvious, just by looking at you, that you aren’t using the gym membership I got you for your birthday.

” Her lips are so thin they disappear into her face.

“I’ve told the chef to prepare you a salad for dinner—no dressing. And you’ll have lemon water.”

I don’t say a word, my eyes dropping down to the table, feeling like the teenage girl who haunted the halls of this house, always knowing that her very existence was the bane of Agatha and Edmund Aldrige’s lives.

When my mother fell pregnant and learned it was a girl, she had dreams of a society miss who would follow in her footsteps; landing a rich, blue-blooded husband from Boston’s social elite, serving on charity boards, and essentially rising up the Aldrige status through procreation, good breeding, and knowing when to shut my mouth.

Guess I managed one of those things.

Dinner passes by in silence. The music was turned off when the first course—my only course—was served, our meal punctuated only by the scraping of silverware against plates. As soon as I finished, I pushed my plate forward, dabbing my napkin against my lips.

“Unfortunately, I need to go.” I give them a thin smile, not letting a single ounce of emotion touch my eyes.

“That’s fine,” my father says, not even looking up.

My mother scowls. “You’ll be here next month.”

“First Thursday of the month, as always,” I agree simply, already thinking of different illnesses I might come down with between now and then.

“Good. Now, start using that gym membership, Charlotte. I don’t like to waste my hard-earned money.

” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask how she earned it.

A swift bite to my cheek helps lock the words in.

“And bring your…boyfriend. This avoidance tactic is no longer cute. You’re a grown woman, Charlotte. Time to act like it.”