Mad Love
Authors: Colet Abedi
MAD
LOVE
by Colet Abedi
“When love is not madness, it is not love.”
–
P
EDRO
C
ALDERON DE LA
B
ARCA
Copyright © 2014 by Bird Street Books, Inc
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.
First edition 2014
EAN/ISBN-13: Paperback: 978-1-939457-13-4
eBook (ePub): 978-1-939457-10-3
eBook (mobi): 978-1-939457-11-0
eBook (PDF): 978-1-939457-12-7
Book Design:
Hagop Kalaidjian, Shawn Tavassoli
Layout:
Dovetail Publishing Services
Jacket Photos:
iStockphoto / Michael Langhoff
Contents
For my husband
I love you madly
Acknowledgements
My special thanks to Lisa Gallagher, my amazing agent and friend, for her love, support and encouragement. You are a true gem and I feel blessed to have you on my side. I hope you think of me and laugh when you hear our “special” word.
To my editor, Jane Cavolina. Words can’t express how incredibly lucky I feel to have met and worked with you. I don’t know what I would have done without your guidance and wisdom. I wish I could superglue you to my side! PS- If you don’t mind, I’m keeping you.
To my family. Mom, Dad and Jasmine you’ve always encouraged and taught me to believe in my dreams. Love you more.
Mina. I’ll never forget the trip to the library with you where I checked out my first romance novel. That was the moment I began to dream.
Giuliana & Bill. I don’t know how to thank you both for all that you’ve done for me. I will never ever forget it. I love you guys.
To the real life Erik & Orie. Sophie and I are so grateful to have you in our lives #forrealz #forever.
My friends. In no particular order … Cathea, Andrea, Nicky, Carlton, David, Sally, Rana, Amal, Giannina, Christina, Shawn, Mary, JD, Tana, Jorge, Bob, John, Lauren, Annalynne, Angel, Ally, Rob, Rick, Brandee, Ariana, Cori, Matt, Toby … Each one of you is so special to me. Love you all long time.
To my publisher, Jay McGraw, and the team at Bird Street Books: Josh Stein, Hagop Kalaidjian, Andrea McKinnon, and Lisa Clark for believing in
Mad Love
and making sure that it gets out there for everyone to see. You guys are wonderful. I’m lucky to be in your hands.
And in the words of my brilliant agent, Lisa … Here’s to being madly in love, and loving madly, forever …
Note to the Reader:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Any and all product names referenced within this book are the copyright and/or trademarks of their respective owners. None of these owners have sponsored, authorized, endorsed or approved this book in any way. The author and publisher specifically disclaim all responsibility for any liability, loss, or risk, personal or otherwise, which is incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly in relation to this book.
1
I am in complete darkness.
I panic for a moment, forgetting where I am. The quick jolt of turbulence instantly reminds me. Right, I’m thirty-two thousand feet in the air on my way to a vacation that people only dream of. The Maldives. One of the world’s most beautiful and remote destinations. I try to get excited. But right now the feeling is nonexistent. I grimace as reality starts to wash over me like a tsunami.
Try to be grateful, Sophie
, I silently snarl to myself.
Who wouldn’t trade places with you right now?
I flip the eye mask off my face and stretch out in my seat. The cabin is darkly lit and a quick look at the television monitor tells me that we are still a few hours away from Male. I click the button on my chair and move from the flat bed to a seated position. Yes, I know I’m lucky. To be in a window seat in first class and not crammed in coach is a blessing. I used to appreciate these kinds of moments more, but now I’m just bone weary. I feel older than my twenty-three years. But then, so much has happened in the past few weeks. So much has changed in my life. Some for good, some not so great. I try not to dwell on negative thoughts, but it’s hard. I can’t seem to help myself.
I force myself to think about the self-help and spiritual books I’ve read and downloaded on my iPad to help me become a more well-rounded person. There’s
The
Power of Now
by Eckhart Tolle, who teaches you to live in the now, which I personally find really hard to do. I mean honestly, who can always be present besides Buddhist monks in remote villages in Thailand? I realize my cynicism is getting the best of me. I need to be fair. I
used
to believe you could live in the now. Maybe you can.
Try now,
Sophie,
I think to myself
. I take a deep breath and focus on the seat I’m sitting in, the television screen in front of me, the sound of the plane humming through the sky. That’s the now, right?
Then my inner voice chimes in.
This vacation is costing you a fortune
, it says.
And
, I ask myself,
your point is?
The point is,
Do the math. Your bank account can’t handle this
.
Whatever!!
Okay, so living in the now is really not working at this moment. I continue to mentally flip through the catalogue of books. What about Don Miguel Ruiz’s
The Four Agreements
? That’s a good one. What are the agreements again? Oh yes,
Never Make Assumptions, Do Your Best
,
Be Impeccable with Your Word
and
Don’t Take Anything Personally
. Well, shit. I’m sitting here right now because I’ve taken everything in my life personally. And if I consider the rest of Mr. Ruiz’s agreements, I’ve definitely made a lot of assumptions. According to my parents, I’m not so impeccable with my word, and I can’t honestly say that I’ve always done my best. Umm, that’s zero out of four.
Yikes. I clearly need to do some spiritual work on myself.
I sigh and grab the remote for the television. I’m just so tired. When did this happen?
How
did this happen? I’m only twenty-three, for the love of God. I shouldn’t feel like I’m carrying a five-hundred pound weight on my back. I expected this general feeling to occur later, when I’m married with four kids and have a mortgage I can’t afford and am drowning in credit card debt. I fidget in my seat in agitation.
There is just so much going on in my head, so many different problems I need to sort through. This vacation is supposed to be my saving grace, my salvation from all the real-life drama I’ve faced in the past few weeks. My family is angry with me for becoming “a stranger overnight,” as my mother so dramatically said. First, I broke up with Jerry—the man they wanted me to marry—because he never kissed me with the passion that I’d read about in romance novels. And then I dropped out of law school to pursue a career in art. Lord Almighty, just thinking about it makes me break out in a sweat. No wonder my mom tearfully told me that she was going to disown me, that she didn’t know who I was, and that I had disgraced the family.
I hit the call button for the flight attendant. It’s a good time for a drink, right before panic starts to envelope me. In a second the flight attendant leans over me. I can’t believe she looks so good after fourteen hours in the
air. But then I was told that Singapore Airlines has the best looking and most accommodating flight attendants in the world.
“Gin and tonic, please,” I whisper in a voice, slightly embarrassed that I’m asking for a drink at what is breakfast time in Los Angeles. If she disapproves, she doesn’t show it. She simply nods and hurries off to get me my drink.
I guess if I’m going to have my own eat, pray, drink vacation, I think with some amusement, I should do it with a bang. I used all my precious air miles to book the first-class ticket. I even cajoled my best friend and his boyfriend to join me on my extravagant vacation—
except they didn’t need to max out their credit cards to find themselves,
my mind annoyingly reminds me. I’m instantly angry with myself for going down this dark path. I hit the button on the remote to find a movie.
“Did you just ask for a gin and tonic?” Erik asks me as he rolls over on his flat bed to look at me. He pushes the blanket off his body and runs a hand through his thick hair.
“Yep.” I can’t help but smile at how gorgeous he looks.
His blond hair is slightly tousled and his big blue eyes are earnest in his handsome face.
Why can’t he be straight
, I ask myself for the thousandth time. He moves his seat into an upright position and studies my somber demeanor.
“Are you going to cry again?” He’s clearly afraid of my answer.
“No,” I say, but my voice wavers. God, I hope not. The amount of crying I’ve done in the past few weeks should be a crime.
“Honestly, Sophie, if Orie and I are going to have to cajole you out of bad moods the whole vacation I’m going to be really pissed off.”
I laugh. His candor is biting, but real. Okay, borderline offensive, but what can I say? I love the guy.
“It’s not like I don’t have anything to cry about,” I say a bit defensively.
“The only thing you should be crying about is that outfit you have on.” Erik checks out my pajamas, courtesy of Singapore Airlines.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“There’s a reason they’re free. And given to you in a small plastic bag.”
“Oh, please. They’re comfortable. And besides, who’s seeing me on this plane?”
Erik turns his overhead light on and looks straight at me.
“First of all,
I’m
seeing you. Second of all, and almost as important, you should dress every single day,
every single outfit
, as if you’re going to die in those clothes.”
It’s hard not to laugh out loud but I want to be considerate to the sleeping passengers. The funniest part of the conversation is that Erik is dead serious.
“Trust me when I say you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in
that
.” He points at me and turns the overhead light back out.
“You’re obsessed.”
“
And?
You’re the girl who was wearing boot-cut jeans until last year. I found jeans in your closet that you used to wear in high school. The only reason you don’t have them on right now is because I threw them out!”