Both of Me (Cross My Heart Duet Book 1)

  Copyright © 2018 by Amber Kelly

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book 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 persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Cover Image: Scott Hoover, Scott Hoover Photography

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Formatter: Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To my “&” girls.

  The world would be a dull place without your love, laughter, and friendship.

  This book is for you.

  Four Years Old

  I am getting all dressed up like a princess.

  Papa and Mamma are expecting company for dinner tonight, so Nonna has dressed me in my prettiest dress. It is purple, and it has yellow butterflies on the front. Purple is my favorite color.

  I twirl and twirl until I am dizzy.

  “Hold still, so I can finish your hair, Gabriella,” Nonna scolds.

  She helps me get my shoes on as she explains that the Scutari family just moved two estates down from us. Mr. Scutari is in the same business as Papa. He and his three boys—Emilio, Atelo, and Christoff—as well as their grandparents are coming to meet us all tonight, and Papa wants me and my brothers to be on our very best behavior. She holds my hand and leads me downstairs.

  “There is my bambina.” Papa reaches out for me, and he picks me up and spins me around as I laugh with glee. He turns, and I see a group of people huddled in the foyer.

  “Say hello to our new friends, Gabriella. This is Papa’s friend Mr. Scutari and his boys and their grandparents.”

  “Hi.” I wave shyly and lay my head on Papa’s shoulder.

  They all say hello in return, and Papa shows us into the dining room where Mamma and Nonna are placing food in the center of the table. My tummy growls loudly, and everyone laughs.

  “My baby girl is always hungry.” Papa smiles down at me as he places me in my seat between Nicco and one of his friend’s sons.

  I sneak a peek up at the stranger. He has long, dark hair that falls into his face. His eyes are dark green, and when he smiles down at me, he has a dimple in his cheek, just like Nicco.

  “Hey, I am Christoff.”

  “Where is your mamma, Crisscross?” I ask.

  “No, Chris-toff,” he repeats.

  I wrinkle my nose. That’s what I said.

  I mimic him, “Criss-cross.”

  He laughs, and so does Nicco.

  “Gabriella, he said Christoff, not Crisscross. Crisscross would be a silly name.”

  “I didn’t say Crisscross. I said, Criss-Cross,” I state in aggravation.

  “You just said it again.”

  “I did not.”

  Nicco is always mean to me, and he always tries to embarrass me.

  “It’s okay,” Christoff whispers to me. “You can call me Crisscross if you want to.”

  “I don’t want to call you that. People will laugh at me. I want to call you Crisscross.”

  Nicco laughs out loud again, and I don’t understand what is so funny.

  “It can be a thing just between you and me, okay?” he says. “I’ll call you”—he scratches his head—“Gabby. You call me”—he stops, and his forehead crinkles like he is thinking—“Cross. What do you think?”

  I look up into his green eyes, and I smile.

  “Nicknames just for us?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I smile big at him. He is so nice. I think we will be the bestest friends ever.

  Cross’s papa tells us that his mamma was in an accident, and she is with Jesus and the angels now. His mamma’s parents came to live with them afterward to help. I look up at Cross, and when his papa talks about the angels, his lips quiver. He is sad. I would be sad, too, if my mamma went to live with the angels and did not come visit me. I will have to love him extra hard for her, so he is not sad anymore.

  After dinner, the adults have yucky coffee while we all enjoy dessert that Cross’s grandmother, Una, made. Then, they excuse themselves. Nicco looks to Cross and asks if he wants to ride bikes, and I ask if I can come, too.

  “No, you can’t even ride your bike without training wheels.” He rolls his eyes.

  I start to get upset because I want to go with them. I don’t want to stay while the older boys play video games and the grown-ups talk in the study.

  Why can’t I go?

  “Tell you what, Miss Gabby.” Cross bends down and looks me in the eye. “Next time I come over, I will help you learn how to ride without training wheels. Then, you can always go with us. Deal?”

  “Okay,” I say through my tears.

  He wraps one of my curls in his finger and tugs. “Don’t cry. We will have lots of time to spend together now that we live just down the street. I promise.”

  “Cross your heart?”

  “Cross my heart.” He slashes his fingers over his heart and winks at me as he follows Nicco out the back door.

  I think he might be my prince, just like Cinderella. Prince Cross.

  Present

  As I step off the plane into the hustle and bustle of LAX Airport, anxiety kicks in. This is real. I am doing this. I left everything and everyone behind to begin again three thousand miles away from home.

  I follow the horde of rushing travelers through the packed airport and into a surprisingly empty restroom. I look in the mirror at the weary face staring back at me. My chestnut eyes are slightly bloodshot, and my long, dark locks are a tangled mess from sleeping over half the flight from JFK. I splash some cool water on my face and run my fingers through my unruly hair. I pinch my cheeks and add a quick swipe of gloss across my lips. I take one last moment to gather myself. It’s as ready as I am going to get.

 
I give myself a pep talk as I walk down to baggage claim to collect my luggage. “You can do this. You are Brie Masters. You are a single girl from the big city, here to experience life outside of your hometown bubble while finishing your degree.” I work hard to convince myself as I grab my bags from the belt and head out into the warm California sun.

  I take a deep breath to calm myself. Calm is something I haven’t felt in a very long time. I am not exactly sure what Los Angeles has to offer a broken soul like me, but it has to be better than what I walked away from. It just has to be. Starting over is not something I thought I would be doing at twenty-two years old, but here I am. I have lived a thousand lifetimes in those twenty-two years, and I have cried over the past long enough. Time to chase—and hopefully catch—a few new dreams. So, I gather myself and walk into my future.

  “Jeez, Brie, how did you manage to pack your life into two suitcases? I don’t think I have ever known a girl to travel on vacation this light, much less move across the country.”

  With an emphasis on the name I now choose to be called, my cousin, Daniel, ribs me as he lifts all the belongings I cared to carry with me into this new adventure into the bed of his pickup truck.

  “I told you, I am taking this moving-on thing very seriously. New everything. New name. New home. New friends. Even new clothes.”

  So far, I am happy with my decision to move west and reconnect with my cousin. We were great friends when we were children—before his parents divorced, and he moved to Cali with his dad, Matthew Taylor. Uncle Matt had done well for himself as the premier Dentist to the Stars. I assume well-maintained teeth are a fairly lucrative commodity in Hollywood. Every single face aspiring to be on stage, screen, or print has to have them after all.

  Daniel and I kept in touch through the years as much as possible. Sending each other birthday cards every year and placing the occasional telephone call when we were younger and seeing each other when he came to visit his mom, my mother’s older sister, in the summers. Once we were old enough for social media accounts though, it was like he had never left. That is the thing about sites like Instagram and Twitter; you feel like you are actively participating in the lives of people you haven’t set your eyes on in ten or more years. It is the best and the worst thing about social media. Disconnected connection.

  It felt good to be in the same space as him now. He has grown into a handsome man, tall and broad-shouldered, like his dad. His dark hair is a little wild, and he still has the scar that runs through his left eyebrow from when he fell from the tire swing in my backyard when we were about six years old. He is sporting a five-o’clock shadow; actually, it looks more like a seven-o’clock shadow at this point. And, of course, he has a smile that could blind you, courtesy of his dad. He is all grown up and an aspiring musician, still living at home in his dad’s pool house in Beverly Hills while he lives his dream. He is a talented guitar player and singer-songwriter. I just know he is going to be famous one day. I wanted freedom and a fresh start, but I longed for a familiar face that wasn’t vetted to the past in a way that it would keep popping up on me. Daniel is that face.

  “You have certainly come to the right place. A lot of miles between here and New York. They are two completely different worlds, but don’t worry; I am sure you are going to fit right in. Dawn and Kelsey have already gotten your room ready, and they are excited to officially meet you.”

  Dawn Martin is Daniel’s current girlfriend and his stepsister, Kelsey Green’s, best friend and roommate. Uncle Matt married Kelsey’s mom when Daniel and Kelsey were already temperamental teenagers, so their relationship was strained from the beginning. Her mom was a former dental client and a wilting flower of an actress who had found fame in the early nineties, playing the sexy villain on a popular network soap opera. Daniel didn’t take too well to the two female drama queens coming into and taking over his and his dad’s easy bachelor lives. However, once he started dating his new sister’s best friend, much to her chagrin, they were forced into a tentative truce. According to Daniel though, they grew on each other and settled into a love/hate, familial relationship.

  The girls’ former roommate, Tonya, just vacated her room and moved out on her own. That left them with a room for rent and hopefully room in their inner circle for me. I could use some friends.

  Daniel told me all about the two—the good, bad, and ugly—and I feel like I already know them. My favorite part about them is the ugly. I know that sounds insane, but maybe my ugly won’t seem so bad next to theirs. I guess we all carry a bit of it with us, but I am here to try to shed mine for good.

  We pull up to a gorgeous stucco building in Santa Monica about thirty minutes later. It is a well-maintained place with a quaint courtyard and gated parking. It is close to the beach and the Third Street Promenade and definitely something I would never have been able to afford on my own, but with my savings and the money Una tucked into my hand as I left, I should, hopefully, be able to cover one-third of the cost until I can find a decent-paying job.

  Enrolling in classes is my first order of business though. I graduated high school a few months early and then took time off to spend a couple of years in Paris with my mom’s younger sister, Aunt Mitzi. It was a glorious time in my life. Paris is a dream, and Aunt Mitzi is one of my favorite people on the planet. She took a heartbroken teen in and showed her a whole new world full of culture, food, fashion, and excitement that only Paris could provide.

  I started taking classes at NYU the semester following my return to New York, but a little more than a year in was when everything in my life went sideways. Looking back, I probably should have stayed in France and gone to university. I loved it there, but something—or better yet, someone—kept calling me back home. Him. No, he is not allowed here. No thoughts of him in my new life.

  Daniel parks the truck and hops out. I gather my purse and phone and open the door. A wonderful aroma of salt and sea envelops me, and I instantly love it here. Fresh air. Fresh start.

  “Apartment number is three-B, and the girls are waiting for you. Go on up and say hi, and I’ll grab your things and be up in a minute,” Daniel instructs me as he types away on his phone.

  I turn toward the courtyard and take it in. The space is a good size with a few large shade trees sprinkled about. There are cobblestone sidewalks lined with flower beds bursting with purple salvia and bright yellow coreopsis along the path. A couple of people are seated on benches under the trees, reading or typing away on their laptops, and one girl is lying on a beach towel, soaking up a few late rays of sunshine. Yes, I will definitely love it here.

  I make my way to the center building and climb the exterior staircase leading up to the third floor. It is insane how anxious I am to meet my new roommates. Will they be able to tell by looking at me the hell I have been through this past year? Is my outside as tattered as my inside? I know these are silly thoughts because my scars do not show on the outside. They are not physical scars, not all of them anyway.

  I reach the third floor, and I see 3B right at the top of the stairs. A shadow is peeking out of the front window before my foot even hits the landing, so I assume Daniel texted to let them know we had arrived. As I raise my knuckles to knock, the door swings open, and a tall, slender girl my age with shoulder-length blonde hair that has bright pink tips comes barreling for me and wraps her arms around me.

  Dawn, I think to myself. This must be Dawn.

  “Brie, we are so glad you are finally here,” she practically squeals.

  She smells like coconut, and I allow myself to absorb some of her enthusiasm as I squeeze her back and look behind her into my new home. It’s intimidating, but she hooks her arm in mine and leads me in like we have known each other for ages.

  “We have your room all ready for you. The bed is made up with fresh linens, and it has been thoroughly cleaned. Tonya took everything with her that wasn’t nailed down, but all of the furniture is still here, so we’ll just have to go shopping to get you all the essentials,
like pillows, blankets, and a lamp. Not that you need too many blankets here. It’s always warm.”

  She is talking a mile a minute as she leads me through the apartment, past a nice-sized living space and down a hall. I instantly like her.

  “This is your room. It’s the smallest of the three, but it has the best view. The ocean is across the street and down a couple of blocks. You have your own bathroom—well, sort of. It is the one across the hall, and it is also the guest bathroom when we have company. Kelsey and I have a Jack and Jill bath between our rooms, and we share it. Come on; I will show you the rest.”

  I follow her and check out both their rooms and the large-closet-sized space they use as a makeshift office with a tiny desk and shared computer and printer.

  “Now, we come to our favorite spot in the entire apartment,” she informs me as we round the living room.

  She swings her arms wide in a dramatic game-show-hostess fashion. “Ta-da. The kitchen. This is where all the magic happens. We don’t have a table or anything, but this island is massive, and the barstools are very comfy. It is the reason we rented this place. It is just so big and open. We like to cook, and we absolutely love to eat. There is a small deck through those sliding glass doors. It has an outdoor table and umbrella with a matching couch and electric fire pit. We sometimes like to sit out there and have coffee in the morning or dinner if it is a nice, cool evening. Or wine. We like our wine almost as much as we like our food.”

  She laughs, and I can’t help but smile with her.

  Kelsey, a petite girl with long blonde hair, is behind the island, cutting up what looks like bleu cheese and adding it to a board with other varieties, grapes, and crackers. My stomach growls at the sight.

  “Yes, we do. We aren’t exactly winos, but let’s just say, we do our part to keep Napa Valley thriving.” She looks up and adds, “Wow, look at you. You look like some exotic creature with your dark hair and olive skin. We don’t see many Italian beauties around here. It’s all bleached-blonde Valley girls with spray tans and fake tits. Present company excluded, of course.” She slides her eyes to Dawn, who obviously has enhanced assets.