Songbird (Songbird, #1) Read online

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyrighted Material

  SONGBIRD

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference.

  While advice was sought on correct military terminology, this remains a work of fiction where actual military procedures and protocol have been embellished to form part of the story.

  Copyright 2013 by Lisa Edward

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the express, written consent of the author.

  Cover photo and design by Lindee Robinson Photography

  [email protected]

  Interior design and formatting by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs

  ISBN-13: 978-1493521692

  ISBN-10: 1493521691

  First Edition: November 2013

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing platform

  Follow me on

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLisaEdward

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/LisaEdward

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Books by Lisa Edward

  Dedication

  Chapter One – Good Riddance

  Chapter Two – The Great Escape

  Chapter Three – Transformations

  Chapter Four – Songbirds

  Chapter Five – Mr Hotbod

  Chapter Six – Alone

  Chapter Seven – Irish Eyes

  Chapter Eight – Operation Candyfloss

  Chapter Nine – Karaoke Bingo

  Chapter Ten – Hot, Hot, Hot

  Chapter Eleven – Still Intact

  Chapter Twelve – Self Defence

  Chapter Thirteen - Cinderella

  Chapter Fourteen – True Family

  Chapter Fifteen – Hello Old Friend

  Chapter Sixteen – Closure and New Beginnings

  Chapter Seventeen – The Simple Things

  Chapter Eighteen – The Drop

  Chapter Nineteen – Riley’s Song

  Chapter Twenty – Fun In The Sun

  Chapter Twenty-One – Close Shave

  Chapter Twenty-Two – The Sons

  Chapter Twenty-Three – Rules

  Chapter Twenty-Four – The Back Room

  Chapter Twenty-Five – Dreaming of Whom?

  Chapter Twenty-Six – The Giving of Gifts

  Chapter Twenty-Seven – Deck the Halls

  Chapter Twenty-Eight – Ocean Views

  Chapter Twenty-Nine – Jumping Waves

  Chapter Thirty – Bring It In With a Bang

  Chapter Thirty-One – Going Up

  Chapter Thirty-Two – Just Go For It

  Chapter Thirty-Three – A Lesson Learnt

  Chapter Thirty-Four – Things We Do For Love

  Chapter Thirty-Five – The BreakUp

  Chapter Thirty-Six – One of the Boys

  Chapter Thirty-Seven – Touchdown

  Chapter Thirty-Eight – Fresh Ink

  Chapter Thirty-Nine – Stink Beetles

  Chapter Forty – Gone But Never Forgotten

  Songbird Caged

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Book Designer

  Books by Lisa Edward

  Songbird

  Songbird Caged

  Songbird Freed (coming soon)

  For Layla

  never be afraid to reach for the furthest star.

  “OKAY, DO you have everything you need?” Kelli asked.

  Standing in the porcelain-tiled foyer of the house that I had shared with my boyfriend for nearly two years, I felt the weight of the world, lift from my shoulders.

  I had loved this house when I had first moved in, so eager to be sharing it with Stephen. I had roamed from room to room, excitedly picking up ornaments or books to look at, then quickly placing them back down to move on to the next. As I did, Stephen had walked around behind me, adjusting what I had just touched, until he’d exasperatedly told me not to keep moving things.

  I soon discovered there was a place for everything—including me. And it was definitely not my place to question him or make any decisions of my own.

  As much as I had hoped in the beginning, this house had never really felt like my home. I had never felt comfortable or truly welcome here. It had always been his house that he had allowed me to live in, until I felt imprisoned by its perfection.

  I took in the impressive sweeping wrought-iron staircase and the French-inspired pendant light hanging above it. I did love that light; it was beautiful, but always so difficult to reach when a bulb needed changing. I smiled to myself as I remembered balancing precariously on the banister like some circus acrobat, broom in hand, trying to swing the light over to me. I wouldn’t miss that.

  To the left through the wide doorway was the study. I had spent many evenings in the house while Stephen was locked away in that room. It was always his private office, the desk drawers kept locked. The only time I entered was to clean, and to wax the desktop until I could see my reflection.

  I wouldn’t miss that either.

  To the right was the library, and of all the rooms in the house this was my favourite. Not because of the furnishings—they were too stuffy for me—but because of the books. I loved books, and this room was full of them. When everything had started turning to crap, and I had realised that my fantasy of a happily-ever-after was never going to happen with Stephen, I had turned to immersing myself in novels.

  I would curl up in one of the massive chairs and lose myself in someone else’s adventures. There was always romance, always a knight in shining armour to save the day and rescue the damsel in distress from the ogre.

  My ogre was Stephen.

  In the movie Shrek, the title character likens ogres to onions because they have layers. Well, with every layer of Stephen that I uncovered, I found something worse. There was no good heart beating underneath a crusty exterior; for him, it was the opposite. The face he showed was all charm and everybody loved him, but under the charm laid a monster that surfaced often when we were alone together. His temper was unmatched. His gift for knowing just the right scathing remark to cut me to the quick and render me a blubbering mess, was astounding.

  And he would never fight fair. For someone who claimed to be so clever, with far superior intelligence to mine, he always resorted to personal attacks.

  I could still remember as if it had happened only yesterday, one night after a lively discussion about some eastern European change in government and all of our guests had gone home, I had been cleaning up, quite happy that our dinner party had gone so well.

  “What the fuck was that rubbish you came out with, Tara?”

  Spinning around, I had almost dropped the pile of dishes I’d been stacking on the bench. “What do you mean?” I’d asked warily. I knew that look in his eye, and he’d not been pleased about something.

  He’d stormed over and got so close; his hot breath had flushed my cheeks. “You were trying to share an opinion when you don’t have one. You looked like an ignorant idiot, fumbling your way around. You embarrassed me in front of my associates tonight.”

  He’d looked down his pointed nose at me, disgusted.

  “At least Genevieve knows how to sit there quietly and just look pretty.” He’d looked me up and down. “There’s no hope of you looking pretty though, is there?”

&nbs
p; He’d turned to walk away and I’d let out the breath I had been holding.

  But he hadn’t been finished. “You’re lucky I put up with you. No one else would give you a second glance.”

  “Are you okay?” Kelli asked, shaking me out of my melancholy. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I tried to smile. “Just taking a final walk down memory lane. A dark, deserted, scary-as-hell memory lane.”

  I took one last look around. I couldn’t see any further into the house from where I stood, but I knew it intimately. I had spent many days and long nights rattling around these lonely rooms, making sure it was just right.

  And now, I couldn’t wait to leave.

  A gentle hand touched my arm. “Are you ready then?” Kelli asked.

  Nodding to my best friend, I thanked the heavens for the millionth time for sending her to me. “Yep, let’s go,” I said, smiling.

  I had my best friend, my sanity and the chance of a new beginning.

  I was a survivor.

  Turning off the light in the stairwell, I plunged the house into darkness and closed the front door behind me.

  We ran to the car as the drizzling rain came down around us. I threw my overstuffed suitcase onto the backseat and quickly jumped in. It was early September in Melbourne, so the rain wouldn’t last long. If there were one thing Melbourne was famous for, it was four seasons in one day.

  As we drove back to Kelli’s tiny apartment, I watched the raindrops make their descent down the car window. I traced the track one had left behind with my finger, as I thought back to when Stephen and I had first met.

  It was just over two years ago, when I had been at a bar with some girlfriends who I had studied with at the Victorian School of the Arts. All of us single, just enjoying ourselves, and the attention of a couple of different groups of guys at nearby tables. I had looked over at the bar, trying to catch the barman’s attention to signal for another round, but instead caught the eye of a man who was standing by himself at the end of the bar. He’d been dressed in a smart, expensive-looking suit with an understated tie. He’d looked polished.

  His gaze hadn’t wavered when our eyes met. It was thrilling and a little disconcerting. I should have listened to my gut back then; it was telling me that something wasn’t quite right, but I’d been intrigued, and had pointed him out to my friends at the table. They’d all turned around at once, and while that may have made some men divert their focus, or at least react in some way, Stephen didn’t. His eyes had never faltered; they’d remained fixated on me.

  “Go over to him and tell him to stop staring, it’s creepy,” Jessica said.

  I’d laughed and turned to the girls, who’d all seemed to share the sentiment.

  “Don’t you think it’s kinda hot?” I’d asked.

  “NO!” they’d said in unison. “He’s weird.”

  I’d shrugged and had tried to ignore him for the rest of the evening, managing for the most part to not look in his direction, although I’d constantly been able to feel his eyes burning into the back of my head.

  As we’d been leaving the bar, the mysterious stranger had finally approached and insisted that I stay for a drink with him.

  “Excuse me,” he’d said in a clipped tone from behind me.

  I’d turned around as we were making our way to the door, speaking as I did so. “Yes,” I’d replied brightly.

  He’d been smiling at me, but the smile hadn’t quite reached his grey eyes. My grin had faltered before I’d slipped into performance mode, and plastered a stage smile on my face.

  “I’ve been watching you all night,” he’d said, charmingly, “flirting with these boys.” His eyes had flicked towards the guys we had been talking to. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  “Oh, um …” I glanced over at Jessica who was still holding the door open for me. “We were just leaving,” I’d said apologetically.

  Jessica walked back towards me with her hand outstretched, as if she were going to snatch me away.

  “Please, I’ve been waiting all night for a chance to speak to you. Just one drink, all right.”

  It hadn’t been a request, more like an instruction. He’d taken hold of my hand before Jessica could reach me, and steered me over to a little table in the corner.

  I’d waved nervously to Jessica to let her know I was okay, but she hadn’t looked convinced. She’d come over and told me she could drop me home, giving me the chance to leave if I wanted to.

  “I’ll make sure she gets home in one piece,” Stephen had told Jessica politely, and I’d shrugged and grinned at her, totally captivated by him.

  After that night, my life changed.

  Looking back on our first encounter, through wiser eyes, he had been dismissive of Jessica; I just hadn’t seen it at the time. I had been fascinated by this mystery man and found his confidence exciting. I’d never had anyone take control and be forceful before, and I’d wanted to see where it would lead.

  He had been charming and intelligent, and I’d felt like I could learn so much from him. He had spoken of things I knew nothing about, and seemed more than willing to patiently explain things and teach me.

  He was a man of the world, while I had lived a relatively sheltered life, and I grasped his worldliness with wide-eyed innocence.

  Little by little, Stephen had moulded me to become the person he’d wanted me to be, and in the beginning I had let him.

  I had been spellbound and found Stephen’s air of confidence alluring; he’d known what he wanted and went after it, no holds barred. One of those things that he had wanted was me, and I had been flattered that an attractive, older man was interested in me. I was twenty-two years old at the time, and had only dated a couple of guys my own age. They were still trying to decide what to do with their lives. Stephen, on the other hand, was already successful as a political consultant. But that air of confidence soon showed itself as arrogance, and my awe of him at times became fear. He knew what he wanted and did not have a conscience when it came to achieving his goal.

  Slowly his controlling nature started to surface.

  He hadn’t liked the way I’d dressed—it was too bright and flirty. He would make disparaging remarks about my outfits until it got to the point where I was asking for his opinion or permission on just about everything. As a treat he’d bought me a new wardrobe of clothes of his choosing. My colourful clothes had disappeared from the closet and had been replaced with the very expensive, drab new ones. My heart sank at the monotone options placed before me, but I didn’t want to complain and seem ungrateful, so I’d accepted that if I wanted to look professional, that was how I needed to dress.

  He preferred me to be natural, so eventually I’d stopped wearing make-up and styling my long chestnut hair, instead favouring a neat ponytail, which had seemed to be the only style he’d approved of.

  He’d offered to send me on cooking courses because my cooking efforts needed improvement. In his eyes, my passion for music was frivolous and pointless.

  “Where is your music going to take you? You’re not good enough to do it professionally. You should focus your attention on something more constructive,” he had advised, so I’d stopped playing my beloved piano.

  My only reprieve had been when he’d gone away on business, which thankfully happened more and more often. He would usually call while he was away to check up on me. If I was out and missed the call, a terrible fight would ensue when he returned, so in the end, to keep the peace, I would just stay home. He didn’t like my friends anyway, always finding something else that we’d needed to do on the nights I’d made plans with them.

  So over time we’d drifted apart as I’d declined my friends’ invitations for drinks and clubbing.

  It’s funny looking back on it now. If it had happened all at once, I wouldn’t have stood for it. I was always a very outgoing, vibrant person who laughed easily and often, before he came along. But when it happens slowly day by day, chipping away at the very core of you, i
t is less noticeable. Until it gets to the point where one day you look in the mirror and don’t recognise yourself anymore, but are too beaten down to do anything about it. I had morphed into an insecure, shell of myself, the light in my eyes almost extinguished. My hopes and dreams had slipped away and I had lost myself somewhere along the way. The only thing I’d lived for had been his approval, which never came. I’d been constantly trying to do better for someone who it seemed just couldn’t be pleased.

  The turning point had come when his infidelities became more frequent and he’d stopped trying to hide them. He’d instead blamed me for driving him to it because of my inadequacy in the bedroom. My inexperience, which he had been pleased about initially, soon became a negative in his eyes. I had tried so hard to make him happy—hell I would have literally swung from the chandelier if it had helped—but it just wasn’t enough. In the end, the act of cheating was something I just couldn’t tolerate from a partner, and I made up my mind to leave.

  It had taken only one quick conversation with Kelli for her to declare, “Finally! Let’s do it Friday while he’s away.”

  That one sentence had filled my stomach with excited butterflies. “Okay, are you sure I can stay with you?” I had asked, nervously.

  Kelli had flung her arms around me. “For as long as you like.” She’d stepped back and held my shoulders. “You are so much better than the life you’ve been living. You’ll see, you’ll have gorgeous men knocking down the door to meet you.”

  I hadn’t believed a word she’d said, but that didn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face from ear to ear.

  So at last it was Friday and I was making my escape.

  AS SOON as I entered Kelli’s tiny one-bedroom apartment, I felt a great weight lift from my shoulders.

  “Right,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Welcome home.”

  She grinned and gave me a hug. “Everything will be fine. You’ve made the first step, and that’s the hardest. Dump your suitcase in the corner of my room while I get us a drink. I’ve cleaned out a drawer for you to use and made some space in the wardrobe for hanging stuff.”

  Dumping my bag as instructed, I went back into the living area.