I Am Julianne E-Book

Barbara Fonte

• Herausgeber: Youcanprint
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

When Julianne Rose meets the charismatic James Dalton, she believes she's found the man of her dreams. But their fairytale romance shatters when she discovers James and his family are entangled in a dangerous web of organized crime. Julianne's seemingly normal life fractured, revealing a chilling mosaic of secrets and lies. Haunted by a past she barely remembers and hunted by those seeking the truth she unknowingly possesses, Julianne must unravel the mystery of her true identity to survive. Her journey takes her from the glittering heights of New York society to the shadowy corners of Italy and the lush, perilous landscapes of Venezuela, where she faces a harrowing choice: embrace the legacy she never knew or fight to break free from the darkness that threatens to consume her.

Leseprobe

Index

Foreword

Chapter 1 – Julianne Rose

Chapter 2 – James

Chapter 3 – The Family

Chapter 4 – Something’s Changing

Chapter 5 – The Proposal

Chapter 6 – Ghosts from the Past

Chapter 7 – Angela

Chapter 8 – Jason

Chapter 9 – Illusions

Chapter 10 – Friends

Chapter 11 – Ouroboros

Chapter 12 – Travel to Italy

Chapter 13 – The Discovery

Chapter 14 – The Turning Point

Chapter 15 – Outcome

1Julianne Rose

“Dreams represent our deepest desires and unspeakable aspirations,” Julianne smiled as she remembered her father’s voice and saw his serious face repeating that phrase to her for the umpteenth time. “Is a dream a lie if it doesn’t come true?” Even the Rock Boss sang it.

She was sipping coffee and looking out the window on the forty-fourth floor of her office in Lower Manhattan. Down there in the distance was the Statue of Liberty, the symbol of her childhood dreams; she imagined it from up there, as imposing as when she had seen it the first time she had been to New York with her parents. It had been an unforgettable trip—the visit to Ellis Island and the immigrants’ museum, the search for their Italian ancestors among the endless list of names, and then the photo under “Miss Liberty” with her father pointing at the Statue with his finger and uttering the fateful phrase. Julianne’s dream had always been to live in the Big Apple, even though she loved the California weather.

“Julie, I’d be done if that’s all there is,” Susy peeked into her office smiling.

“Thank you, Susy. Take this envelope to be sent by courier and have a nice weekend.”

“Are you going to the beach?” she added.

“Yes, I think I’m going on a trip with Tom, a surprise. He told me to take my swimsuit and tennis shoes!” she exclaimed, laughing.

“Sounds nice... Tell me all about it! Say hello to Tom, and have fun!”

With a big smile, her assistant said goodbye and closed the door.

Watching the lights of the city that came on, little by little, from the skyscrapers of Lower Manhattan always made her euphoric and nostalgic at the same time...

A memory brought Julianne back to when she traveled and met such interesting people... Long ago.

She finished writing her notes for the next week and sank into the soft red swivel chair, stretching her legs under the desk, finished sipping her cold coffee, and closed her eyes for a while. Images from a few years earlier came to mind: she was in Thailand for a pleasure trip with her friend Melanie. She had met a wonderful man named Tom, like her secretary’s boyfriend; she didn’t know more. They had spent about ten days together and had pleasant conversations. Although he was happily married, as he said, he had not shied away from making advances toward her and Melanie, and they had exchanged some effusion between the markets of Bangkok and the excursions into the jungle. That was all over when they got home. And yet she remembered Tom... Tom.

“No, I’m not Tom, I’m Robert, Julianne,” suddenly appeared the voice of her colleague as he entered her office. “You have to excuse me, but since you didn’t answer the phone and I didn’t hear you leave, I took the liberty of coming and seeing if you were OK.”

“Never mind, Robert,” Julianne exclaimed, waking up from her dreams. “No problem, I must have forgotten to tell Susy to divert the line to my phone, and she never does anything by herself, you know. Besides, I didn’t even hear you knock,” Julie smiled.

“Oh yes, you were thinking of a certain Tom, or am I wrong? Anyway, I didn’t knock, Julianne, you know I wanted to spy on you, trying to steal some ideas to reveal at the next meeting...” he said laughing. “But let me tell you, you’re even more charming when you’re focused,” he said with a curious look.

“Thank you, Rob, for stopping by,” she chuckled.

“But wouldn’t anyone be jealous with all these compliments?”

“My wife certainly isn’t, with all those friends who call her day and night...”

“What friends? They are her students, Rob,” she laughed heartily, “stop joking! Hey, what can I offer you to drink? My coffee has become undrinkable, and now it’s time for an aperitif. Come on, let’s have an Italian-style white martini!” exclaimed Julianne, getting up from her chair and going to the fridge to look for some appetizers while Rob took his glasses and poured a drink.

“How’s Carol? And what about little Sam and Kevin?”

“Carol is surviving the two plagues and can’t wait for them to finally go to school too. She often asks me when you’re coming to dinner with us, you know. But I know you don’t want to,” Rob smiled.

“To your health,” he said, raising the glass Julie was handing him.

“Thank you, I really need it. You know, lately, I’ve been feeling very tired and distracted. I find myself on the street not knowing where I have to go. I’m distracted by nonsensical thoughts.”

“I know what you need, Julie: a handsome blond man with eyes as blue as the sea, right?!”

“Are you kidding me?!” Julianne said with a fist on Robert’s shoulder. She smiled and took another sip while biting into a crouton, but she knew Rob was right: there was no serious relationship in her life, she felt terribly lonely, but she hadn’t found the right man yet.

It was almost seven o’clock when Julie and Robert got up to leave the office and start another weekend, which for Julianne would have been like many others: she would have spent it at home watching old DVDs of Italian movies that she had found in a small shop in Brooklyn, and perhaps she would have gone to the beach to visit her friend Melanie, with whom, in addition to travels, she shared the same heart problems, a passion for rock music and modern art. In the summer, Melanie would go to the Hamptons to her parents’ house and always invite Julie to the “VIP paradise.”

That summer was still not very hot in New York. Although it was the beginning of July, the air was still springy and warm. Julie wasn’t going to join Mel at the beach because she was feeling a little down, and Mel was always full of life; she didn’t want to disappoint her friend. She went down to the garage with Robert, meeting the night porter who was starting his service. There were only a few cars left in the huge underground parking lot of Textile; by now, all the staff had already left for the Fourth of July long weekend, which fell on Monday.

“Hey, Julie! You remember that you don’t work on Monday, don’t you?!?” Robert yelled.

“I just remembered it when I read the posters on the bulletin board, Rob. I had forgotten it, as always! Thank you, and have a nice weekend. Say hello to Carol and the boys...”

“Thank you, Julie, and... Have a great time!” said Robert, waving as he climbed into his white Cadillac.

Julianne smiled and sat wearily in the driver’s seat of the gleaming red BMW coupe she had rented for the weekend in case she felt like going to the Hamptons. The renter had been so kind to her when he learned that she was of Italian descent and had asked her many questions, maybe a few too many. He said that she looked like somebody he used to know. Anyhow, she remembered very few of the years she had spent in Italy. She had smiled at him and thought the man was nice.

Having no certain roots and memories of her own past made her sad, although she had a happy life: a brilliant job, a house in Manhattan, caring friends... And a man, she would have added, but maybe it was precisely that lack that made all the other good things vanish.

As she left the garage, she was greeted by a wave from the new caretaker, an almost thirty-year-old boy of Australian origin who had been working there for a short time. Julianne had been one of the few people to talk to him, and Robbie, as he was called, had been very impressed and treated her like a special person. Every night when Julianne went out, she hoped to catch sight of him to say goodbye: it was a good omen for her.

Thinking of Robbie and Tom—the man from Bangkok—she took the road toward Brooklyn and sailed along the East River in a northerly direction toward home. For a while, she saw the face of John—her musician ex-husband—but she pushed the image away. She put the top down and turned up the radio while playing her all-time idol Springsteen’s “Born to Run.”

It was so pleasant driving in New York at night and looking at the skyscrapers, the endless lights of the city that gave her energy. Smiling at the frenzy of the unknown number of taxis and limousines whizzing by honking, watching the thousands of people who flowed across the street. She loved Manhattan and felt very lucky to live there.

She felt free and happy again as she drove home, her refuge where no one would disturb her, away from stress and problems for the next three full days.

2James

A black limousine sped past her and cut her off, distracting from her thoughts. She couldn’t help swearing, but it disappeared just as quickly—maybe carrying such an important fellow or a politician, an actor or a singer? She also used to travel in such luxury cars when she accompanied John to his concerts, when he had become famous. She smiled as she thought back to their first meeting in the pub where he sang with his band and she was working for a while. That was when the band was at the beginning, and they used to travel in a funny old van.

In the meantime, she had crossed the Williamsburg Bridge, gone through the tunnel to Long Island, and reached Sixty-First Street, toward Lexington and Central Park.

Julianne looked at an entrance to Central Park and thought it had been a long time since she had taken a ride there. She remembered an old lady, perhaps her grandmother, who had taught her how to ride a bike when she was a little girl. At the next traffic light, a few intersections from home, where the green light lasted a very few moments and immediately turned red, Julianne automatically slowed down before reaching it, but she realized almost immediately that a large car was approaching her at high speed and trying to go through the green light. She tried to move her car to the side of the road, but after a few meters, with a loud screech of tires, she was grazed by the large black limousine, and her car was pushed to the side.

She opened the car door and walked furiously toward the driver of the limo that had hit her, ready to rant, sure that it was the fault of one of those spoiled daddy’s boys who had told the driver to speed. The large car crashed into a tree on the side of the road and got stuck with a wheel on the pavement.

As Julianne strode closer, she heard the driver talking to roadside assistance, saying he didn’t know where he was. Julianne pointed to the sign the car had hit, with the name of the street. She couldn’t see his face, but through the half-open window, she noticed a tattoo on his left wrist illuminated by the streetlight. Then the man opened the door, and as he got out, he began to apologize to her and explain that he did not remember the traffic light, that he was late and didn’t realize that he was at the wrong intersection. Julianne reluctantly accepted the apology and tried to see who was sitting behind the dark windows, but she couldn’t, so she returned to her car, annoyed by what had happened. She checked the damage: the bumper was dented, and the entire left side was scratched. She wondered if the top would close again.

She sighed and cursed at the limousine as a tall, distinguished man in an Italian-cut suit walked toward her. He had brown hair, and as he approached, she saw his beautiful blue eyes staring back at her. He didn’t look like a famous fellow or even young enough to be a spoiled kid. She waited suspiciously for him and held out her trembling hand to the stranger.

“James Dalton,” the charming man introduced himself, uncovering a bewitching smile.

“Julianne Rose,” Julie said angrily, shivering at the touch of his hand.

She tried not to look at him as he took out a business card to leave his insurance information. “Please forgive my chauffeur, Miss Rose,” the man said, reading her name. “Do you mind if we exchange data over there while my driver looks for a solution?” he said, pointing to the sign of a nearby bar.

Julianne was unsure for a moment—she was tired and couldn’t wait to go home, and she was irritated, but this unexpected kindness calmed her down, and she accepted the invitation. Without moving the car, she sent a message to the car rental company, checked the operation of the soft top, and walked toward Fancy’s Café, noticing that guy’s interested look as he waited for her.

When they arrived in front of the bar, he opened the door, and once he was seated, he loosened his tie. He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. They sat down at one of the few free tables, given it was the busy hour. Julianne peeked around a bit and calmed down when she saw someone she knew. The waitress arrived and, greeting her as Miss Julie, turned to her for the drinks.

“I think they know you already here, don’t they?” said James, referring to the waitress.

“In fact, I often have breakfast here. I live not far away. They have wonderful croissants in the morning, like you can eat only in France.”

“Allow me, what a beautiful French accent. Your pronunciation sounds European to me, doesn’t it?!”

“I’m Italian by origin, and in the family we spoke Italian and French. Every European reference makes me nostalgic, even if I don’t have many memories,” Julianne said, trying to relax a little.

That James attracted her; he had an irresistible way of speaking and elegance, but she didn’t know whether to trust him. She had noticed a wedding ring on his finger and couldn’t stand another Tom from Bangkok. She sipped the martini she had brought to her while he savored a big sip of beer. She paused for a moment looking at the foam of the beer and went back to thinking again about John, her ex-husband, when he would get drunk with friends and then go out to come back the next morning with “a beautiful cue for a new song,” as he said every time.

After a while, the young driver peeped out and nodded to announce that he had solved the problem. James finished sipping the beer, invited her out without ever taking his eyes off her, and told her that he hoped to meet her again in other circumstances, gently kissing her hand.

Julianne watched as the tow truck took the limo away and read the car rental company’s response message, which told her to move the car to the nearest parking lot and wait for further instructions. So she waited for them before getting into a cab and reaching a parking lot near her house, a few hundred meters from the bar, still thinking about John and that James...

She crossed the street, went up to the fifth floor, and on the landing, she found Rocky stretching himself. Hearing her coming, he let out a meow that sounded like a moan, and the handsome white Persian scratched the door to enter the house; he must have gotten out through some window and had been locked out for who knows how long. He ran to the kitchen in a moment and dived into the kibble still intact from the morning, and discontented, he began to meow.

Julie looked at him laughing. She wasn’t hungry—after the two aperitifs, the accident, she didn’t feel like cooking... She felt like a little girl who had impressed a beautiful, elegant, and polite guy. For a moment, she thought that her life might take a different turn, have new interests, and maybe find someone who would make her feel important. She would have liked to have a real family, relatives to talk to and share Sunday lunches with, go to the park with her nephews and buy Christmas gifts together. Since her dad Marc had died and her mom Sarah had returned to Italy, she no longer had any relatives and felt lonely. She took a cornflake bar and began to munch; she smiled thinking of the picture of the model family she had just imagined. She poured water for Rocky and went into the living room. On the answering machine, there were two messages: one from Charly, her artist friend, who informed her that he would be away for the holiday weekend and that they would not be able to see each other. The second message was from Melanie, who confirmed that she was going to the beach with a new friend and invited her to join them. Considering her new friend, Julie was certain she wouldn’t go to the Hamptons and became convinced that single life was easier.

She put on a soft, extra-large jogging suit, suitable for watching TV on the couch, and looked for the most comfortable position between the cushions. The living area overlooked the terrace garden, almost as large as the apartment, with a big glass door that revealed the buildings opposite. There was a sofa bed for any guests, then there was a large double bedroom and a bathroom.

It was almost ten o’clock when she turned on the TV, and flipping through the channels, she didn’t find anything interesting, so she decided to watch a DVD of an old Italian movie that she had found in a vintage shop: it was about two friends whose car broke down at a railway crossing, and when they got out to take shelter under a tree in the middle of a meadow, they found themselves, without realizing it, in the Middle Ages.

The feature film had just arrived at the scene of the thunderstorm with the two boys running to take shelter under the big tree when the phone rang, and Julie let the answering machine go: “Good evening, Miss Rose,” said a not completely unknown voice, “I hope I am not inappropriate in calling you at this hour and you will be even more curious to know how I got your home number...” Julie thought for a moment that she had written her home address on the paper at the pub... “Being interested in seeing you again as soon as possible,” the message continued, “I couldn’t wait until next week to call you at the office, and so I did some research. If you haven’t recognized me yet, I’m James Dalton, the annoying man who crashed into your car a few hours ago. I wanted to apologize and invite you...” BEEEP: the sound of the answering machine interrupted the message. Too bad, Julianne was having fun listening to what the stranger wanted to tell her. And she didn’t even answer the next call when no message was left. She fell asleep almost halfway through the movie and woke up when Rocky jumped on her belly to play. She realized that the movie had been over for a while and forced herself to go to bed. She turned off the lights and TV and ordered Rocky to go to his kennel, but the feline ran to the room to settle on his owner’s bed. He asked to be cuddled and Julianne obliged, falling asleep to the sound of purring.

The first rays of sunshine on her face were the next morning’s wake-up call, and Julianne smiled at the new day, stretching out on the bed, thinking about the phone call from the night before. She stretched out her arm on the bed to make sure she was still single and had slept alone. She smiled, touching the soft fur of the cat who woke up by her side. “It’s time to get up, sleepyhead!” she exclaimed. She turned on the coffee machine, heated the oven to cook a croissant from the freezer, and opened the door to get the newspaper, which was delivered every morning. A bouquet of pink roses slipped at her feet as she opened the door. A big smile spread across her face; she looked around the landing, but there was no one there. She hoped her neighbors had seen the flowers; it was nice to have a lover. She sniffed them and smiled, curious to read the note: that James Dalton was inviting her to a pool party the same evening. She smiled with satisfaction at the interest aroused and told herself that it had been very quick. But she would have decisively refused.

She had breakfast leafing through the newspaper and peeking at the bouquet of roses she had placed in a beautiful blue crystal vase in the center of the table.

She looked at the replica of Van Gogh’s sunflowers that hung in the hall and told herself that those roses weren’t bad either. The phone rang again, and this time Julie answered. “Oh, Miss Julie, I am glad you are at home, I hope not to disturb you. Forgive me, but I couldn’t resist, I wanted to invite you to a pool party tonight...”

“Yes, I just got the invitation, and thank you for the flowers,” Julie said, “but I just can’t accept your invitation, thank you,” she added firmly.

“I assure you, you would have a good time.”