Just This One Summer
The Montebellos Book Two
All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s very-vivid, non-stop imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention (mwah-ha-ha).
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
The illustration on the cover of this book features smokin’ hot model/s and, as gorgeous as they are, bears no relation to the characters described within.
Any medical advice in this book, related by characters or otherwise, exists to further the story and is not necessarily based in fact. Medical advice quoted in this book should not be taken as anything other than narrative invention; please do not rely on romance novel characters to inform your medical decisions! If pregnant, seek professional, qualified advice.
First published 2019
(c) Clare Connelly
Cover Credit: adobestock/theartofphoto & rudi197
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Content Warning
JUST THIS ONE SUMMER explores the fallout from domestic violence and some readers may find this triggering.
First and foremost this is a romance novel, filled with happy, passionate, beautiful escapism and the promise of how much can go right if you let yourself hope.
Prologue
Six months ago, London
SHE DIDN’T PACK MUCH. One bag, just enough to throw over the shoulder and carry with ease. Enough to keep her going until she found her feet. Enough to help her get away – and to get away quickly. Madeleine left without looking back, because looking back hurt too much.
If she looked back far enough, she’d see Michael as he’d been when they first met. Charming, handsome, kind, everything she’d ever thought she wanted.
But new memories had overwritten those quickly enough. The smell of alcohol on his breath. The way his voice went quiet and soft when he was angry; somehow, that was so much more frightening than when he yelled. The certainty his temper was always worse when he’d bet big and lost bigger. And finally, the feeling of his hand around her throat, the way breath had burned in her lungs, the way her eyes had ached, darkness encroaching until she’d remembered she had legs and had lifted one, kneeing him in the groin. It hadn’t been hard but it had been enough.
She’d never fought back before. Then again, he’d never made it so imperative that she did.
Looking over her shoulder was an impulse. She did it now, twisting her head so her blonde ponytail flicked in the breeze, making sure no one she knew witnessed her step onto the bus. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her breathing rushed. As the bus whistled out of Putney, it occurred to Madeleine that she had no idea where she was going.
She knew though that she would no longer be Madeleine Gray. She’d be Maddie. Someone different to this. Someone stronger. Someone who’d never be fooled again. Someone who was independent. Solitary. Safe.
She watched from the window as t
he bus rounded the corner. Shops she knew so well – the Tesco express, the bank, the post office, a Wagamamas, all so familiar to her, but all relegated to the back of her mind, to the past.
Another bus and an overground and she’d arrived at Heathrow, and by then, Maddie had a plan.
It didn’t come to her perfectly formed, but when she closed her eyes and imagined peace and tranquillity, she saw a place with a musical name, a place she’d found herself wondering about for no reason in particular, a place she was eager now to go to. It didn’t make sense, it was as though her soul was being called on in some way, and for lack of other ideas, she was content to listen.
Ondechiara.
Even the name was somehow magical. She’d read it on the bottom of the picture enough times to know it by heart. “What does it mean?” She’d asked Michael, on one of the first occasions she’d gone to his flat and seen the print.
“Clear waves. It’s perfect.” His smile had been like sunshine. Back then, he’d smiled at her often. She’d come to fear his smile though, because she knew it was a brief burst of warmth, almost always followed by a deafening thunderstorm. “The city itself is quite ancient. Cobbled streets that wind through tiny stone buildings, all brightly coloured and washed by the sea. The roofs are terracotta and the smell of citrus is everywhere. The ocean is the most striking shade of green, but as it comes into shore, the waves become clear, like glass, so you can see every grain of sand on the ocean floor.”