Paradise Coast

By Renee Novelle

Paradise books, #1

Welcome to Naples, Florida! Where the beaches are perfect and every day is a vacation. But in this small town paradise that serves as a playground for the rich and elite, not everything is as beautiful as it first appears on the surface.

Offering an irreverent, and often sarcastic, glimpse into all the sexy scandals that go on behind closed doors, Paradise Coast, delves into the shadows of another way of life and proves that money doesn’t always buy happiness. Following five couples as they navigate their way through love, expectations and revenge, this story explores how different personalities react when faced with unsavory realizations about their current states of affairs.

Authors Note: This is not a romance. There are no alpha heroes who swoop in to save the day, or brooding bad boys who are easily converted into marriage material. If that’s what you’re searching for, then keep looking. Inside these pages is an unparalleled drama with many happy endings, but not so many happily-ever-afters. At least, not in the traditional sense... It’s a story about quick-witted women who find creative ways of empowering themselves and rising above their conflicting situations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.S. Novelle
• Release date: Apr 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310894640

Renee Novelle

Formerly a freelance journalist, Novelle has found placement of her pieces in both online and print publications since 2008. Additionally, she has written multiple screenplays, and contributed her writing to many non-profit and for profit organizations. She has launched several blogs over the years, which garnered international attention.In 2013, Novelle returned to her first love – fiction. Writing under the names Renee Novelle and R.S. Novelle, she has a publication schedule that includes Psychological Thrillers, Suspense, Paranormal Fiction, Contemporary Women’s fiction, Chick Lit, and New Adult.Though she received her Bachelor’s of Science in Communication, summa cum laude, she considers herself a constant student of the written word. She’s an avid reader, an enthusiastic quote poster, and rarely takes “no” as a final answer. She has an unhealthy obsession for theater, dance, music and art, and strongly believes that wine is simultaneously the beginning of, and resolution to, all of life’s problems. She believes in following dreams, and that in the end, you always end up where you're meant to be.You can find out more about her books and connect with her here:Website: www.RSNovelle.comGoodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/RSNovelleFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/ReneeNovelleTwitter: https://twitter.com/RS_Novelle

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Paradise Coast

By Renee Novelle

PUBLISHED BY:

Renee Novelle on Smashwords

Copyright © 2014 by R.S. Novelle


SMASHWORDS EDITION

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
 may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever 
without the express written permission of the publisher 
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The purchaser of this book is subject to the condition that he/she shall in no way resell it, nor any part of it, nor make copies of it to distribute freely.

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

Cover design by April Cosimano

Find out more about this author, and any upcoming works, at the following sites:

Website: www.RSNovelle.com

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

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

Twitter: https://twitter.com/RS_Novelle

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Additional Titles

About the Author

Chapter One:

The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing But the Truth

(#OrIsIt)

If New York is the city that never sleeps, then Naples is the city that has been on life support while in a coma for decades, and is one breath away from dying.

And that’s putting it nicely.

Tucked into a little alcove along the Gulf Coast of Southwest Florida, it’s a quiet town with a transient personality that only sputters to life during those few peak months when snow-weary travelers caravan down to their second homes. Yet year round, it serves as a playground to the rich and those who think they’re rich, while gleaming from the abundance of Mediterranean-style McMansions, private yacht clubs, and a plethora of luxury imported cars – the Bentley Continental being one of the local favorites.

Even the designer-breed dogs are named Bentley.

On any given day, under the brutal warmth of the fiery sun, you can find women strolling through the shops at Waterside with Louis Vuitton, Cartier and Saks shopping bags decorating their arms while their husbands take in a round of golf at one of the gazillion PGA courses the area has provided. The restaurants are extravagant – and extravagantly overpriced – while the cultural offerings are watered down enough to tempt the conservative majority.

But the jewel of Naples, the object of affection that draws young and old, privileged and denied, are the pristine beaches that transform this cultural black hole into a virtual paradise. Frothy drinks are consumed by the hundreds as the sun sets to a serenade of applause each night, a truly magical spectacle if ever there has been one. As the waves lap gently at the long stretches of bank, the crystalline sound of laughter dances around the edges of the soft southern breeze. And in those few blissful hours, all worries are forgotten. All sins forgiven. And life continues on just as easily and perfectly as it always has.

At least...that’s what they want you to think. It’s the dream they sell you on – quite successfully, too – if you’re wealthy, privileged, and conservative by nature. That if you live here long enough, all the troubles of the real world begin to melt away. And in this time capsule of a town where white hair is everywhere and 60 is the new 30, nothing can ever go wrong – as long as you have sufficient funds in your account, the right memberships under your name, and a wealth of expensive toys at your disposal. The rules of the outside world don’t have to apply.

And the facade is all together fascinating.

Because behind closed doors, things are rarely as perfect and conservative as they appear. And while the older generations are busy spending their last moments enjoying all that God’s waiting room has to offer, the younger generations grow increasingly anxious and restless. They yearn for something more, something different, something exciting.

In essence, they suffer from the common disease that most of the privileged-since-birth eventually succumb to: Boredom. Not the kind of boredom that can be alleviated by riding a bike or reading a book. Not even the kind of boredom that can be doused with a good night out in fun company. This is the kind of boredom that creeps into your soul and sucks out every molecule of life. The kind that rips you apart and leaves you longing. Hungry. Desperate...though desperate for what is hard to identify. And so the younger residents busy themselves by self-prescribing with plenty of sex and pharmaceutical cocktails to numb the effects.

And while it works - for a minute - it also creates a culture of addicts. Addicts who will do anything for that momentary sensory high. And that kind of behavior so often leads to heartbreak. Which eventually turns into the desire for revenge - at least, among some...

Take Roger for example.

With his salt and pepper hair cut close to his scalp, and a custom Gucci suit tailored to perfection, he stands as the ideal example of what a debonair gentlemen in his late sixties should look like. It was while a partner at the most prestigious law firm in New York that he acquired his passion for all things art related, and though forced into an early retirement thanks to his health condition, his desire to support the theatric community hadn’t been satiated in the fifteen years since he’d transplanted himself in The South. And so he quickly found his way onto the board of Artis Naples, the area’s only performing arts hall and art museum worth noting.

Once settled into his new position, he made every attempt to wield his influence in the boardroom as successfully as he had in the courtroom. And this included his attempt to pass along his passion to his now twenty-something-year-old son, Alex, who had found himself pulled along to every possible performance since his early teens with the hope that a spark would ignite. One day. Maybe.

Which is where Alex found himself on this balmy spring evening.

As he slouched in his seat within the first row of the center box, he peered down at the dancers who were beginning to fill the stage, the expression of indifference befitting a trust fund baby smeared across his sun drenched face. He’d seen this all before, every single performance, and the efforts here always paled in comparison to what he remembered about New York. As far as he was concerned, this was a waste of time. And the only thing that could be gained from his attendance was his father’s approval, which he desperately needed in order to continue the generous monthly withdraws from his trust.

Lifting a plastic flute to his lips, he emptied it’s bubbly contents and sighed deeply, a subtle way of alerting his father of his distaste for the monotony of the moment. The monotony of his life.

Perk up, son. Roger’s gravely voice accompanied the nudge into his son’s arm. If you open up your mind a little more, you might find something that you like about the show.

Though he raised his eyebrows to acknowledge that his father was speaking, the low murmur coming from the back of Alex’s throat conveyed his reluctance at the suggestion. If you’d seen Carmen once, you’d seen it a million times, right? He could probably do the damn dance in his sleep. As the lights lowered into complete darkness, he glanced at his empty drink, wondering how long it would be before he could sneak out unnoticed for a refill.

At just that moment, as the stage erupted into movement, his interest was piqued by a formidable female form that glided across the stage, commanding his attention from the first flick of her wrist. He felt his body wakening, particle by particle, as it hummed with renewed energy. Suddenly, his intense eyes couldn’t get enough of her, and he felt his dry lips part slowly as his jaw opened in amazement. Straightening a little in his seat, he gave her his full attention.

She wasn’t the principle dancer, clearly. No, Alex had met enough of those through fundraisers and socials to know they were a patronizing lot, coy in their aloofness and completely unreachable without the right amount of effort and attention. No one had the time, or patience, for that. But rather, it was one of the soloists who’d enchanted his evening. She was the rare embodiment of grace and seduction, poise and provocation, and she was clearly upstaging every other dancer out there, unintentional though it may have been. As her agile limbs twirled and leapt across the stage, Alex began wondering just how far her capabilities extended, and if he’d be able to arrange a private performance later that evening.

He was fairly confident he could.

Shooting a quick sideways glance over at his father, he was reassured that the older man hadn’t caught the glimmer of pure lust that peered from his son’s eyes. The darkness in the theater was working to his advantage. Maybe his father had been right, he considered to himself as he leaned forward, subtly adjusting himself in the process. Maybe the arts could be interesting after all, he just had to find his niche. And as he considered all the possibilities this new perspective could afford him, he began calculating exactly what it would take to get closer to this dancer in particular during the reception that was set to follow.

There was no mistaking her body, Alex decided as he peered at her across the room through the white tufts of the sophisticated crowd. True, she’d changed from her black lace costume into a more appropriate cocktail dress, and had washed her face clean of the heavy stage make-up. But she stood out just as much now in a room packed with people as she had while twirling around under the bright lights of the stage. Her eyes. The enticing, flirty curve of her mouth as she smiled. Even the soft glow of her porcelain skin from the exhilaration of her performance. Every detail of her was exquisite. And he was devouring every last one.

But her perfect Balanchine style body with its barely perceptible curves and toothpick thin limbs was making it difficult to gauge her age, Alex thought as he sipped generously from the flute offered by a passing waiter. She was clearly old enough to have pulled rank away from the corps de ballet, but young enough to still have a flourishing performance career in front of her. She didn’t appear hardened yet from a decade of extreme dieting, nor were her eyes naïve, dazzled from the innocence of someone on a first tour. There was something more there, something substantial. Something invigorating about her that he needed to get closer to.

Which, if he was estimating it correctly, made her just about the ideal age: old enough to know what she was doing under the sheets, but young enough to still be a lot of fun at it.

There was something different about soloists anyway, Alex had come to learn, a smile crossing his lips as he continued to watch her interact with the Botox injected crowd. They weren’t too narcissistic, not yet. But they were driven. Eager. Hungry for the top. He could see all that and more dancing around in her large bright eyes as she conversed with the older men who flirted less-than-innocently at her side while their wives bid on autographed pointe shoes. Not that he could blame them. One look at those sultry lips conjured all sorts of images, it was hard not to act on them. Draining his glass, he decided he’d allow them a few more minutes with her before luring her away. The longer she stayed