An Unbroken Promise: A Novel

By Ashley Frigstad

Angela Fairchild is on a trip of a lifetime in Vegas with her best friend whom is getting married, however she didn't like it when the past came to visit the Groom. Nicolas Pratt, an Ex-Army Capt. turned Business man found the woman of his dreams however it ended in a nightmare, finding Angela became his new mission, loving her was easy, keeping her was a challenge. Between her heartbroken sister and working for her family, Angela sets out to "just sleep with" Nicolas, when feelings, and love get in her way. The question is will the promise of they're love be unbroken?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491861455

Ashley Frigstad

I began writing when I was 5 years old, and ever since I’ve written stories. I fell in love with knowing other people liked me telling stories. When I was a teenager, I read romance novels, and as I grew so did my writing. It wasn’t too long ago that I lost somebody important in my life who influenced my life as well as my writing. I felt that I was closer now to my writing then I had ever been. I live in Vancouver, British Columbia. I live with my boyfriend, who encourages my writings. I work as a caregiver, a house cleaner, a volunteer, and a babysitter. I also love to bike ride in the summer and ski in the winter.

Book preview

Prologue

September 2008

You guys are going to have to have to get out of there now! Do you copy?

The blast deafened me. My commander was yelling orders at me, but I couldn’t hear. I felt something warm and sharp in my back. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see. I felt around for my fiancée, Missy Page, the love of my life—or so I thought. She reminded me of a girl I knew in grade school, Angela Fairchild… No, stop, Nicolas! Look for Missy! I thought. I found her and grabbed her ankle. Why was she on the ground? No, God no, please no! I pulled on her ankle; maybe she was passed out from the sound. Somebody should help us!

I paged back on the radio. Commander, it’s Captain Pratt. I am down. I can’t see or hear. Help us, please! I heard mumbling afterwards, and I stayed low and waited. Something grabbed me and pulled. Missy! Don’t forget Missy! Please! Only one person came, and he dragged me out; we left a fallen solider behind. I blacked out and don’t remember happened after that.

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I woke up in a MASH. I had shrapnel in my back from the blast, and my poor Missy was gone. I don’t remember much about the blast, before or after. That night I started dreaming of Missy before the blast, and then the load bang… I woke up covered in sweat. I spoke to a therapist shortly afterwards. I knew I needed help somehow, but I didn’t know how it was going to come. I prayed to God to help me, to send me an angel, to help my wounds heal and make the nightmares go away.

I called my mom a few days later and asked her how life was. She told me she was sorry to hear about Missy. To hear her pain made it more real: the woman I loved, the woman I wanted for the rest of my life, was no longer in this world. I cried with my mom. Mom, you know how to find things. Can you find a woman, Angela Fairchild? I cried as I said her name.

Darling, it’s a long shot, but I will do what I can, she told me. Nicolas, there is something else. I called a few days ago, but they told me what had happened. I will tell you now… Your father was in an accident, and I am sorry, baby, but he is no longer here.

I couldn’t believe my luck. The woman I loved and my father were gone!

Mom, I promise you, I will never love another woman as much as I did Angela Fairchild. I will find her, and love her and only her forever! I cried into the phone.

Pratt! my commander yelled as I got off the phone. Your discharge papers. He then saluted me. An honour, sir! He turned and left.

I wanted to go home, but I was in no mood to celebrate my return. Dear God, promise me a safe return, and promise me I’ll find me Angela Fairchild. Thank you, amen.

Now, where would I find her?

Chapter 1

I looked over the numbers again, and nothing added up. I was only 27, so how did this happen? Wait, I know: school. I planned my whole life to go to university, any university, to prove to the other kids in school and my step-mother that I was a somebody and not a loser. When you’re bullied a lot, that tends to be the way you think. My mother had passed, and my father married my step-mom, who saw who I and my younger sister were—and doted on my sister, Clara.

I was in trouble. I knew my parents could bail me out, but I didn’t need the guilt trip that followed. Just like my step-sister’s wedding or my career to be—I wanted to be a freelance photographer—I had saved my entire life for school, and I had enough money to work part-time. I made it though university and graduated at the top of my class.

Now I was at my best friend’s wedding, standing at an ATM, looking at my bank account, and thinking, Why do I have only $2.35 in my account when I checked last night, and it said I had $30.00 more than this? I felt silly. I looked in my savings… Nope, there was only ten cents in there. I shook my head. Now I knew why my card was rejected. I was in Vegas with my best friend since high school, and she is married, smart, funny, and skinny. That’s something I should have mentioned: I have dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, I’m 5,10, I am curvy, not big or heavy, and a size sixteen… I think. My scale and I are not on speaking terms.

How did this happen? I, Angela Meagan Fairchild, did not know. I looked at Daniela, a vision in white. Only two hours earlier, she sat with me in the bride’s room waiting for Ryan, her husband to be; he came five minutes late. She looked at me and asked, You okay?

I smiled. Everything is good. I spoke too sweetly, so she knew I was lying. It was the tone I used—a dead giveaway. She knew how hard it was for me to get here, knowing I had school debts and lawyer fees up to 50 thousand dollars. She knew my parents wouldn’t like me taking time off of my job of being a nanny for my step-sister Michelle’s kid, Tyler. But it was only one weekend, and I never get away. It was saving and saving, and bills.

She looked over at me and sighed. God, girl, you need a rich husband or boyfriend. She was right—well, half right. I needed to do the other half, to make it worth my while. Daniela whipped a hundred dollars out of her clutch.

I can’t! I protested.

Take it! I hate to see you like this. Daniela married Ryan not because he had money, but because he was the best man at Michelle’s first wedding, and he loved her. I am the maid of honour—again. Three times I had been a maid of honour, but no man for me. I didn’t need to be married. Neither would a man love me, I knew that much. My step-mother ingrained into my head that only skinny girls got married, only skinny girls won, only skinny girls got financial support from two wonderful parents. I tried so hard to make my step-mother, Bunny, see that I could be skinny, however size eight wasn’t small enough, and I was that size once—at 14 years old. I tried and tried to be small. When Michelle chose her bridesmaids, I wasn’t one of them because, and I quote, Don’t pick Angela—she is too big to fit into the dresses. I overheard Bunny while I was changing at the engagement party.

I said to myself, Forget it—I am not trying for her any longer. I started eating, and I ate a lot!

I followed the happy bride and groom. We were stopped by well wishers, other brides and brides-to-be—it was madness. I sighed and enjoyed the bliss as Ryan and Daniela would stop to kiss. I would look around at where we were. It was endless walking, and I didn’t have my flats on, so my feet were swollen and had started to blister. I had to go to our hotel before my feet gave out.

Daniela, I have to go—my feet are making me their bitch!

She smiled and said, Okay. The car is coming for all of us in five minutes. Can you wait?

Sure. We walked one more block, turned left, and found ourselves outside of New York, New York Hotel. As I looked up and down I saw that smug son of a bitch that’d ruined Michelle’s first wedding. It was Nicolas.

Chapter 2

Nicolas Michael Pratt, a 33-year-old playboy and a multi-millionaire, was born into a family who owned the richest and biggest Canadian cell phone and commutation companies. As for ruining Michelle’s wedding, he wasn’t the groom—I would have cut his throat right there at the hotel if he was. It was his younger brother, Alex, who had commitment phobia the day of the wedding. It was an hour before, and Nicolas was the only one who was with Alex all day and the night before. As he got closer, I backed up in my sliver dress. I was hot enough to chew him out. Ryan ran over to Nicolas and hugged him. God, I could be sick.

Daniela looked at me and said, He wanted to be here for Ryan

I rolled my eyes, this man knew people such as Charlie Mills. Hell, Bunny knew Charlie was married, and she still tried to set up Michelle and him. I never laughed harder when Michelle told me that story of how Charlie’s pregnant wife came in, and Bunny was talking Charlie up a storm about Please go out with my daughter. I have been single for a year, twenty days, six hours, and… okay it’s been a long time. At least I’m not a virgin—haven’t been since I was raped.

Nicolas walked over to me and said, Hello, Angela, how are you? I had my arms crossed, but he moved in for a hug. I moved a little behind Daniela, I knew him I just had a problem with men, any strange man, who shook hands, hugged or kissed me.

I said, Sorry, I don’t kiss assholes anymore.

He backed off and looked at me, apparently realising I was still feeling hurt after I’d had to pick up the pieces of Michelle’s broken heart. He said, I’m sorry I made you feel like that, Angel. But he made his own mind. I only provided alcohol for him that night. I can’t believe he wasn’t owning up to what he said when Michelle called him and asked where Alexander was. Nicolas simply said Alex wasn’t coming, wasn’t sure, had cold feet. Mind you, he was on speaker phone and was slurring his words. We knew both of them were drunk, and we heard strippers in the background. That was a bad day and night.

Nicolas and I walked side by side, not touching or talking to each other, just moving quickly to keep up to the newlyweds. I was in my silver gown, and the beautiful A-line held out my boobs nice; it had pushed my boobs together so one couldn’t see my scar on my chest. My hair was done up in a bun and had wisps of hair falling down my face, curled just right. Nicolas was in his sliver-grey suit, white shirt, striped navy blue and grey tie, and black Converse shoes. Not that I was looking, but I did have my sliver Manolo Blahniks on, and I was in pain.

I was doing fine until Nicolas grabbed my arm and pulled me close; he was wearing something that smelled sweet as he looked down at me with his hazel eyes and said, You owe me a dance, he said, reminding of the night before at the rehearsal dinner, when I promised him one.

I don’t owe you anything. Your brother broke my sister’s heart because of your actions and what you said. He grabbed my hand and moved with me. I knew he could waltz and foxtrot. I could keep up with him; it was a matter of what his heart felt like. He picked the tango—good choice. As we moved, a crowd of people surrounded us and watched, thinking we were some kind of act.

I held my breath as he looked into my blue eyes and said, Angel, you still hold a candle in my heart.

Oh god. I couldn’t be more sick. I didn’t do romance. I did fucking—it was straight to the point, and nobody got hurt—unless they wanted to get hurt. As we moved, I didn’t talk to him or look at him.

Towards the last turn, he grabbed me and looked at me. I tried to look away, but he breathed down my neck and said, Angel, spend the night with me. I will make you feel better than you have ever felt in your life.

I sighed. The reason I came to Vegas was to get away, and also to get laid—by anybody but him. I looked up and said, I will, but only if you take me to breakfast tomorrow and call me pretty. I figured he’d take it as a joke, but he didn’t.

You got it! We looked up and heard people applauding us. Some wanted a picture, and a girl wanted a quick lesson, but Nicolas smiled and declined politely.

As we walked towards Daniela and Ryan, they looked memorized by us. I was trying to get over the fact that I was going to spend the night with Nicolas Pratt on my best friend’s wedding night. I was holding my breath the whole time we danced. Why was I feeling scared? Was it for my heart? What if I fell for him? What if he fell for me? How