Living in Dreams

By Gerry Gogna

Ryan and Lina, living different lives, hopes, and ambitions happened to meet at a café where everything began. They met, fell in love and their relationship flourished. Perhaps, after a terrible crash, a week before their marriage, Ryan and Lina get to relive the experiences and the moments that brought them close and led them down the aisle. Under the sounds of the harmonious beeping, engulfed in the pale mists, they get to meet, fall in love and experience their blissful relationship all over again. Will they be able to fulfill their promise to one another?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781665583435

Gerry Gogna

Gerry Gogna is author of Two books – “The Ugly Queen and Peter the Great” and “The True Friendship or Not?” released in 2012 and 2015. His work fits in Adventure, Fantasy and Romance genres. Gogna get inspired from Philip Pullman, this let him start writing books. He currently lives in Vancouver, Canada and holds a degree in Psychology. He loves reading books, music and travel. Reach out to Gerry through his official website – www.gerrygogna.com.

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AuthorHouse™ UK

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Bloomington, IN 47403  USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

Catalogue of this Book can be found on British Library Database.

© 2021 Gerry Gogna. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents

are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any

resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

All Rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical,

photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author. The

publisher and author are not in any way responsible for the views expressed in this book.

Published by AuthorHouse  12/18/2020

ISBN: 978-1-6655-8342-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-8341-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-8343-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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

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The hall was finally empty and silent. The lights went off as everyone left. Only a candle danced between us, still sitting at the table. She grabbed the bottle of wine and filled up our glasses. As she leaned to reach for mine, her vibrant hair gleamed red under the luminous display. She smiled, and her smile was far brighter than the candle.

Another? I asked.

Last one, I promise, she said, and raised her glass.

If you insist … I smiled and raised mine.

To us, my love.

To us, I repeated, and we drank.

Can you believe it? She licked the last drop of wine from her bright red lips.

No, I mean … I will tomorrow, when I see you all dressed up.

Let’s make a deal, she said with her eager, childlike enthusiasm. We should have a bottle of wine like that every Sunday!

That sounds like a great deal.

You have to take care of me, husband.

I still can’t believe the sound of it, wife, I said, and a smile rose to my lips, a smile I couldn’t contain. I already felt tipsy—or maybe I was drunk from her beauty. But something made my head light and my heart dance in my chest.

Should we head home? I asked.

She nodded. We have a long day tomorrow.

We got up and walked to the door, straight for the car. We were the last to leave our rehearsal dinner. With all the pressure of the past few months, we needed a moment to ourselves.

The drive was silent for the most part. It was a half-hour drive through the bustling center and another twenty minutes in the rural beauties of the north. We were already late for our curfew, but we didn’t care.

Just like every summer, the regional road—among the wheat fields and the silence of the countryside—was covered in a thin veil of mist. The car’s spotlights barely loomed out of the obscure scenery, dimly lighting the road.

Our favorite song (Close your Eyes and Remember) kept playing on repeat on the radio, and she was dancing. The wine, our marriage, our new home … She was in a good mood. When she was out of breath, she lay back and closed her eyes, smiling, and she rested her hand on my thigh. I turned her way and smiled, and she smiled back with her naughty eyes. However, the smile vanished in a face of terror, melting away from her face, giving place to dreadful eyes and a grasp around my thigh.

Ryan, watch out! she screamed.

I turned my eyes to the street. Two bright flashes came our way. I turned, but it was too late. Then I heard a deep honk. And then a crash.

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Chapter 1

T he office was nearly empty by the time the first morning lights crawled through the sliders. My eyes felt the sweet burn of the all-nighter, reminding me that it was another productive day—or night, probably. The first dull rays of light spilled over my keyboard, the window begging for my attention. It was an awful day, apparently. Thick clouds hovered right outside the window, staining the glass with the first drops of wetness.

I turned my eyes to the screen and cringed at the brightness. The waterfall of numbers, logs, and client requests floated before me like a loose never-still illusion. It was time to stop for the day, quite literally. I saved the day’s progress and rubbed my eyes with my index fingers in relief. I so much loved that feeling of burning eyes.

Before I could grab my coat and head for the exit, the door came open and the cleaning woman came inside, her hair tucked inside a scarf tight around her neck. If not for the scarf and the messy hair beneath it, with a hint of makeup and a stunning dress, she would be an absolute beauty.

Still here? she asked.

The stock market never closes, right? I responded.

I know, she said with a heavy sigh, the exhaustion of her work materializing in her tired eyes.

I was so glad I didn’t have to choose such an uncertain profession. Sure, working until the first hours of the morning could prove tiresome, but the appreciation, the recognition—these all came as a huge bonus to the fat paycheck I so much loved.

With a nod I hoped wasn’t full of pity, I walked to the elevator. It seemed I was the last one to leave, as always. Even the boss had left a hours before. But he had better things to do. He always had better things to do: sit on a yacht with his Russian ballet girls or take leave at his beach resort. I smiled at the idea of that. Such a beautiful life.

The elevator dinged before me, and the warm industrial light spilled outside, inviting me in. Robert from marketing was already inside, his bloodshot eyes looking as tired as mine. He cocked his head and looked behind me, licking his lips. Damn that girl, he said, and the exhaustion was dispelled in an instant. In a perfunctory power move, he adjusted his tie and sleeves. Am I right? He gave me a soft punch against my shoulder.

Oh, damn right you are, I said.

We both stood admiring as she bent over to empty a trash bin, until the doors closed and ended the alluring sight.

Still working late, Ryan boy? Robert asked with a chuckle of approval and maybe pity.

A man’s got to do what he’s got to do—am I right?

That’s my boy! Robert gave me a pat on the shoulder. Where you heading?

Probably for a coffee, I said, only then remembering how tired I was. I could use the liquefied energy in my veins to keep me going.

He only chuckled, crossing his arms behind his back.

What? I asked.

The boys from marketing and I were thinking to grab a drink at Moonlight, he said with the proudest smile I had ever seen in my entire life.

Is that place still open?

Oh, hell yeah, it is, Robert said, the smile never fading from his lips, only growing. You should come. A lot of girls are into the stock market, apparently.

We exchanged a long look and laughed. Many girls were in the stock market—that was for sure. And I was into a lot of girls; I couldn’t deny that.

Hate to turn down the offer, but I have work to do.

Your loss, man. Last night we came home so hammered that I didn’t even remember what girl I was with, he said, looking me in the eyes. I only found out in the morning, and I wasn’t happy with my shit-blasted self, you know what I mean?

Oh, I do. Next time, maybe. I’ll teach you a few tricks, I said when the awfully long elevator ride finally came to an end.

You have nothing to teach me, Ryan boy. Let the marketing guys show you how it’s done sometime. He pressed the button to the parking lot.

With a nod and a bow of appreciation, I walked through the lobby and out into the street. A cold chill reached for me the moment I stepped outside. It was indeed an awful morning. The fog had settled among the streets—a rare sight to witness. The sun still fought to loom out of the fog, but the gray-white filter made it appear dull and miserable. However, it was a productive day and that was all I needed.

Following the flashing streetlight through the mist, I walked down the street. The bagel man was not in yet. I made a mental note to let him know about my schedule so he could be available around that time.

My mind wanted to go free to the usual thoughts that plagued me, but I was too tired to think of anything. All I could see was a vivid picture of a hot cup of coffee and the intoxicating silence of the morning.

Only a few people were on the street. The first newspaper trucks came for their usual delivery. A milkman—and I was stunned to see one—came by me on his bicycle, and then I saw a few cars of middle-class lowlifes heading to their early morning work.

It took me almost thirty minutes of strolling through the silence of the streets before the animated neon sign loomed out of the fog. The coffeepot on the sign poured coffee in the neon glass, filling it, before vanishing in a flash to start anew. The letters brought a smile to my face: Jacopo’s Coffee Store—can you trust a non-Italian guy with your espresso, your pizza, and pasta? You can’t.

The doors slid open to my arrival, and the electronic bell rang, announcing my presence. Old Italian love songs floated in the background. I walked between the packed little tables to the barista and placed a five-dollar bill on the counter. The usual, I said.

The hipster behind the counter nodded with a smile. Right away, Mr. Ryan.

Mr. Ryan. I liked the sound of that. Some people didn’t like being called a mister at my age, but I saw it as a sign of power.

Another long day? the barista asked.

Another long night, you mean, I said.

Tough profession, huh?

It’s really easy, I think. All you have to do is be there on time and always spend a few extra hours after everyone’s shift is over, I said, believing none of the words that came out of my mouth.

He smiled and nodded, his hands moving with reverence to the double espresso shot. Grab a seat. I’ll bring it right over.

I didn’t have to scan the tables for the perfect seat. I already knew where that was, and it was always mine, as if it was reserved for me. I navigated the narrow corridors among the tables and the chairs and grabbed a seat by the window. Usually, the table was full of light, with a clear view of the people walking outside during the early morning hours. I could peek at a few beautiful girls or sometimes children playing on the street. But today it was full of mist. It wouldn’t be as amazing as it usually was.

Terrible day, huh? I said as he slid the coffee my way.

Terrible? I love it. I would love to go for a walk, to be honest, the hipster said.

Yeah, whatever, I said, still investigating the mist until he left with a simple greeting.

I checked my wristwatch and immediately sighed. What was the point of having a thousand-dollar watch if it didn’t work properly? The hands were still stuck at 10:27. I’d have to fix that, as if I didn’t have enough problems already.

I could have a few good hours of silence before people came swarming inside for their morning routine, so I pulled out my laptop and got to work. There was a pile of reports to be turned in, and I wouldn’t like to have them wait for the next day. I held the cup and took a sniff of the hot espresso. With the first sip, I felt the liquefied energy coursing through my throat, stomach, and then veins, the energy crawling inside me. My tired eyes felt awake again, and I felt the familiar warmth nestling inside me, giving me