Singapore Secrets

By Irene Onorato

Angry because her father, Louisiana Senator Jacob Windsor, has announced his engagement to Hollywood starlet Kara Bordeaux, Julia Windsor decides she'd rather leave home than be subjected to heightened security and a deluge of paparazzi. She travels to Singapore, severs all communication with those she's left behind, and chooses to live a life of anonymity.

 

When Julia meets handsome Gabriel Davenport, she keeps her true purpose for being in Singapore a secret. The friendship that develops quickly evolves into something much deeper.

 

Julia marvels that she's traveled halfway around the world to find love with an American man. But will that love endure when she discovers that Gabriel is a former Special Forces sergeant hired by her father to protect her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Irene Onorato
• Release date: Apr 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798224947782

Irene Onorato

Irene Onorato was born and raised in Bronx, New York. Her father, a first-generation American whose parents were born in Italy, was an Army veteran who had served with the 178th combat engineers during WWII. He told numerous stories of battles, hardships, tragedies and triumphs. The glimpses he gave into the hearts of many American warriors would later become the inspiration for much of Irene’s writings.   In 1972, a few months after graduating high school, Irene met James Onorato, a soldier who had just returned from Vietnam. After dating two weeks, they married, raised three children, and are still happily married today.   Irene and James, both radiation protection technicians, retired from the nuclear power industry in 2014 and now reside in Louisiana. Readers can visit Irene’s website at ireneonorato.com, and find her on Facebook.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

H ow could you even think of doing this to Mom? Or to me? Julia Windsor folded her arms and turned her back to her father. An opaque curtain of tears blurred her vision. She would not cry. Not here, not now.

Her father stroked her bare upper arms. I loved your mother with all my heart, but she’s been gone eight years. Don’t you think she’d want me to be happy?

The sweet, consolatory tone of her father’s voice couldn’t ease the pain his shocking news inflicted. Her heart couldn’t be more shattered if it were made of glass. She shrank from his touch and stepped forward. Why’d you have to ruin everything and ask Kara to marry you?

Gentle hands guided her shoulders back around, cupped her cheeks, and lifted her face. Sadness filled her dad’s beautiful eyes—eyes the color of an azure sea on a cloudless day. I love you, Jules. A wistful smile barely lifted his lips. And I love Kara too.

Julia tried to pull away.

Her father held fast. You’re twenty‐three…hardly a little girl anymore. You’re a beautiful and intelligent woman. When you least expect it, a man will come along and capture your heart. You’ll be consumed with thoughts of him and him alone. He smiled a little bigger. Maybe then you’ll understand how I feel about Kara.

Julia pushed his hands away. I can’t deal with this. I just can’t. She ran out of her father’s study, up the staircase that curved around the grand entryway, and hurried into her room. The click of the door latch triggered an avalanche of tears. Julia sat on the bed, took the framed picture of her mother from the nightstand, and held it on her lap. Why did God have to take you from me? Who’ll primp my gown and fluff my veil on my wedding day? Who will I call when my baby gets sick in the middle of the night and I don’t know what to do? Oh, Mom, I miss you so much. She hugged the portrait to her chest and wept more.

What would she do now? Stay and watch the paparazzi swarm all over as Kara Bordeaux, sweetheart of Hollywood, tied the knot with her father, Louisiana Senator Jacob Windsor? It was bad enough living in a fishbowl of political scrutiny where parades of crazies twisted every word her father said, or crooked opponents drummed up scandalous lies to smear his good name. Adding celebrity mongers to the mix would only make matters worse.

Oh, how the tabloids loved to make innuendos of improprieties— Bordeaux in Boudoir? Shame on You, Senator Windsor! Impudent liars. It didn’t matter who they hurt as long as their juicy tidbits made them money. They knew full well Kara stayed in the guesthouse during her many visits to the estate.

Daddy was a righteous man who would never stoop so low as to indulge in sexual sin. He guarded his and Kara’s reputations with diligence befitting a pit bull.

Julia went to the window, parted the curtains, and looked out over the meandering drive that led to Highland Road. Security personnel monitored the gate by closed‐circuit TV day and night.

She sighed. If Kara became a permanent resident, security staff would have to be doubled, maybe even tripled. As it was, having just one bodyguard tagging along everywhere she went was too many.

That’s it. I can’t live like this anymore. She spun on her heels, went to her desk, and flipped open her laptop. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. The page loaded in seconds. Travel Esquire, Your Gateway to the World.

Fill in the blanks. That’s all she had to do.

Origin? Easy. Baton Rouge. Destination? Not so easy. Where would she go?

Elbow on desk, head resting on her fist, she watched as a ribbon of advertisements scrolled up the right‐hand side of her screen, each one displaying popular features of exotic destinations.

Oahu, Hawaii. Been there, done that.

Jakarta, Indonesia. No thanks. With her luck, Krakatoa would erupt and bury her under tons of volcanic ooze.

Phuket, Thailand. A definite maybe.

Singapore? Her head jerked off her hand, her back straightened. Perfect! Big city comforts and tropical charm all packaged neatly on a tiny island‐nation.

Julia filled the online form and double‐checked her entries. She typed in her credit card information and completed the transaction.

Tomorrow morning at six‐forty she’d be on her way to the adventure of a lifetime—an independent woman with no agenda, plenty of money, and, above all, no bodyguard. No one would point and shout, There’s Julia Windsor, the senator’s daughter, and thrust a camera in her face. She wouldn’t get her feelings hurt by the caption printed under the photo when it hit the newsstands—unmerited insults from people who’d never met her but judged or ridiculed her just the same. Oh, to be just another face in the crowd. Obscurity sounded delicious.

Three soft raps landed on her bedroom door. Julia, we need to talk. Can I come in?

Julia rose, took a step toward the door, and stopped. If she let her father in, she might slip and tell him of her plans. He’d try to convince her to stay, and much as she cherished him, he might even succeed. No, she couldn’t chance it. She opened the door a few inches and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. Can we talk tomorrow? I need some time alone, to think.

Her father put on a forced smile. I understand. He looked at his watch. Almost time for dinner. Maybe you’d think better on a full stomach?

The monster in her belly growled for her to take the arm her dad offered.

I’m not hungry. She started to close the door.

Hey, Jules?

Yes?

You’ll always be the treasure of my heart. The Jules of Windsor. You know that, don’t you? Sincerity flowed from his loving eyes.

I know, Daddy. I love you too.

She shut the door and wept.

CHAPTER 2

G abriel Davenport?

Gabe sawed off a bloody chunk of porterhouse steak and forked it into his mouth. The shiny‐shoed, suited man standing beside his table could wait. A twenty‐five‐dollar hunk of meat deserved his undivided attention.

The man smoothed his tie and stretched his neck to the side as if to crack a kink out of it. Gabriel Davenport?

I heard you the first time. You already know I’m Gabriel Davenport, so why do you keep asking? Gabe licked his chops and took a swig from his frosty mug of root beer.

But how⁠—

You got out of that snazzy limo, came into the restaurant, and asked the hostess to point you in the right direction. Gabe stabbed his knife into a foil‐wrapped sweet potato that lay in its own gondola‐shaped dish. A puff of steam escaped and curled into the air. He scooped a mound of butter with the flat side of the serrated blade and plopped it onto the spud.

The suit glanced to his left where two women chatted near the entrance. But your back’s to the door. How⁠—

Gabe aimed the point of his knife to a mirror hanging on the wall behind two tables that sat empty in front of him. He sighed, put down his utensils, and looked up. Who are you and what do you want?

My name is Conrad Millwright. I work for Senator Jacob Windsor. He’s waiting outside in the limo and would like to have a word with you.

Gabe twisted in his chair. The darkly tinted rear window of the limo slid open. A man in the back seat locked eyes with him. Gabe turned back around and looked at Millwright. What’s he want with me?

I’m not at liberty to say. It’s a personal matter.

Personal, huh? Gabe picked up his fork and knife, cut off a few asparagus tips, and dragged them through the swirl of hollandaise sauce drizzled atop the cluster of spears. I don’t know what he thinks I can do for him, but tell him to come on in and I’ll have a listen. He popped the veggies into his mouth.

Conrad Millwright scowled. The crease over the bridge of his nose deepened. His bushy brows came close enough to mingle with one another. "The senator would like to speak to you in the privacy of the limo if you wouldn’t mind, sir." Redness crept its way around the edges of Millwright’s ears, and his lobes turned crimson.

Gabe took another bite of asparagus and ignored the tense-faced stare that attempted to bore a hole through his skull. No disrespect intended, but I’ve had a rough day and I’m starving. If my steak gets cold⁠—

Millwright javelined a crooked finger toward Gabe’s porterhouse. Cold? It’s barely dead.

Let the man enjoy his meal, Conrad. Senator Windsor stood next to Millwright and patted the man on the back. He smiled down at Gabe. Would it be all right if I joined you, Mr. Davenport? I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.

Gabe pointed with his knife and invited the senator to sit across from him. Millwright went and stood by the door.

Windsor slid into his chair. I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Daven⁠—

Gabe. Call me Gabe. He shoved another piece of steak into his mouth.

All right. Gabe it is. Windsor folded his arms on the table and looked side to side at the unoccupied tables surrounding them. I need someone for a rather delicate matter, so I made inquiries and your name came up.

You sure you got the right Gabriel Davenport?

The senator nodded. You’re twenty‐six years old, originally from Massapequa, New York. You served eight years in the Army, the last five of those in Special Operations. Three months ago you left the service, proposed to your girlfriend, and she turned you down. You moved here to Baton Rouge, have been working at Pennington‐Moore Pipe and Valve for a little over two months, and you hate your job. Jacob Windsor smiled. Tell me when to stop.

Stop. Gabe held his knife and fork upright on either side of his plate, handles resting on the table. Who gave you my name?

"An Army chaplain friend of mine. He knows a few of your former teammates. I had the opportunity to speak to three of them on the phone. I was quite impressed