IMMAGINARIO

  Table of Contents

  Immaginario

  Copyright

  Upcoming Titles by C.L. Monaghan

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Acknowledgments

  Immaginario

  C.L. Monaghan

  Copyright © 2017 by C.L. Monaghan

  ISBN

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, uploaded or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author C.L. Monaghan.

  First Published in 2017

  www.clmonaghan.com

  Edited by Ewelina Rutyna

  Formatted by Allyson Gottlieb of Athena Interior Book Design

  Upcoming Titles by C.L. Monaghan

  Immaginario series:

  Andato- book two

  *

  Midnight Gunn Series:

  The Hollows- book one

  To Mum & Dad, for their unfailing support in everything I do.

  To my boys, for being my life’s blood and giving me a reason to do better.

  To my husband, for allowing me to find my own way and catching me when I fall.

  To the people who’ve always been there, dream big & never surrender

  *

  For every woman who ever loved an Immaginario

  Prologue

  I remember this quote from a Dean Koontz novel, ‘I admit to having an imagination feverish enough to melt good judgement’. Well that was me, Naomi Douglas. A twenty-nine-year-old divorcee from the beautiful city of Lincoln in the east of England. I’d always been burdened with an overactive imagination, much to my parent’s despair. When I was a kid, my mother would often find me asleep, holed up in an old tea chest that I used as a toy box- torch and book by my side. I don’t know why I climbed in it to read, only that it added to the ‘escape’ somehow. I suppose it made it more exciting, like being in a dark cave or maybe I did it to block out the rest of the world, I don’t know.

  For some people life is all about the pursuit of happiness. For me, it’s always been about escape. Escape from the mundane, the monotonous and the societal constraints that forced me to function as a ‘normal’ human being, whatever that was. Escape was my safety zone.

  I suppose that’s why I liked my job. I was a freelance proof-reader, which meant working from home and that suited me just fine. It wasn’t my ideal job, I wanted to write for a living but proofing was near enough. Non-fiction mostly, catalogues, manuals, even a phone book once. It was repetitive sometimes but never boring. I was a good proof-reader and every once in a while I got lucky and landed a client with a ‘fiction’. That’s how I met Joe.

  Joseph Ferrantino was, without doubt or debate, the most incredible man I had ever encountered. Strong, sweet, impetuous with a roguish sense of humour and sexy as hell. I knew him inside out, his every thought and mood. I knew all his innermost secrets. When he felt pain so did I, when he was happy I smiled too. Joe had been a part of my life for what felt like forever. He was the only man who had managed to hold my attention long enough to matter. Joe was the one. My beautiful brown eyed Italian. I loved him irrevocably, irrationally and from the moment we were introduced my heart had claimed him. There was just one horribly big, stupid inextricable problem… Joe wasn’t real.

  Chapter One

  Naomi

  The shrill ring of a mobile phone snapped me from my reverie.

  “Hello?… Shit!” I sat up too fast and dropped the phone as I answered. Retrieving it from the floor, I quickly checked that the screen hadn’t cracked. “Hey. Sorry Mum, what were you saying?”

  “I said I’ll be there within the hour and we can do lunch, yes?” She paused and I nodded, forgetting to verbalise my reply. “Naomi? You still there love? Are you still in bed?” An air of disapproval punctuated the question.

  “What? No! I’m up, I got distracted…work.” I said, as if that last word explained all.

  “Well I don’t have to come if you’re busy? It must be important if you’re working a Sunday?”

  I felt a pang of guilt. I hadn’t exactly lied, I had been working…sort of. But I was still in bed and I’d been reading about him. About Joe. Laney Marsh was the author of a new series of books set in Italy, where Joseph Ferrantino, A.K.A. Joe, was the main character. A month ago the final part of the manuscript for book one had landed in my mailbox for me to ‘work my magic’ as Laney had put it. Except once again it was Joe that had worked his magic on me. For over a year he’d dominated my every waking thought and featured in many of my fevered fantasies. Ever since I’d proofed the first half of the book, nearly a year ago, I had not been able to get Joe out of my mind. The word ‘Fangirl’ was far too tame for my behaviour. I’d been desperate for Laney to finish it; now I finally had the whole manuscript and I could not put it down. Like a starving street dog gorging on his first meal in forever, I devoured every word. I’d reread the first half so much over the past twelve months that the printed A4 sheets were now tattered and grubby. It reminded me of a well-loved teddy bear that had been played with too much. I’d just been reading a rather steamy part in the story when Mum had called and now I felt bad that I wasn’t as focused as I should be during the call. It’d been weeks since I’d seen Mum or even spoken to her on the phone. Christ, what a crappy daughter I am!

  “No, it’s fine Mum. I could use a break to be honest and I’d love to see you anyway. Am I cooking or are we going out?” Really hoping she chose the latter option because my flat was an absolute bomb site and no way did I fancy spending the next thirty minutes frantically stuffing clothes and dirty dishes into random cupboards! I hopped out of bed and walked hurriedly across the lounge area towards the small kitchen, opened the food cupboard and cringed. Jesus, no food? I really am slipping. The empty pizza box on the side counter caught my eye. Takeaways were mostly how I survived during a reading binge.

  “How about Carluccio’s? My treat.” said Mum. I silently fist pumped the air

  “Great! I’ll ring now and book. 12.30?”

  “OK love. Looking forward to it, see you in a bit.” Mum said goodbye and I flung my mobile on the counter top. Damn! Sorry, Joe you’ll have to wait. I didn’t have time for anything but a quick wash in the sink and shove the tangled brown mess that was my hair up in a ponytail. I looked in the mirror and grimaced. The bags under my, normally sparkly, green eyes were so big they almost warranted an excess baggage fee!

  “Oh dear god! Woman put on some make up at least.” My tired looking reflection instructed me. A bit of blush, lip gloss and a sweep of mascara would have to do. I rooted around for something decent and clean to wear that didn’t need ironing; a little frustrated with myself, resentful even, that my domestic goddess status was seriously lacking lately. Was I being stupid? Joe was an obsession, I knew that. It seemed that all I did these days was lay in bed, drink coffee, eat fast food and binge on everything Joe. Was my life really that dull that my only pleasure was gleaned fr
om a character in a book? No, it wasn’t that. I was really into my work right now that’s all.

  I hadn’t really socialised much since Iain, my ex-husband, had left. The divorce had left me empty. Iain’s betrayal had pushed me into a slump so deep, no one thought I’d ever come out of it. I had thrown myself into my work, buried my head in the sand and barricaded myself away from the world. You couldn’t say I wasn’t dedicated and since I’d gained Laney as a client and been introduced to Joe, I was reasonably happy in my little flat. Mum thought I needed more friends but I had little time for socialising and anyway I had a few friends online I could chat to. The thing about divorce is that when all your real friends are couples and mostly friends of the ‘groom’, you inevitably lose them, albeit gradually but one by one they lost touch with me. I mean it’s not like they could invite me to a barbecue knowing Iain would be there- talk about awkward.

  So here I was, in my new single life of two years, reading for a living and making enough to get by. I was lonely sometimes, I mean I was only twenty-nine and I still wanted love and romance, despite what Iain had done. He just hadn’t been my ‘one’. The funny thing was that upon reflection, I think I’d always known it. My one was still out there, waiting for me somewhere, I knew it. Well, I hoped anyway. Otherwise I’d be stuck being infatuated with a fictitious character forever and that was just sad…but safe. Not for the first time in twelve months did I wish that Joe was real. I mean he was perfect. Perfect for me. Almost as if he’d been written just for me to enjoy but isn’t that why every woman loves a book boyfriend? Joe was always there for me and he never let me down and never hurt me. All I had to do to be with him was open a page. Fictional or not, he was my perfect fit and that would have to do.

  When I got to Carluccio’s, Mum was already seated, she waved me over to the table, two tall glasses of iced mineral water were already poured. She rose to meet me with outstretched arms.

  “You look nice honey.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled, hugged her and sat down. “How are you? Wow, it’s busy in here. Isn’t Dad joining us?”

  “Oh, you know me. I just carry on, don’t I,” she sighed and I smiled inwardly, forever the martyr my mother, “your father doesn’t do foreign food dear, you know that.”

  “Has he decided when he’s retiring yet?”

  Mum let out a huff and gave me a wry look. “You know your father, he hates to be sitting idle.”

  I nodded. “I know. I thought you were going to go see Immy though? You said you were saving for flights, right?” I picked up the menu and skimmed the lunch list. “Have you looked yet?”

  “For flights or for food?” She asked.

  “Both.” I passed her the menu. “I’m just going to order their goat cheese salad.”

  “Thanks love. Oh, we’re looking at flights. I got that thing on the computer, Skytracker is it?”

  I giggled. “Skyscanner you mean.”

  “Yes, that one. They’re a little expensive right now so Dad put a watch on a couple and he’s going to work another few months to give us a bit of extra cash.”

  “Extra? I thought you already had it covered?” I asked.

  “Well…” she began, “Dad wondered if you’d maybe like to come with us?” She smiled, a little too sympathetically for my liking. Ohh, here we go. Lecture time! I’d been here five minutes that must be some kind of record. I braced myself and plastered a neutral expression on my face.

  “Well of course I would, obviously. I’d love to see Immy, Mum but I have deadlines. I’m in the middle of proofing for a big client.” Mum looked a little disappointed or affronted, I couldn’t quite tell. She opened her mouth as if to say something, no doubt she had prepared a reply in anticipation of my reaction to her offer but then the waiter arrived and I was granted a momentary reprieve, perfect timing!

  “Good afternoon ladies,” he nodded towards us, his notepad and pen at the ready, “are you ready to order?”

  “Yes please.” I said.

  “Not just yet.” Mum said at the same time.

  The waiter nodded. “Not a problem ladies, I’ll return in a few minutes.”

  “Could I get some breadsticks please?” I asked him. I was starving. When did I last eat?

  “Certainly Madame. I’ll bring them right over.” He left and Mum looked at me, placing both her hands palm down on the table.

  “Love, Dad and I worry about you. You spend far too much time on your own in that flat of yours. We thought you could use a trip and I know Imogen wants to see you.”

  “Mum, why are you worrying? I’m absolutely fine! I’m just…”

  “Busy. Yes. I know.” She pursed her lips slightly and gave a little shake of her head.

  “What? I am busy you know. I have deadlines, I can’t just abandon my clients and bugger off to New Zealand for a family reunion. Of course, I would love to see my sister but it’s just…I just can’t go yet. OK?” Mum still looked undefeated. The woman was like a dog with a bone- she wasn’t going to give it up easily.

  The waiter returned with my breadsticks.

  “We are ready to order now, thank you.” Mum said. The waiter nodded. “I’ll have the seafood risotto please and the side salad.”

  “And for you Madame?”

  “Um, just the goats cheese salad thanks.”

  “No problem ladies. May I take your menus?” He held out his hand and I passed them over. He was about to walk away when I touched his arm, If I was going to make it through this lunch I had some extras I wanted to order,

  “Can I get a glass of Chardonnay too please? Large? Thank you.”

  ***

  One very long hour and a half later and a few too many chardonnays, I was home. I slung my keys on the kitchen top as I walked past, flopped down on my sofa and, hugging a cushion to my face, muffled a frustrated scream.

  “Arghhh! Every bloody time!” I shouted to the empty room. Launching the cushion across the room, I watched it disappear behind the chair. If only I could launch myself away, out of reach of everyone. “You’d think I was a flipping basket case for God’s sake!” What was it about my life choices that made my parents think I wasn’t happy? OK, maybe happy was pushing it a bit but I mean I managed, I paid my bills and I was still involved in the book industry, even if it wasn’t quite how I’d expected.

  I stared at the window. It was an unusually hot British summer. I could see brilliant blue sky and zero clouds. The white chemtrail of a jet engine streaked across the blue and I wondered where its lucky passengers were escaping to. How many of them actually had a job they liked and how many were just happy to get by and pay their bills? How many were in loving relationships and how many hearts were broken…like mine? Maybe Mum was right, during lunch she’d implied I was settling for second best being a proofer. Growing up, all I had ever talked about was how I’d write my own books when I was older. I lived for books. I lived for the escape. Right now I had too many questions in my head, talking with my Mum always seemed to end up this way. As much as I wanted to see my sister, the thought of spending a few weeks with my parents, with no hope of escape, wasn’t exactly appealing.

  I needed a shower. The heat of the day stuck to my skin like cling film, it irked me and I needed to slough it off. Shower first and then maybe, just maybe, later tonight I’d sit and have a think about my life.

  My heavy sigh was lost amongst the cascade of water. The warmth of the shower enveloped me. I drew comfort from it and tried to relax but my thoughts strayed to the conversation I’d had over lunch with my mother. She encouraged me in everything I did, albeit a little overbearingly sometimes, I knew she meant well. In her opinion, I wasn’t satisfied with my job, she thought me capable of more. I suppose it was nice that somebody did. We talked about the possibility of me writing and she- inevitably- stated her concern about my finances; given that my previous attempts at becoming an author had failed miserably. But she encouraged me to do whatever made me the happiest. I just wished she did it with a little les
s derision and more tact and understanding.

  I wondered if Laney Marsh had ever suffered from self-doubt. No story had ever grabbed and held my attention the way that hers had. I secretly worried that my own writing would pale in comparison if I ever plucked up the courage to try again. I’d tried writing a few times before, years ago, but I’d get so far into a story and then just give up. I wasn’t sure if it was because I had no faith in my creative abilities or no faith in the actual plot. Probably a bit of both. Combine the wracking self-doubt with depression and low self-esteem and I began to feel like an imposter. I couldn’t be an author. I was no one. People like me did not write.

  I convinced myself that I wouldn’t even have time to write considering how busy I was with my client list. Laney wasn’t the only client I had on my job list right now and I was falling behind schedule. I’d been so engrossed with her book I hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything else. It was the same old story, whenever my mind wandered towards writing, I always found an excuse not to.

  This obsession with Joe had snuck up on me with furtive vigour and had become an almost permanent state of mind for me. Let’s face it, Laney Marsh had effectively ruined any chance I ever had of falling in love with a real man, her characterisation of Joe was so compelling, he was real to me. I highly doubted that I did have the creativity and skill to create such a dynamic character of my own. The sad truth was, I’d never know unless I bit the bullet and tried but right now, I didn’t feel ready to cope with the inevitable emotional turmoil. I was such an idiot- this constant self-torture had to stop, I even doubted my doubts!