Take some time out for yourself. You deserve it.
New Zealand or England. Where will you go first?
Trading freedom for violence and manipulation is a dangerous game and Deleilah’s done that once too often. This is her time now and she’s determined to make better choices. Broken by circumstance and shunned by the elite Auckland social set, she hides in a rural town to lick her physical and emotional wounds. And then she makes another error of judgement.
Desperation puts her at the mercy of someone from her past. Someone she hoped she’d never meet again. Fate won’t allow her just to right her wrongs, it will make her face them. Back in the tiny tourist town of her childhood in the foothills of Mount Pirongia, Deleilah must come to terms with the mistakes and demons of her past. She’ll put some things straight for sure. And one man in particular will pay for her broken heart.
It should be easy right? Because she’s only passing through…
50% of the royalties for this novel go to Waikato Women’s Refuge
If you wish to find out more about Waikato Women’s Refuge, you can do that via the following link… https://www.waikatowomensrefuge.co.nz/
“Dee! Dee Hanover, this way, Dee!” The young man trained his camera on Dee’s lithe body, snapping shots of her as she exited the court house. “Look at me, Dee!”
Dee watched in slow motion as the man’s body jerked to life and the camera leapt to his eye in a reflex action, desperate for the best shot possible. He possessed a kind face filled with youth but his photos would contain cruel angles, each frame combed to produce the one with the most devastation on her face, the slump of her shoulders and perhaps a digitally added tear or two. “I won’t miss this,” Dee muttered to her lawyer and he smiled.
“It should die down now, at least until you fall in love and marry again.”
Dee snorted. “Right! Never then.”
“Dee, how did it go? Anything helpful you can say to the women of New Zealand?”
She stopped so quickly, the elderly lawyer ran into her back. “Don’t!” he hissed as Dee opened her pretty lips to speak. “Don’t!” he said again, his face falling into a grimace as he saw her glazed look.
“Yeah,” Dee said. She took a step towards the journalist standing next to the cameraman. Both looked elated. The blonde highlights in her straightened hair glinted in the summer sunshine and her faultless makeup played to the camera lens, a striking woman with immense anger in her blue eyes. “Tell them not to marry arseholes.” Dee tossed her head, squared her shoulders and walked towards her lawyer with catwalk precision, putting on a show for their benefit. The tears would come later, in private.
“I can’t print that!” the journalist shouted and Dee gritted her teeth. “They won’t let me print that!” he repeated, tutting at her retreating back.
“He’s out!” the cameraman shouted, gripping his camera and moving off in an ungainly run with the strap around his neck, pulling his head forward. Dee stopped to watch as a crowd of journalists, photographers and news reporters gathered outside the front of the courthouse to greet her husband. He postured in an expensive suit and tie, his salt and pepper highlights giving him a distinguished look which Dee always loved.
“Come on,” the lawyer said, dragging at Dee’s arm. “The last thing you need is a long lens taking a shot of that look on your face. It would make the perfect headline.”
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