Broken Words, Broken Hearts Read online

  Broken Words. Broken Hearts.

  by Elisabeth

  ©Elisabeth Umba 2019. All Rights Reserved

  Published by Imperial Publishing House

  www.imperialpublishinghouse.com

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above stated publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Model: Reeff Kuhn IG: @the_wilding

  Photographer: Ashley Nielsen

  Cover Designer: Kenya Redd

  “Always forgive…Keep your promises.”

  Name Pronunciation

  Neema: Neh-EH-Maa (African-Swahili name meaning born during a prosperous time)

  Prologue

  Neema

  I watched as he took the first three steps away from me. I choked on my tears. I didn’t want to cry, but this was him. He was mine, forever and now. It felt like forever was finally here. We didn’t make it. We were never going to make it. After all the things we went through with our families, the looks we got from both of them and the insults we endured, all we were left with were broken hearts.

  “Please,” I begged softly.

  I was never the begging type, but tonight, in this secret place where we met, I begged him. I had never wanted any other man as much as I wanted him. I craved his soft touches and the way his fingertips always left a trail on my shoulder. I longed for the soft kisses he left on my shoulders, neck, face, and lips. My favorite was the way he kissed the back of my hand as he stared into my eyes. Everything about him was meant to be mine—his heart, his soul, his entire being. It was all meant to be mine for eternity, but he was walking away from me. He wasn’t going to let me fight for it. I wanted to try, even if I had to do it on my own, but he refused.

  The first sob escaped my mouth. I didn’t want this to be the end of us. We started something we never thought we could. I never thought it was humanly possible to love someone as much as I loved him. I thought love like this was only in fiction books or movies because they had to exaggerate. Yet, there I was feeling like my heart was being split into two. It felt like someone took a knife and began stabbing me repeatedly in my chest. I clutched my chest. I am not this girl, I tried to remind myself, but my sobs grew louder.

  “Please…” This time it was his voice, a voice I could never forget, even if I had amnesia. “Don’t cry,” he sounded as if he were telling himself instead of me. His breath hitched as I watched the way his shoulders slumped for a moment.

  I would never forget him because, for the first time in my life, I had felt what true love was like.

  ****

  Dragos

  I didn’t want to go, but I had to protect her, to protect what we had left. Our love was tainted by our differences. Our families couldn’t see past who we were, our backgrounds and religion (my father’s family more than anyone else), and the worst of it all was our cultures were different. We were completely opposite from the moment we set our gazes on each other.

  As if those were big factors, I was an international student from Turkey. She was an immigrant from Congo trying to make sure her status of protected person didn’t get revoked. We had so much stacked against us that we should’ve known this would be the end of it all. My mother was an American Christian professor who fell in love with a wealthy Turk with old money. My father wasn’t Muslim per se, but his family was. He didn’t mind that my mother raised me with her religion, but I didn’t practice it as heavily as others. That became a factor her family couldn’t accept.

  “You’ll hurt her. They’ll never accept her,” were the words that destroyed me deep down inside. They came from her mother and father, who were practicing Christians.

  I stood firm in telling her parents I would never let my family railroad Neema into anything. Why? Because they didn’t do that to my mother. She wasn’t forced to do a damn thing, especially when my baba (father), didn’t allow it. But after his passing, it got hard. Not just for me but for the family. They wanted me to marry whoever they chose. They wanted me to find someone of my own culture, one who would understand what it was like to be Turkish. They didn’t care that I loved this girl the way that I did. All that they cared about was that the Demir family name wasn’t disgraced.

  Still, I wasn’t going to leave her. When my uncle said these last few words to me, I knew it was time to return home and settle things. I would be leaving behind my heart with a girl I would probably never see again.

  “She will never be one of us. You are a man, Dragos. Come back and take care of your mother. Love will not change who you are. You are a Demir. We don’t bow down to anything.”

  I shuddered, thinking about his words as I held onto the doorknob. I left everything of this place in her name. I wanted to give her all that I could, but she didn’t want it; she wanted me.

  Where would I find someone like her ever again? I cursed the day I fell in love with her. I couldn’t even say her name for fear, if it escaped my lips, I would never leave her. My left hand shook as my right one turned the knob. Her tears were turning frantic. Hearing her small footsteps making their way towards me caused me to propel forward. I didn’t think or listen to anything as I shut the noise out. I focused on the long hallway, seeing only the exit sign as my way out. She would never know why I did it. She would just think I gave up. I’d rather her hate me than to travel across the ocean just to be with me one more time.

  Be free, my dove. Live… for me, please.

  Chapter 1

  Dragos

  Days like this, I thought of her. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. She always seemed to come to my mind when I decided to take a few minutes to myself. When I first left Neema, it was unbearable for me. I fought with every part of me not to get on the first plane from Istanbul to her in Toronto, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted her to live. I wanted her to find happiness, especially since I couldn’t give it to her. I never returned to Toronto since I first stepped foot there when I was twenty-two. Now, I was thirty-two. It had been ten years, and I hadn’t seen her lovely face in all this time. Those big brown eyes that captured me in a way that nothing else could. Her tiny braids she always wore loose and long. The one dimple on her left cheek and most expressive face I had ever seen. Her skin, the finest, richest, most captivating brown I had ever encountered glistened so beautifully under the sunlight or whenever she wore yellow.

  What I loved about her was how little she was compared to me. I wasn’t some insane height. I stood at six foot three, and she was four foot eleven inches. She hated how much I would pick her up and put her over my shoulder when we argued or when she didn’t want to go out. Instead, she wanted to stay in our secret place out of fear that her family would spot her. I didn’t care about any of that, just her. She was my world.

  Here I was, ten years later, an empty shell because Neema Kamau took my entire life and shattered it with her love. I shook my head, not wanting to t
hink about her anymore. I was a professional and needed to act like it.

  I stared at the receptionist as she flipped her blonde hair in my direction. I sat back, waiting for the infamous Madame Minerva Du’Ponte. She had reached out to me, wanting me to work with her and her modeling agency. I didn’t mind the gig since I wanted to settle down in New York with my anne, or mother in English, and my four-year-old son, Amir. I became his father when my baby sister, Defne, passed. Amir was my nephew by birth, but my sister pulled a fast one on me by having me sign some papers I thought meant I was his guardian if anything ever happened. I was the idiot for not realizing what she did. After Defne died, the adoption became valid and legal. She knew she was going to die, and to this day, I was still haunted by her death. I took my anne and Amir, the only two I considered family, and there we were in New York.

  I could say that traveling the world wasn’t exhausting, but after some time, I got tired of not going back home to what was mine. I didn’t live directly in the city; I lived in Great Neck Gardens. My mama lived there too, but we were about twenty minutes apart, so I could always check up on her. She had severe vertigo and a live-in nurse. I couldn’t let her keep Amir with her, so he visited her but stayed with me. I shook my head, thinking of the house that I let her pick out for me. I should’ve just done it myself. But, of course, she had to go and be extra by getting me an extravagant place with more bedrooms than I needed. Her reason was that she needed more grandchildren. I rolled my eyes at that thought, but it made me smile. I understood where she came from. Even still, it was hard for me to give my heart to someone else when I didn’t even have it in my possession.

  The receptionist, Gayle, stood from her seat and walked over to me.

  “Mrs. Du’Ponte is ready for you now,” she smiled politely.

  I cocked my eyebrow. Now, she’s ready for me? She was the one to reach out to me, and now they were acting as if it were the other way around. I kept my mouth shut as I stood. I followed her down the hall with the glass offices. I was always on alert. I didn’t say anything, but I took everything in. From an artist’s eyes, I appreciated what she did with her offices. The colors were bright and would keep people awake. The technology was up to date. It was inviting because there were no cubicles, and it had glass desks that let everyone interact instead of being isolated.

  When we walked into Minerva’s office, I tilted my head. I should’ve researched her a bit more, but I didn’t care to look up what she looked like. This was a job at the end of the day, but I had to give it to her. She was a flawless beauty. Her chocolate skin tone reminded me of Neema, but that was all the resemblance. She was tall, almost six feet. As she stood to greet me, she was about my height with her heels. She wore a deep purple dress that hugged every part of her yet didn’t show any type of cleavage or legs. It was sort of like an illusion in some way, but it was definitely appreciated. She knew what she was doing. She smiled at me, showing her pearly whites, her defined cheekbones, and her hazel-brown eyes. What added to her beauty was the way she pulled her hair back in an intricate bun. She stretched her hand out to meet mine.

  “Mr. Demir, you’re a hard man to locate.” Her voice was sultry, sort of like an enchantment.

  I lightly chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that.” I shook her hand and immediately let go, not wanting to linger.

  She gestured for me to take a seat in front of her desk as she sashayed the short little walk to hers. I smirked while shaking my head as I ran a hand through my mid-chest length hair. She eyed me as though I were a piece of candy, and she wanted some. I wasn’t going to say a damn thing to her as I busied myself with putting my hair up in a low bun. I wasn’t dressed to impress. I wore my distressed jeans, black tee-shirt, and taupe leather jacket since it was getting a tad bit chilly in New York. My black Doc Martens completed it with some rings on my fingers and chains around my neck.

  “Before we get started, let me show you the portfolio of what I am envisioning for the next magazine. It’s an idea that I had my assistant put together for me.”

  I didn’t even get the chance to agree before she pressed a button on her phone.

  “Bring me the portfolio and two cups of coffee, will you?”

  Her assistant didn’t get the chance to reply either before she hung up.

  Hmmm. So, this was Minerva’s thing, huh?

  Not even five minutes had passed by when her assistant came through the door. I wasn’t paying attention, or else I would’ve known what the next minutes of my life were going to be like. I looked up too late because the same brown eyes that haunted me in my sleep, day and night, were staring at me as though she had seen a ghost. I stared back at her. I wasn’t sure if I was blinking. I was pretty sure I was in fear that she would disappear, and I would need to be detained for a psych evaluation.

  “Do you know her, Mr. Demir?” Minerva asked me.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but she did first.

  “No!” she yelled out. She was definitely flabbergasted. “I mean, I don’t know him like that, but he’s… he’s Dragos Demir. The infamous photographer, right?” As she said this, she looked away from me to her boss.

  Minerva smiled.

  “Yes, you’ve been doing your homework. Good. Thought I’d have to fire you for not knowing who he was. Dragos Demir, please meet my assistant, Neema. She’ll be with us throughout this project, and hopefully, through many more.”

  Instinct made me stand as I stretched my hand out to her.

  “Hi,” was all I could muster up to say. I was awestricken. She was gorgeous.

  Everything about her that I remembered was there, except she was now much more beautiful. Her face was still so full of expression, her eyes big, round, and brown. She was still so little compared to me in height, but her body had filled in. She was smaller when I first met her in college. Now, her hips flared out. She didn’t look like those bodies that seemed to be chopped and screwed. No. Instead, she had a body on her, especially her breasts. The fact that she didn’t look like she starved herself was so sexy to me. The feel of her small hand in mine conjured up memories I had to quickly tuck away out of fear that I would expose her lie and get her fired.

  Neema cleared her throat.

  “Hi. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Demir,” she softly said.

  “Please, call me Dragos. It’s nice to meet you, Neema.”

  The expression on her face was panic, but I didn’t care. I finally wasn’t dreaming anymore.

  ****

  Neema

  This must be a joke. One that I wasn’t fond of either. After ten years of trying to forget the only man I ever loved, there I was again with him, face to face. He had aged well, kind of like fine wine, or rather something super masculine like whiskey. I didn’t know if aged whiskey was good or bad, but Dragos Demir was something else. I tried to remain neutral as his hand swallowed mine, but there was that thumping of that useless organ in my chest and the feel of his calloused palm. When he spoke, I thought I was going to make some sort of noise. Luckily, I didn’t lose it in front of my boss. I didn’t want her to know about our past. He didn’t matter anymore. Not since he took every part of me and left me with only my shell.

  He wasn’t fully smiling at me, but the smirk made me aware that he wasn’t going to tell her a thing. I snatched my hand away from his, turning to face Minerva, the witch. I didn’t hate her. In fact, I looked up to her, but she drove me nuts. She would call me at all hours of the night, and I had no days off when it came to her. In these ten years, I had flourished in a way I didn’t realize that I would. My family became permanent residents, and then we got our citizenship. I would forever be grateful, but the process cost me so much, not only my dreams but also myself. I lost myself to an international student who walked out of my life. I knew that he knew I would follow him despite whatever my status was. Then, I couldn’t see past my love for him. But now, I realized how dumb that would’ve been. It would’ve ruined everything for me and my family.


  I could lie and say that my family let me mourn my loss of Dragos, but we weren’t raised to cry. I didn’t blame my parents because they were raised that way too. All that they said to me was that it was God’s plan for Dragos and me to not be together. We were very different for each other from our cultures, religions in the sense of his family, and immigration status. They couldn’t stop highlighting all of that, but I was glad to have my sisters. They sat with me while I cried for the loss of a man that I could never set my eyes on, ever again.

  Well, that’s what I thought until now. There he was staring me in the face as my boss’s most treasured piece. I could see it from the look in her eyes and the way she was panicking the weeks before. She would not drop me any hints on who this photographer was, but she was such a fan that she babbled about him over and over again. She talked about his accomplishments all over the world, his selfless acts to bring awareness to countries that others chose to ignore, and all of the awards he so-called won for the humanitarian he was. I should’ve known about all of this, but how could I when I was determined to convince my parents that my dream was to become a fashion editor? That was all I’d ever wanted, but I did what they wanted. I gained my bachelor’s degree in Human relations before furthering it to getting my Master’s in counseling.

  I did all of that, and then I had enough. I applied for this job and flew out the moment I was granted the chance to be Minerva Du’Ponte’s assistant. I even managed to convince her to let me learn from her. She allowed me that much. She even let me know that I could show her what I was working on when I was confident enough in my works. I didn’t hate her because of the opportunity, but I didn’t like her, especially now that she was looking at Dragos like he was some sort of prime ribeye steak. She was a damn vegetarian. I narrowed my eyes at her. She must’ve caught on because she cleared her throat, obviously wondering what I was doing. Her eyes widened in warning, and then I blinked.