ANITA VERKERK
Excerpt from The Enchanted Castle copyright © Anita Verkerk
Excerpt from The Enchanted Castle copyright © Anita Verkerk
It was nine A.M.
Samantha logged in to her computer at her work. She had a great job as a CEO of Exotic Tours, a large Travel Agency, specializing in tropical and adventurous tours.
She immediately opened her email box and looked at her mail. "Ah, a message from Wicca," she muttered to herself. "Great."
Wicca Raven was her French email friend. They had met in a chat box some weeks ago, where they had talked about sex.
Wicca was a love therapist in Paris, and Samantha had told her new friend about her marriage problems.
Wicca had given her various advice but nothing had worked--yet.
"Well?" Wicca’s mail asked. "Did sleeping naked do the job?"
Samantha hit reply. "Hi Wicca. No, it didn’t work. He was so tired, I guess he didn’t even notice my outfit. I’m getting kind of desperate. I was so happy for him when he took over that Art Gallery. Six months, four days...."
Samantha stopped typing, studied her watch and continued, "Eight hours and seven minutes ago. How could I ever imagine that he planned to be there day and night? Not to mention all those business trips. I can’t arouse my own husband anymore. And if I manage to, ‘Wham-bam-thank-you-Ma’am’ is all I get. We had such a good time together. I want my charming lover back. Shall I wrap myself in a Van Gogh or a Rembrandt? What do you think?"
Samantha leaned back in her leather chair, and sipping from her hot coffee, she reviewed her mail.
Shrugging, she pressed the send button and took another sip of her coffee.
The phone rang. Samantha answered it. "Exotic Tours, good morning. Can I help you?"
"Sam? Is that you?" Michael’s voice toned in her ear. "Mr. Vandenberg signed the contract. I’m so excited."
Oh wonderful. The only thing that aroused her husband nowadays was a signed contract.
She suppressed a sigh and tried to sound happy when she answered, "That’s great news, Michael! Way to go. How about cele--" How about celebrating with an intimate candle-lit dinner, she wanted to propose, but Michael interrupted her.
"Mr. Vandenberg has invited us to dinner tonight. In the New York Hilton at eight. Can you make that?"
Wow, a dinner with some unknown middle-aged, bald, Dutch Art merchandiser. That sounded thrilling.
She swallowed down her disappointment. "Okay, I’ll be there."
"Can you put on your black, knee-length dress with the silver stockings?" he asked.
"Will do," she replied. Filling her voice with sensual temptation she added, "I won’t be wearing my panties."
But Michael didn’t hear her. "Love you," he said and hung up the phone.
Samantha put the receiver back into its cradle. Right. She had to face it. Tonight would be another lost night. Lost for lovemaking, that was.
What was the use of trying to change Michael? She had better talk to her lawyer about a divorce. No. Of course not. She loved Michael. She didn’t give up that easily. She was ready to fight for her happiness.
If only ... if only she knew what to do.