Forbidden Son Read Online Free PDF Page A

the woman who had loved
afternoon tea parties with her lady friends, researching family heritage, and
doting on her son and husband. He’d do anything to protect her.
    His
father, on the other hand, was a hardened criminal attorney, now a judge, who
brooked no nonsense for those who broke the law. Even if Tripp hadn’t planned
to follow in his father’s footsteps, it was expected that the day he graduated
from Harvard Law School he would join his uncles at Hartwell, Hartwell, and
Calhoun, Attorneys at Law.
    Walking
down the hall to his room, Tripp brushed his teeth, folded his clothes, and put
on a fresh pair of boxers before climbing into bed. With his hands cupped
behind his head, he replayed the evening with Honey Belle. She reminded him of
an unrefined gem who needed a little polishing. He liked this girl and intended
to ask her out again.
    ****
    It
was late, and Honey Belle knew her mother would be furious. Her mother’s
philosophy was as long as you live under my roof, you’ll abide by my rules. And the rule for Honey Belle was, “Home before midnight on the weekends and
home straight from work during the weekdays.”
    She’d
often thought about getting an apartment, moving out on her own. Minimum wage
didn’t bring in much. Between her own and her mother’s salaries, together, they
managed to keep up with staying one month away from being evicted on the rent,
from having the electric shut off, and with paying a little each month on her
father’s ever-growing mountain of doctor bills.
    Moonlight
passed through the broken window in her bedroom. With no money to replace it,
she’d placed duct tape over the crack to keep the glass from falling in.
    Wound
up tighter than a corkscrew, Honey Belle knew she needed to sleep fast. She
held the clock toward the moonlight. The hands indicated midnight. She set the
alarm. Her wake-up time would come before she was ready. Sweat pooled between
her breasts and she shucked off her nightgown, pulling the sheet up to cover
her nude body. Her mother had once called her a Jezebel when she’d found her
daughter sleeping buck naked. Honey Belle had responded with, “At least Jezebel
is better than being named after a tangerine.”
    And
then she’d asked, “Why did you name me after a citrus fruit?”
    Her
mother had heaved a sigh. “It’s an elegant name. Be proud of it because it’s
the only worthwhile thing I’ll ever have to give to you.”
    The
remembrance hurt. She wondered why she’d meant so little to her mother.
    Honey
Belle concentrated on the ceiling fan’s whirring noise. She reached up and
pulled the chain, turning the fan to a higher speed. A lot of good it did. For
all the blades’ movement, hot air stifled the room. She’d stake her life that
Tripp’s entire house was air conditioned. She longed for air conditioning. For
her, such a luxury was as far away as the moon.
    Drifting
off to sleep, her thoughts centered on Tripp, she remembered he was two years
older than herself. He had the chiseled features of a movie star. He was
observant. His eyes seemed to watch everything. Maybe that’s why he decided to
become a lawyer. She found it bothersome that he seemed to read her every
thought.
    He
was tall and strong. Not like some of the milksop college guys who patronized
the Burger Bin. She liked everything about Tripp Hartwell the Third. Most of
all she liked his voice. It was the kind of voice that announced football
games, or belonged on the big screen. It was a voice that would make members on
a jury sit up and listen.
    In
her heart she knew he was the kind of man she could trust to share her
innermost secrets—her hopes and dreams for the future—and he would listen
intently, promising to make them all come true. She hoped.
    A
cloud drifted in front of the moon, shutting out the light. She listened to the
clock’s rhythmic tick-tock, and imagined it saying, He loves me, He loves me
not, He loves me .
    Before
drifting into sweet oblivion, she thought