How To Love An Ogre (Island Girls: 3 Sisters In Mauritius Book 2) Read online

  How To Love

  An Ogre

  Island Girls: 3 Sisters in Mauritius

  Book2

  by

  ZEE MONODEE

  Island Girls: 3 sisters in Mauritius Series

  The One That Got Away

  How To Love An Ogre

  Falling For Her Bad Boy Boss

  Other Books by Zee Monodee:

  Destiny’s Child Series

  Prescription For Love

  The Lawyer’s Pregnancy Takeover

  The Tycoon’s Second Chance Baby (Coming Soon)

  The Daimsbury Chronicles Series

  Storm In Their Hearts (Spin-off)

  Bad Luck With Besties

  A Girl Named Trouble

  Cancer And The Playboy

  Love Amid Hot Flashes (Coming Soon)

  How To Love An Ogre

  (Island Girls: 3 Sisters in Mauritius, Book 2)

  By Zee Monodee

  Copyright 2006-2018, Zee Monodee

  (previously published under the title Light My World)

  Kindle Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  As the story is set in Mauritius (a Commonwealth country), the spelling and Grammar for this book is English (United Kingdom.)

  Cover Artist: Zee Monodee

  Editor: Natalie G. Owens (http://divasatwork.wordpress.com/)

  Blurb:

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that an Indian-origin girl over the age of eighteen must be in want of a husband …

  Tired of her mother’s relentless matchmaking, young & successful interior designer Diya Hemant is determined to find her Prince Charming on her terms. Armed with a definitive list of requirements, she is sure she’ll know Mr. Right when she meets him. If only Fate would stop throwing frogs along her path.

  British widower & single father Trent Garrison thought coming to live in sunny Mauritius would be a new beginning for him and his two young sons. He craves peace & a quiet life, & finding love is not on his radar. If only Fate would stop throwing airhead princess-types along his route.

  When Diya meets Trent, it is hate at first sight. Though not averse to kissing a frog in the hope that it might reveal a prince, she draws the line before this surly man, who brings to mind an ogre of the worst kind.

  Then, she meets Gareth, who embodies every quality she has on her list. But something still feels off, and against her better judgment, her thoughts, her life, and her feelings all seem to be converging towards Trent.

  He is all wrong for her … or is he? Can this modern-day princess overcome her own expectations and see beyond the ogre to the man beneath?

  If you love Pride and Prejudice retellings, enemies to lovers tales, witty banter, & overbearing families, then you will enjoy this coming-of-age story where the youngest of the Hemant sisters finds that, sometimes, love might be hiding right under your nose on the sultry west coast of Mauritius.

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  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  Don’t Forget Your FREE Book!

  Excerpt from Falling For Her Bad Boy Boss

  How To Love

  An Ogre

  Chapter One

  Diya Hemant was running from her mother.

  As much as it pained her to admit how a grown woman like herself had had to resort to that, she also knew this wasn’t the first time she’d done this. Nor would this be the last.

  With a sigh, she steered her massive Ford Ranger into her usual parking spot under the shade of a sprawling banyan tree and cursed as she ran over an exposed root. Bloody parking, but at least she and her business partner didn’t have to fork out for space for their vehicles, seeing how Angélique Marivaux-Laroche owned the mansion where one wing housed the Angel Light Interior Decorating Agency. Convenient how most courtyards in the western coastal town of Tamarin, dubbed the expat hub of Mauritius, came with trees providing natural covered parking spaces.

  ALIDA, their agency, was her and her bestie’s brainchild. They’d met some six years earlier, and their shared passion for decoration had made their friendship hit off faster than flames touching dry wood to start a raging forest fire. Their families said the two of them could set anything on fire, literally, but so far, Diya and Ange had shown the world they meant business.

  She winced as she unclenched her hands from the steering wheel and pulled the door latch.

  Right, how to plunge from this one-story height without breaking any bones?

  She practically disappeared in the spacious interior, yet, having grown used to the lofty feeling of being in the vehicle, would change her lot for no other. Commanding such a huge truck brought on a sensation of power and control, something her diminutive size of five-foot-nothing had never allowed her.

  As she slid out of her seat, her sandal-clad feet hit the dry, rocky earth with a muffled thud, and she gave herself a few seconds to regain her balance after such a precarious drop.

  Strolling towards the east wing of the large Victorian dwelling, she grimaced as a warm spot built in her heels. She’d hit the ground too hard. Might need to lunge out less forcibly next time.

  Once into the wide, studio-like expanse of their office, she removed the sandals and let her soles touch the cool teak floor planks. Bliss. The burning in her heels had melted away by the time she slid into the high-backed executive chair behind the mahogany desk.

  The scent of lavender, from the many potpourri bowls they’d placed around the room, drifted to her nostrils, further soothing her and loosening the tenseness in her neck. She reached for the incoming mail basket with a renewed burst of energy and settled back to browse the pile of papers.

  At least half of them enquired about collaboration ventures with interior products companies.

  She pumped her fist in the air. What a change from when they’d started, when all they’d faced had been bills and payment requests. Thank goodness the contract for redesigning the offices of the airline company had changed the landscape.

  A startled gasp resounded from the doorway.

  Diya peer
ed up from the prospectus for a brief second. “Hi, Ange.”

  Angélique stood on the threshold with a hand clutched to her chest. “Jésus, Marie, Joseph! Ayo, Dee, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought you weren’t supposed to come to the office this weekend.”

  She brushed the theatrical remark away. “I know. I just wanted to drop by, is all.”

  Would her best friend pick up on her fibbing? Another reason she was holing up here was the spotty cell reception. No way could her mum reach her on the 3G local network. Of course, her parent didn’t need to know that Internet reception was stellar and she could use an app like WhatsApp or Skype to get in touch with her daughter. Thank God for small favours.

  Angélique stalked up to her and snatched the sheaf of papers from her hands.

  And that meant Diya was toast.

  After tossing the documents onto the desk, the tall woman dropped her model-like figure onto an Empire-style sofa. Her piercing grey stare burned into Diya, who averted her face.

  “I thought you were meeting with that boyfriend of yours. He chicken out or what?”

  A sigh escaped her.

  “No, I’m the one with cold feet.” Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have to ditch him, and I don’t want to do it.”

  “You mean you don’t want to ditch, or ditch him?”

  She looked up and laughed.

  “I don’t like to ditch, full stop. But he’s also the problem. We’ve been going out for barely two months, and he wants me to meet his mother. Next thing I know, his mum will be approaching mine with a wedding proposal.” She paused and made a grimace. “Actually, he all but threatened to have his mother contact mine this weekend. We’re a ‘done deal,’ according to him.”

  “Whoa, wait! ‘Threatened’?”

  Diya rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. Delivered in that nasally whiny voice of his. How come I never realised how nasally whiny he sounds?”

  Angélique laughed, too. “Didn’t you say you want to get married, though? That it was high time you found Mr. Right?”

  Diya rolled her eyes. “There’s a big difference, Ange. I want to get married, but not to the first bloke who proposes. And I don’t want to marry Krish.”

  “Why not? Isn’t he right for you?”

  No, he isn’t.

  Repulsion surged, but she also couldn’t suppress the smile working its way onto her face. “Apparently, he has everything. He’s handsome, rich, with a good background and lineage. And fair of skin, which makes Krish Karan the perfect prospect in my mother’s eyes. She’d have me married off to him in no time if his mother did come with a proposal.”

  Angélique chuckled. “But? I sense a ‘but’ coming. You don’t want to please your mother, right? After all these years of rebelling against her, you cannot give her this ultimate satisfaction.”

  “Exactly.” Diya stressed the point with a wide sweep of her hands. “And, a man who runs to Mummy every time something happens isn’t my idea of the perfect guy.”

  “Urghh.”

  Diya echoed the grimace, and they both burst into laughter.

  “So, a definite no-no to add to the list of the perfect man is ‘not run to Mummy.’ What else had you listed, by the way?” Ange asked with a raised eyebrow, before she started to tick the qualities off her fingers. “He has to be handsome. No point looking further than that. Then, he has to be rich. Always helps. Good background, though you’d also settle for the self-made man. Pleasant character. Not selfish. Not ego-driven.” She paused. “Romantic, and a sense of humour would be the added plus. Right?”

  Diya grinned. “Yup. The recipe for the perfect marriage prospect.”

  Then, her high spirits crashed. “Sod it. The perfect guy doesn’t exist.”

  She should know by now, shouldn’t she? She’d been looking for this paragon of virtue for close to a decade now! And aside from a veritable horde of frogs—one worse than the other—no man ever worth his salt had crossed her path.

  “True,” Angélique replied on a whisper.

  Diya stared at her best friend. Something in the subdued reply hit her as not at all right in there. What, though? Ange was happily married.

  Wasn’t she?

  “What about Patrice? Didn’t you say he was the perfect man for you?”

  The other woman shrugged, before leaving her seat to go stand before the window. “Patrice is my husband, Dee, and though I love him, he isn’t perfect.”

  The words sank into her as she frowned at her beautiful, dark-haired bestie. Ange had her back to her, so Diya couldn’t see what emotions played on her face. Still, judging from the stiffness in her spine, and how she clasped her arms in front her, as if she were cold on such a warm day, something was amiss.

  Angélique and Patrice Laroche had been together for the past six years, though they’d only been married for three. She’d always thought they made a perfectly happy couple.

  Had she been wrong?

  “Anything the matter?”

  Her friend remained silent for a few seconds, before she spun around and gave her a bright grin that nevertheless appeared fake, because her lower lip quivered.

  “Nothing. I guess it’s just routine crawling in on us.”

  Routine, my arse. Ange was hiding something, yet, she would never give a straight answer if Diya prodded.

  So, she changed tactics.

  “Speaking of Patrice, weren’t you two supposed to be at your mother’s place today?”

  Angélique shrugged. “Something came up.”

  Just her luck. The studio was supposed to be empty because Ange would be in the centre of the island, in the chic and expensive suburb of Floreal at the Marivaux family’s stronghold, at least twenty kilometres from here.

  No, something definitely wasn’t adding up here, and Diya was about to continue with her seemingly-nonchalant inquiry when the phone rang.

  “ALIDA, Diya Hemant speaking.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Hemant,” the cool and brisk voice at the other end said. “Claudine Rivet here, Mr. Clark’s secretary from Palm Palace Hotel.”

  Her pulse picked up at the mention of the name. Their company had placed a bid for the hotel’s renovation, but they weren’t expecting any news for at least another week.

  Did the administration inform of rejections through the phone?

  “Palm Palace,” she mouthed towards Angélique while pointing her finger to the phone.

  Her friend moved closer, almost until her ear lay pressed to the receiver on the other side.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she pushed the words out of her throat. “What can I do for you, Miss Rivet?”

  “The official announcement will be made next week, but Mr. Clark has deemed it better to inform you straight away that your bid has been approved for the project. He’ll be in touch shortly.”

  She heard the words from somewhere far away. A pulsing throb pounded in her ears, and she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Yet, there hadn’t been any ‘sorry’ anywhere in the conversation; she was sure of it.

  “The directors want you to start the work at the earliest,” the woman said. “Is this okay with you?”

  Diya blinked out of the numb fog. “Yes.”

  “Mr. Clark will be in touch. Good day, Miss Hemant.”

  “Same to you.”

  The sound of the dial tone echoed in her head.

  Ange’s forceful hand on her shoulder, shaking her like a rag doll, brought Diya out of her stupor.

  She slowly pronounced the words. “Palm Palace. We won.”

  Ange’s eyes grew big, before she jumped up and screamed.

  Diya wanted to be as exuberant, but her mind had picked up on another direction. She grabbed her friend’s hand.

  “We can cut ‘rich’ from the list, Ange. We’re rich now.”

  ***

  Trent Garrison slid his large frame behind the wheel of the tiny fridge box the rental car dealer called a car and closed th
e door. A Kancil Perodua. He’d never heard of the Malaysian make or model before. After buckling his seat belt and switching on the engine, he eased the vehicle out of its parking space and through the iron gate of the flat complex.

  Turning right as the sea air of the main road hit his nostrils, he reached the principal artery connecting Tamarin to the rest of the world. Or actually, more like the rest of the small island.

  He cursed after passing under the heavy iron beams of the Tamarin Bridge—from here on, the road wove in hairpin twists. The tall trees bordering the narrow route cut out the sun, making the contours more dangerous in the surreal daytime darkness.

  A weary sigh escaped him as he thumped the steering wheel. He’d never have believed the roads of this speck of a country could be even more complicated than the routes of countryside England, but he’d been proven wrong. In the three weeks he’d been in Mauritius, he’d gotten lost more times than in his entire thirty-six years.

  Under the glare of the harsh mid-afternoon sun, shimmers of heat rose from the dark asphalt, making the landscape appear blurry in places where the surface melted in the heat. The road now stretched uphill for more than a mile in a straight line.

  Trent chuckled, for the stretch almost resembled an airfield tarmac.

  Except deep-green sugarcane stalks didn’t border an airstrip, and the big, moss-covered basalt mountain to his right lay much too close for airport security standards.

  Another chuckle escaped him. What was it they said? Once a pilot, always a pilot? He’d left that life a long time ago, but maybe, the training never left a pilot’s bones. He focused again on the road, noticing a 4x4 truck a few hundred yards away.

  Thank God. The roads here were treacherous, the drivers worse. He’d been lucky to have escaped any accident thus far. Accuracy in navigating might be one of his fortes, but driving a car could be more perilous than steering a Boeing 747-400 in the given air lane. Not much risk of one plane cutting in front of another up in the sky.