Fatefully Yours
Fatefully Yours
Misha Anderson
Translated by Rachel Lima Lopes
“Fatefully Yours”
Written By Misha Anderson
Copyright © 2018 Mia Klein
All rights reserved
Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.
www.babelcube.com
Translated by Rachel Lima Lopes
Cover Design © 2018 MK Capas
“Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
Part I
Prologue
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
PART II
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
PART III
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
EPILOGUE
Acknowledgments
This book was born of a dream and I would like to thank God for allowing me to write and have the joy of having my story read by each one of you.
To my children, thank you for loving me even during my alone times and for understanding that the books are a part of me, and that to live incomplete would be, at the very least, very frustrating.
To my sister, Elize Souza, I have no words to thank you for the daily support and encouragement, besides being my inspiration for several of Klaus's "gems" in the story.
To my loyal Wattpad, Amazon and WhatsApp group – Misha Anderson Romances – readers and friends: none of this would be possible without that love tide that warms, rocks, and pushes me to always do more and be better. I still say that I couldn't have better readers.
To my dear father and friend, Orlando Quitete, thank you for the generous way with which you offer me your wisdom and your lap in those moments I need it the most.
To the physical therapists Danilo Calmon and Thiago Novaes that tried, even though I knew nothing, to share with me a small part of their expertise in their area and made my work shine with their indispensable guidance and collaboration.
To the friends and partners Elisabete Oliveira and Samuel Nogueira for pointing me North when I don't know which road to take. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I dedicate this book with all my love to people with special needs, those that bravely fight every day for accessibility and the respect of our prejudiced society.
And my profound admiration goes to the indigenous people, the owners of our land... When we’re able to connect with the essential and untarnished spirit of nature like you, we will surely know the true meaning of peace.
Summary
Part I
"Like everyone that lives
I'm in danger. And the only thing that awaits me
It's the completely unexpected."
(Clarice Lispector)
Prologue
KLAUS BRAUN SCHNEIDER
The bedroom door opens slowly, and I look at my wife lying in bed, with her sweaty cabocla[1] skin completely naked, the reddish tanned color that hypnotizes me... Hot like fire and bathed in the light of the bedside lamp.
I squeeze the handle of my cane, if Lady Godiva wasn't made from solid wood it would certainly break with the force that I have to exert in order to maintain balance.
And all because of the girl in front of me, only she can to throw me off balance. Anahí looks at me with sleepy almond eyes and then gives me one of her unique smiles, the ones that completely melt my famously cold heart. My girl hides her face in the pillow, biting her wet lips, swollen from kissing my mouth and sucking my sex. That's the way she is, all sunny even if it's night; so vivid and intense, even as a breeze. So soft, a sweet sigh.
To think that I used to laugh at my friends that became poets because of a pussy. Those guys were the butt of my jokes, now here I am, acting exactly the same way. At least, that's the barren way I used to speak, act and think. Until this cabocla hurricane devastated all the walls around me. She left nothing standing, no witnesses. I look away but can't resist and look back.
I need to stop devouring her with my eyes, it's ridiculous! We're over the fling stage, Anahí is my wife, the mother of my little miracle, my Apoena, only 2 years old. But, even though we're no longer in that passionate fever stage of first kisses, she can still make my whole body shiver, and every time we make love is still like the first time.
Anahí pats the mattress for me to join her and I walk over, leaving the cane next to the side table. I lie next to her and she cuddles in my arms, tangling her legs with mine, wily, purring like a oncilla.
My hand glides down slowly, making my way from her shoulders to the curve of the rounded hips. I like it when my hand wanders unhurried on her naked flesh. She takes my hand and drags it slowly to her belly, smiling at me.
"You know what's in this little house?"
Suddenly my hand trembles under hers, my eyes widen with surprise, but at the same time that I believe I’m being blessed with a second miracle, I think I'm not worthy of such a gift.
Not me, who's always been so arrogant and presumptuous, the famous and infamous Klaus Schneider. No! It must be only my imagination... Anahí nods.
“There a new tenant in here, I don't know if a boy or a girl. Only the ultrasound will be able to tell,” she finishes, smiling mischievously.
I look at her still flat belly and, afraid, ask her if she's joking.
"You're pregnant, little cabocla?"
"I am, love. Now that I got up the courage to tell you, what do you have to say, Viking?" Anahí says jokingly.
I squeeze her warm body and she sits up astride me, her sex brushing against mine, deftly nibbling on my lips.
"What can I say? Only that you make me the happiest man on Earth. I'm so glad Sara didn't want to be my PT. I'm a lucky man, Mrs. Schneider, a very lucky man.
Oh, little cabocla, if I knew how much I would come to love you, I wouldn't have resisted so hard having you in my life."
CHAPTER 1
KLAUS BRAUN SCHNEIDER
Her boobs don't move. She rides me hard, impaled by my cock, but her boobs still don't move. My eyes are stuck on those two pieces of unmovable meat and I wonder: 400cc or 500cc? I can’t be sure, but it has to be around that.
I'm stunned by this oxygenated blonde calling for all the saints in every possible way and, even though I'm an atheist, hearing her bothers me. I'm pretty sure what she’s saying is blasphemy.
"Oh, Jesus, gods, that! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, more, more, more, like that, like that, go right, right, ahhhh!!!! Oh, my Gooood, right, right, like that! Ohhh!!"
Fuck! Does this cow think I'm deaf or a valet? She moans like a pig being slaughtered. I think of natural breasts, fantasize I'm with a natural blonde and, fuck it! I still can't come! Where is the damned cum when I need it the most?
She sinks her nails into my shoulder, nearing orgasm, and all that's missing from the show in her head turning like the girl from The Exorcist, she clenches around my dick and, at long last, she comes. I make good use of the fact that she's stop screeching like a chicken with a stick up the ass, and concentrate on m
y mission to keep my playboy image intact. I thrust hard into her once, twice, three times and with great difficulty, I come.
A fart... A stupid fart, pathetic, depressing and cold, just like every orgasm in my life lately.
"Vilma, hurry up. I've to head out to the pit," I tell her.
She dries her forehead, still gasping, and gets off me. I pull the condom out and head to the team's bathroom to get rid of it... The condom and the fake blonde. I quickly come back straightening out my overalls hurriedly and the girl puts on her way too short skirt, no panties, and pulls down her top looking at me and with a fake sexy pucker to her lips.
"It's Vitória. My name is Vitória. Cláudia asked to come here and relax you. Mission accomplished, right tiger?"
Tiger? Did you really just call me tiger? Argh! I conceal my disappointed at the horrible fuck, so she hurries up and leaves.
"Definitely, Virna. You were amazing, honey."
Cláudia is my fiancée, a Brazilian top model that lives and breathes fashion. Nothing is more important to her than her career, nothing makes her lose focus on her objectives, least of all us being together. Seeing her is getting rarer and rarer, a luxury.
When we started dating it was breathtakingly passionate, we couldn't get enough of each other, but now, after 4 years, the relationship is apathetic and flagging.
I have spent the last four years trying to be the cool modern guy, after all, fuck! Which guys doesn't dream of a fiancée that wants an open relationship? But the truth is the fact that she not only lets me fuck whoever I want, but also encourages me to fuck her model "friends", makes me fucking uncomfortable. This shit went from being a stimulating kink in our relationship to being something empty, mechanical, and lifeless.
The lonely ugly truth is: as long as I keep her skinny fingers filled with bling, buying her a new closet whenever she feels like it, then she doesn't care if I'm fucking her, her friends, or if I'm sticking my dick in a hole in the middle of the door. As long as I keep posing for photos next to her at events, keep declaring my love at interviews and spend a fortune with her trips and yacht rides, then everything is fine, a regular free-for-all!!!
So, if for her everything is permissible, then why does it feel so odd, why do I feel so empty?
Vilma says goodbye promising to come back another day and I go back to the bathroom to wash my hands and face trying to get rid of the smell of tawdry perfume and cheap sex that's coming off my skin.
Someone knocks on the doors then opens it calling my name.
"Klaus, are you ready?"
I dry my face and smile at my technical director, Frankie Zappa.
"Yeah, let's get the show on the road."
Reaching the pit, I quickly take my seat in front of the monitors, studying the race time of my opponents and I only see one guy that can stand in the way of my victory, this Englishman has been giving be a hard time.
I talk with Peter and Liam, the guys responsible for my new car's aerodynamics and the car’s design. They tell me about the changes they’ve made so the car is faster and lighter, what I've to look out for while driving, and our strategy in this Grand Pris. I listen closely, making mental notes of what I want to do.
My cellphone rings three times, I apologize for the interruption looking at the screen, it's Mark, FIA's chief medical delegate and my friend of many years. When I pick up, he laughs at me.
"You took your time, dude. Were you finishing up your pre-race sex?"
"No, I was talking with Peter and Liam. What's up, dude?"
"I was thinking we could grab a glass of wine after the race. I know you don't drink, but stop being such a downer and keep me company. Let's celebrate the Brazilian GP. After all it's not every day that you have a chance to rub the Brazilian flag on that stupid little Englishman's face, my friend."
Only Mark can make me laugh when I'm tense before a race.
"Sounds good, Mark, I'll wait for you at the podium, dude," I say, hanging up.
Gus Krauser, my team leader, approaches me with a reporter. I get up to greet them.
"I'm Denis Souto, reporting for São Paulo's morning paper. Klaus, can we get an exclusive?" The reporter says while signaling the cameraman to prepare to start recording.
I smile slightly and nod, "Sure, we can start whenever you're ready."
Denis signals the cameraman and as soon as he gives the okay, he starts the interview.
"Klaus, what are your expectations for the Brazilian GP? You're two races away from being this season's champion. Do you feel ready to beat Lewis Jordan at home?"
"Definitely. I feel comfortable racing here, after all, this is my country. Specially here in Interlagos, I've a soft spot for São Paulo, it's a lovely city. I'm from Floripa myself, but my affections are divided between São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. Anyway, today is a beautiful day to bring home that prize."
"You're still young, but you've had a phenomenal career in Formula One. The great Peter Sauber said in an interview that you’re the latest of geniuses Brazilian drivers, the first since the death of our beloved Senna. How do you deal with the responsibility of taking Brazil all the way to first place again?" The reporter asks.
"With pride and seriousness. I thank you for the kind words, but my victories wouldn't be possible without the whole team at Marussia doing their job brilliantly, from the pit mechanics all the way to my team leader. The victory of a driver is only possible when his team is focused and united. And my team is fantastic. So driving gets easier, it's the least of the problems.”
Cláudia, today I'm not going to thank you for your shitty support. This time I don't feel like contributing to this clown show. It's been two months with you modeling halfway around the world. Maybe, at this exact moment, you're even fucking one of those anorexic models you love to cheat me with. So not today honey, I'm sick of the hypocrisy. Fuck it, it’s tiring having to lie all the time that I'm happy with you.
I thank the reporter at the end of the interview and stop next to my car, Amélia, my girl. I stroke her perfect form and feel a strange anguish. I stop by her trunk and see the perfection of the design, it's like she's alive. We speak the same language, man and machine, we're in sync.
I get inside and grab the wheel, it’s as if it was perfectly molded for my firm hands. I wait for the okay from my team leader then drive to the starting grid. My position puts me next to Lewis and the roar of the engines is like music to my ears. I look around the sold-out stands and all I can think is win, win, win. This was what I was born to be, a F1 winner, spreading a little bit of joy to my country's people, those that suffer so much.
The light goes green and I step on the gas, and keep my first place easily until the pit stop. It started raining heavily a few minutes ago and Frankie directed me to change the tires for ones with more traction.
The tire change was seven seconds slower than expected, and now I have to make up for that stupid mistake by going faster and trying riskier maneuvers. A car passes me and now I have to catch up with that fucking Englishman.
I overtake Lewis in a risky maneuver, just coming out of a turn. There are five laps left for me to win the race, but he's getting closer. It's all very fast, his car’s too close to mine and I don't swerve. If we're about to crash, then fuck it, I'm not slowing down. His back tire touches mine and to make matters worse, there are three laggard cars in front of me. We're going to crash, and I hit the brakes. I hear the skidding sound of the brakes and try to hold the wheel, but the impact is too strong. The car flips over and over, until finally all I can feel and see is the cold and then darkness.
We got the message of a hellish rollover and in seconds we’re on our way out to the track. Red flag, red flag, accident on the track. We’re a team of five medical professionals, nurses and doctors. When we get to the track the car's still in flames and the fire in the front hasn't been put out yet. Our car stopped at a safe distance, and the fucking cervical necklace is back in the car.
Fuck! That's Klaus's car.
"Mark, don't grab him like that. If he has a spinal injury you can make it worse. Wait until they have the fire under control."
"Fuck it Steve, if he doesn't get out of the car now, he's toast. He's my friend, I’d rather risk it."
I push one of the firefighters that tries to stop me, a piece of the car presses on Klaus’s spine from the back, I move the twisted iron as carefully as possible and then signal Steve and his nurses to get closer. I take Klaus and I walk away just in time to get free of the explosion.
I put him on the stretcher and there's no more time to think. There's only saving his life, that's all I want. Klaus's heart stops. I start CPR while Steve gets the defibrillator ready.
The rest of the team takes a step back and I shock him...nothing. CPR and I shock him again. Steve shakes his head, I lean over Klaus's unresponsive body and start CPR again, I signal Steve to get the defibrillator ready and he refuses. I scream uncontrollably, professional ethics forgotten.
"Then leave, you asshole. And give me that fucking defibrillator."
Scared by my shouting, he hands it over and I get ready to shock Klaus again.
"Fight, god dammit! You have a whole life ahead of you. You're a winner. Come back to your friends, you fucking asshole!" I scream at him.
I shock him. Slowly his heart rate increases. The rescue helicopter lands and a doctor comes towards us, helping us put him in the aircraft. As soon as the helicopter takes off, I fall on my knees, exhausted.
Klaus is like a brother to me. From my medical experience, his condition is critical, and a spinal cord compression could be serious. Whether he lives or dies, misfortune has embraced my friend. All we need is a miracle, just that, a miracle.