Tainted Black, стр. 1

A Forbidden Romance

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Published September 2015

Editing by Yours Truly, The Editor

Cover Art and Design by Cover Lust Designs

Formatting by Inkstain Interior Book Designing

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NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

I would like to personally take the time out to enlighten every reader about a few details in Tainted Black. Since this story happens to have quite a unique premise, I’d just like to inform all of you that, though it may seem odd and wrong, it is purely fiction.

The cities/towns in which this novel is set are completely fictional and withhold no resemblances to an actual city/town, the people, cultures, or laws.

No, these are not events that have happened in my life or to anyone that I know. This just so happens to be a storyline that has been running wild in my mind ever since 2013 and I’m just now putting it out there.

I have worked on it, and then stopped. I have spent endless hours making it the best it can be, but wondering if people would get it. I have wanted to give up on this novel and the characters because I feared many would truly misunderstand Chloe and Theo’s struggle. In our society, most would consider it distasteful and ignorant.

I don’t. This story is from my heart, I can guarantee it. This story is full of love, angst, and even some heartbreak. This story shows growth and maturity. This story, as one reader put it, is about life vs. love.

I hope people realize a certain pattern when it comes to my writing style. I write very realistically considering I’ve had a very realistic childhood and life. I don’t see everything through color. Most of my life was spent looking through black and white binoculars.

Trust me when I say that I am a firm believer in HEA’s, but please realize that not all stories will have that rainbows and unicorn mirage. Every single one of my stories has an HEA in itself. It all just depends on your personality, how you grew up, or how you accept it.

If you can grasp these detailed facts, then I encourage you to read Tainted Black and I really hope you enjoy it! But if you cannot get with age gap/differences, the lust, or if you are expecting a fairytale type of romance, then realize this may not be the story for you. I completely respect your decision if you are no longer interested in reading it.

Much love and BIG hugs,

Shanora

xoxo

CONTACT SHANORA

I love chatting with my readers. If there’s anything you’d like to talk to me about please feel free to email me at [email protected]

Also, FOLLOW me on these social networks to keep up with what I’m working on next, cool info on my characters, and even awesome graphics!

Instagram: @reallyshanora

Twitter: twitter.com/shanorawilliams

Facebook: Facebook - Shanora's Sweethearts

Website: www.authorshanorawilliams.com

Dedicated to the people that will sacrifice pretty much anything for the ones they love. You may feel like you aren’t recognized, but you are special. You are loved and you are appreciated. Your soul is precious and generous, and this world could always use more people like you.

“Don’t think.

It complicates things.

Just feel, and if it feels like home, then follow its path.”

- r. m. drake -

ONE

I was twelve years old when I met the Blacks.

I’d just moved to Primrose Way, a suburban neighborhood in Bristle Wave County, California. Bristle Wave was right off the coast, a small, comforting area that travelers ventured to whenever they wanted to hit the pier, walk the beach, or even rent a boat to take out to sea.

My dad had gone into early retirement, so money was far from an issue when it came to staying in our new, high-dollar neighborhood. I’d heard plenty of horror stories about Primrose. Kids from school said people like me, girls with any trace of color, didn’t fit in well. I considered it bullshit gossip. I mean, how would they know if they had never lived in Primrose? And how would they know if they had no pigment in their skin? My father, the man of color, was the one that chose the neighborhood. He didn’t care for the snobby looks or turned up noses.

“As long as you’re in a neighborhood like Primrose, you’ll be fine.” He said this when I complained about moving for the third time that year. Truthfully, all of the moving around was most likely the reason I had no one to personally call my friend. I was a loner, stuck in my house wondering how to go up to the other kids on the block and ask them if they’d like to jump rope with me.

Let’s just say my father was wrong. The girls in Primrose didn’t like me. They were afraid to play with me, and none of them believed I was actually twelve years old because I was one bra size away from being a B-cup.

My mother tried arranging sleepovers, but no one would show up, which left me alone, drowning in a puddle of tears with my face down on a pillow as my mother rubbed my back. Dad didn’t really know how to comfort me, so whenever I cried, he kept his distance.

He’d worked most of my childhood, but now that he was retired, he had no clue how to handle me—not that he didn’t try or anything. He just knew how to make things really, really awkward. Mom worked endless hours as well but, unlike Dad, she hardly managed to spend two hours a day with me. Maybe an hour or so if I was lucky or if I decided to shop with her. I suppose I could have considered myself lucky because some of my friends at Bradshaw Heights Academy only saw their parents once a month. Having busy parents sucked.