My Wife’s Li’l Secret (A book by Eve Rabi Coming soon)

Love and Seduction


She called me the miracle in her life, I called her my everything.

Sounds corny, I know, but I really believed I was the luckiest bastard on earth. I had the loving and supportive wife, a nurturing mother to our two precious girls, a thriving business and the future looked rosy. I was a contented man.

But overnight everything changed. My wife withdrew from me, ignored our children, and made it clear she was no longer interested in playing the role of wife and mother.

We had two children under five, they needed her. I needed her.

When her dressing began to change and she disappeared for hours, I suspected I was not enough for her.

Thinking she was having an affair, I placed my wife of five years under surveillance.

What my surveillance revealed shook my world, broke my heart and exposed a web of lies and deceit.

My Wife’s lil Secret

Coming soon!


Excerpt from My Wife’s Li’l Secret:

Since my wife was out partying again, bedtime routine for our girls was left to me. Again.  I tucked Ally and Becky into bed and began to read a story to them. “Once upon a time…”

“Dadda?” Ally said placing her hand on the storybook and stopping me from continuing.

I paused and looked at my daughter. “Yes, Alleycat?”

“Dadda, what’s a hooka?”

“Whaaaat?” I peered at my daughter wondering if I had heard correctly.

“The teacher at preschool, she said, ‘Here comes the hooka,’ when she saw Mummy.”

Slowly, I lowered the book and stared at my daughter. “It’s …it’s …”

How do I explain what a hooker is to a four-year-old? I shouldn’t even be in a position where I had to.

“The lady shouldn’t have said that, Ally,” I muttered.

“But, Dadda …”

Two-year-old Becky spun around and clamped her hand over Ally’s mouth. “Shhh! Let Daddy read the story, Ally!”

Becky hated anyone interrupting a story, so to prevent her from getting mad with us, both Ally and I fell silent. I continued reading even though I was terribly distracted by Ally’s words.

“Talk about it tomorrow, Ally,” I muttered when the opportunity arose.

Ally nodded.

After the kids fell asleep, I sat in my lounge in the dark and pondered Ally’s teacher’s comment.

Liefie had great legs, a great figure and I had no problem with her wearing whatever she liked, but people were talking and clearly her dressing needed to be …addressed.

Of course I expected Liefie to become angry when I confronted her about it, accuse me of controlling her and after the number of arguments we had had, I was reluctant to talk to her about it.

But when I saw her the following evening, all dolled up and ready to party without her family again, hooker was the word, alright.

Her red skirt was the size of a large belt, her white top strained across her breasts and ended above her belly button, her fake tan looked like she’d dipped herself in food coloring and that garish, face paint with that dominating electric-blue eye shadow…reminded me of Braveheart.

She didn’t look pretty; she looked like an aging prostitute. Harsh words, I know, but they weren’t out of malice, they were simply an observation. (People were talking, remember?)

Tarty make-up aside, to my absolute surprise, she sported two piercings above her left eyebrows. My jaw fell.

When did that happen, I wondered? How could that happen? Why hadn’t she told me about it?

Of course it was her body and she was free to do what she liked to it, but facial piercings weren’t something I liked. She knew that.

She could have at least mentioned it to me before she pieced her face. We were husband and wife; it was reasonable to expect her to talk to me about something like that before she did it.

“What’s with the piercing?” I asked, both mesmerized and irritated by them.

She shrugged, flashed me a deal-with-it look and turned away.

With a weary sigh, I walked around to face her. “We need to talk.”

A guarded look flashed in her eyes before they hardened.

“Liefie, you need to dress more like a mother,” I said in a quiet voice. “You have two children and …”

“What?! You want to tell me how to dress now? You want to CONTROL ME?”

Just as I had expected.

“Hey, keep you voice down, will you? I’m talking to you, that’s all.”

“There is nothing wrong with my dressing, okay?! Nothing!”

“Yes, there is, Liefie. Your skirts are too short, your tops are way too tight and the people at Ally’s school are talking about it. You need to …”

“Ally’s school?” Her heavily-lined eyes slanted.


Her painted, pillar-box-red mouth twisted into a sneer. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I swear!”

She cocked her head and looked at me. “Who told you that?”

“Ally told me. She said one of the mothers or teachers, I can’t remember, after seeing you, used the word hooker.”

Her body stiffened. “Ally said ….THAT?!?”


“That bitch! Where is she?!” She turned and strode off in search of Ally. Even though she was in heels, she almost ran.

“Liefie stop!” I cried running after her, shocked she would call her little daughter a bitch. “Leave her alone!”

She found Ally playing with Becky in the TV room. “Did you call me a hooker?” she demanded, putting her flaming face in Ally’s.

“Liefie stop this shit!” I warned.

Ally’s eyes flitted between Liefie’s and mine, a terrified look on her face.

“Lief…ie! ” I hissed. “Stop this …”

Liefie suddenly backhanded Ally across the face, sending her crashing into a doll’s house.

Ally lay on the floor so stunned, she didn’t even cry. The only thing that showed her distress was puddle appearing around her waist.

For a moment, I too was stunned. Liefie had never ever hit our kids before.

Then fury overtook me – I grabbed my wife by the hair and slammed her against the wall.

Putting my face in hers, I snarled, “You ever touch my child like that and I will fuck the shit out of you, understand? UNDERSTAND?”

Her attempt to look defiant failed and I saw fear flicker in her eyes.

I had never hit Liefie before, never even called her names, so this wasn’t something she was used to.

“Don’t ever lay a finger on any of my daughters. Understand?” I pushed my face further into hers, resisting the urge to head-butt her.

“Daddy, stop! Daddy!” Ally cried, while Becky started to whimper. I looked over at my two children clinging to each other, terror on their little faces.

What am I doing?!

Quickly, I released Liefie and took a giant step back.

I walked over to Ally and Becky, scooped up both of them and hugged them to me. “It’s okay, it’s okay!”

They looked at their mother who stood holding her head with both hands, but did not try to go to her.

After a few moments, Liefie ran out of the room, shouting, “Your father is an abusive man! He just abused me in front of our children. That’s the kind of man I married!”

I looked at Ally. “Sorry, hon.”

“Why did you tell her, Daddy?” Ally whispered, holding her tear-stained cheek.

“I’m sorry, Al, I was trying to get her to do the right thing. I’m sorry.”

“You knew she’d hit me, Daddy. You shouldn’t have told her.”

I peered at Ally. “What are you talking about? She doesn’t hit you, Ally. Usually. Right?”

No answer.


“I need to change my pants,” Ally muttered, ignoring my questions.

My head jerked to look at little Becky.

Becky’s head bobbed, her eyes opening wide.

You can’t be serious?!

My eyes shifted back to Ally. “This is the first time she hit you, right? Or does she hit you? Tell me, Ally.” I shook her. “Tell me!”

Becky’s head continued to bob.

“All the time, Daddy,” Ally finally muttered. “Yesterday she hit me because I took too long to get Uncle Viggo’s beer. From the fridge.”

“WHAAAT?” She had my four-year-old daughter fetching alcohol for her brother?

Ally nodded.

“Mummy hit Ally here,” Becky said, slapping the top of her head.

I was mortified at what I was hearing.

If Liefie could hit my daughter that way in front of me, backhand her, what would she be doing behind my back? Aghast, I looked at my firstborn who I idolized. “Ally, honey, why didn’t you tell me this?”

“You weren’t here, Dadda. And Mummy said if I carry tales she’ll make me sorry.” Fat tears coursed down little Ally cheeks.

I drew my girls closer, feeling absolutely gutted to know they were being silently abused by their own mother. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Daddy will make it stop. I’m so sorry. This is not going to happen again. I promise.”

End of Excerpt

Release date will be published soon.

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Teddy P


Part two ….

I wanted to say, “Yes, often. More than I should.”  That was the truth and it was on the tip of my tongue.


“Eh, you first,” is what I finally said.

“All the time,” he blurted without hesitation. “Every time I bought something new, achieved something, I thought of you. Anytime something monumental happened in my life, I don’t know why, but I thought of you. How nice it would be to tell you about it. Not because I wanted to show off or something, but just because.”

I sat in my cloak of smugness. He thought about me.  All the time too. Wow!

“Like the time you got married?” I said. “You called me that day, remember?”

“Yeah, and you were such a bitch about it.”

“What, you expected me to jump for joy?” He had no idea how painful that phone call was for me. How I pretended I didn’t care, all the while wanting to simply die at the finality of our break-up.

“Well, you could have …”

“You got married like almost three months after we ended things. And she moved in with you right away! You guys were moving at an incredible speed which was confusing to me. So yeah, I believed that there was something was going on between the two of you while we were dating. I still do. Of course I was pissed off.  With her and you. She stole you from me.”

“But you left for …”

“And anyway, I challenge you to find a girl who says, ‘Congratulations, ex-boyfriend who I dated for five years. Hope you and that bitch lives happily ever after like Shrek,’ and does a joyful jig.”

“Shrek? Ha! Ha!”

“And did your wife know you called me that day?”

“Of course not. She’d die if she knew.”

“Mm. And why did you call me? I mean, how could you, on your wedding day of all days, call me, your ex-girlfriend? Something was wrong with that picture, boy.”

“Yeah…I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Well, clearly you were thinking about me.” My voice oozed glee.

“Yeah, I was nuts.”


A short silence.

“Listen, I have to deliver a lecture. Three actually. Can we chat in about four hours? And can I call you?”

“It’s a long distance call!” I reminded him.

“Please, I really want to hear your voice. Please.”

“I…look, I really don’t …”

“Just this once. Please! Here’s my number…” He types it in and hits send. “Message me your number. Now.”

After a slight hesitation, I say “Okay.”


“I promise.”

“Cool.” He sends m three smiley faces and xoxo.

I laugh and message him my number.

How should I end the conversation?

Xoxo? No, hugs and kisses – too forward for our first convo.

C u later? Too cold.


I type in five smiley faces and hit send. It’s neutral enough and he can read into it what he likes.

I log off and peer at the clock. Four hours.

Quickly, I load the dishwasher, tidy the lounge, fold washing, feed the dog and cat and hastily assemble a salad for dinner; all so that I can be free to free to talk to him in four hours. To hear his voice after thirteen years.

The thought of it makes me shiver with delight.

I look at the clock again. Only an hour has passed!


When my phone rings three hours later with an Out of Area signal on it, my mouth gets dry and I swallow hard.


No answer.


“You sound the same,” he said, his voice full of excitement.

“Ohmigod, you sound the same too!”


“Yeah, you do.”

“You …you don’t have an Aussie accent?”

“Well …”

“This is surreal,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Us talking. Just surreal.”


“What’s your daughter’s names?” he asked.

“Billie and Sydney,” I answered. I wondered if he remembered that Billie had been significant to us. “What’s your kids’ names?”

“Joshua and …” His hesitation piqued my curiosity. “…Billie.”

I was stumped. Tears smarted my eyes, while he cleared his throat several times.

“Oh, man!” he said, his voice hoarse.

I nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see me.

We both fell silent as nostalgia lingered.

“You know that song by Kid Rock? All summer long…whatever? Remember that song?

“Eh, vaguely,” I lied.

“You should listen to it. I downloaded it, and when I’m alone in the car, I blast it and think about you. Us.”


“Yeah. All the time. I always smile when I listen to it. Sometimes I laugh out loud when I think of all the things we did then. Then I get hit by a bout of nostalgia and I’m sad again.”

My heart sang at his confession.

“And I think Rags knows it’s significant, because once or twice when she got into my car, it was playing and she changed the song straight away.”

“Mm.” Good. I hope it burned her.

“And Passenger? Let her go? Do you know that song?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah?”

“I turn it off when I hear it.”

“Off? Wwwwwhy? I loooove that song!”

It was a while before he answered. “Makes me sad. Disappointed. I don’t quite know why. Like, I love my wife, I love my family, I’m happy in my life, I’ve achieved all I dreamed I would and more, yet…it’s like …I dunno, something is missing. When I think about you, that is. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not trying to start something…”

“We would have never made it,” I hastened to add. “We fought too much.”
“Ah, but it was the making up after the fighting that was great! Special. Wasn’t it? Or don’t you remember?”

I chuckle. “I do, I do.”

His words set my feet tapping against the wooden floors of my study. The making up was always so beautiful.

“Don’t you fight with your wife?”

“No, not really.”

“Really? You don’t fight?”

“Yeah, she’s not like that. She doesn’t fight or argue and like, well, I dunno, she’s …reasonable. Logical.” There was a slight disdain to his voice.

“Mm. Sounds dull to me,” I said, my bitchiness getting the better of me. That comment will most definitely make him mad, I thought. Make him regret contacting me.

“Yeah, true,” he said to my surprise. “I liked it in the beginning, but it’s strange that the very thing I liked about her, is the very thing I …” He appeared to be choosing his words, “…I wish I could change.”

Wow, I hadn’t spoken to him in more than a decade and he’s talking so freely to me!

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that to you. I feel disloyal to her when I do. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Yes she does! We probably would be together today had she not moved so swiftly.

We both fell silent for a moment.

“Your turn,” he said. “Spill. Do you think of me? Like over the years?”

I was hoping he’d forget to ask me.

“Well, yeah, I think about you too,” I confessed. “Five years is a lifetime. Especially during that period in your life. Like, I was seventeen when I met you and then we grew up together. It’s hard not to think about that time, you, our friends …”

“Yeah, I don’t understand why we can’t be friends and keep in touch with each other. I mean, I’m not trying to hurt anybody. And I know you – you wouldn’t want to hurt anyone, either.”

“True. So, you burnt all my photos, huh?”

He laughed.  “Yep. She found my hidden stash and demanded I burn it all. What a bonfire!”

“What about you?” he asked.

“Same. My ex found my diary once while I was out shopping and read the whole thing. Our fights, my fears, our sweet times…read every goddamn thing. So we too had a massive bonfire.”

“Too bad.”

“But hey, I salvaged something.”

“You did? What?”

“A tiny teddy bear you once gave me.”

“Seriously? You kept it?”

“Yep. It says, ‘I purr when I’m cuddled.’ Has a little red top. Very pretty and very precious.”

“Hey, I remember that teddy! We had a fight and…”

“…over my curfew on campus …” I smiled as I thought about it.

“…and you left me on the highway and drove off in my car! How could you do that to me? It was 2 AM.”

I laughed. “You’re the one who pulled over and told me to drive myself home. I begged you to get into the car, but you told me to fuck off, so I did. I was working the next morning, remember? Had to be up at 6.”

“God, you were such a bitch. I hitched a ride with a biker. Fat, old guy. He stank like shit and I had to put my thighs around his. Eeewww! Gives me the shivers to think about it.”

I laughed.

“Hey, I stole money from my mom’s purse to buy you that.”

“Ha ha ha. I didn’t know you stole money from your mom. But I remember that day, you bringing it to me. That was an awesome day.”

We spent the next hour trading memories, until it was time for him to go.

“I’ll call you again,” he said.

Tomorrow? Please say you’ll call me tomorrow?

“In two days.”

Damn! Why not tomorrow?

“Sure,” I said, doing my best to sound casual.

“Um…take care now and be good,” he said. “On second thoughts, don’t. Be just the way you are.”

My grin was big enough to stick in a coat hanger.

After I hung up, I scrolled down my iPhone, found Kid Rock’s All Summer Long and hit play.

Every time I had heard that son, I thought about him. If only he knew.

Yep, we were trying different things, for sure. We were smoking funny things, oh yeah!


I turned around to my little girl.

“Why you laughing?”

“Um…well…eh…something I read,” I said and quickly left the room, a huge smile on my face.

To be continued…

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Good News or Bad News First?

eve 3 green top raine cut out 7 feb 14Yes, I have good news and bad news.Which one do you want first?

Bad news?

I knew you were going to say that! (I always ask for bad news first. Get it out of the way, I always say. Crazy huh?)

Anyho, the bad news is…I won’t be publishing my book in April 2014. It will be published in June/July.

Now, don’t get annoyed with me, ’cause I did bring out my last book a month in advance. So it kinda evens things out.

See, I’m exhausted from writing 22 books, juggling two know-it-all kids and a career that’s taking off nicely, so I’m going on a month-long holiday abroad, where I plan to (like Stella did) get my groove back. I plan to eat,  pray and Love to sit on the beach, sip cocktails and scoff tons of seafood while perving  scantily men around. Who knows, I too may bring back a cute Jamaican maan in need of a green card. :)

When I come back from my amazing holiday, I will be energized and invigorated (and sporting an amazing tan), focused and sharp and I will produce an amazing book that will catapult me into USA Today’s Best Seller’s list. Sigh, I can hardly wait to be …amazing!

Alright, peeps, that’s the bad news. (And you thought I say that I got knocked up, right? Wrong!)

Moving on…

The good news is, I have two books coming out around June/July. That’s right, two books!

I have been working steadily on them for a while now and I have a feeling you might like them too.

See, I told ya it was good news. (And you thought I was going to announce that I got knocked up, right? Wrong!)

But wait, there’s more!

 I have another book coming out at the end of October as well! That’s three books in 2014!

See, as I was working on the two books I’m busy with (Wounded Hearts which is purely working title), another story crept into my brain and plagued the fuck hell out of me, to the point where I got up at 3 AM one day and started working on it, pounding out a draft, before I put it away for later. Much later.

But wait, there’s more!

Eh, actually that’s it for now. Sorry:)

But as you may have noticed, we’re doing things a little differently in 2014; we’re experimenting with drugs marketing of my books and updating book covers along the way.
So if you spot a few  different book covers, don’t get all excited and think I’ve released a book. I will announce well in advance before I post any new releases.

In fact, I will post some teasers and more in May.

So, until then, keep warm, or cool depending where in the world you are, take care and try not to get knocked up :)

And before you go, take a look at my horoscope. This is so going on my vision board!

horroscope 4 march 14

So whatchusay? :)

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Part one (comprises of books one and two) is currently FREE!

Grab your copy now!


Burn’s World is a two-part series.

Part one, which comprises books one and two is for a limited time…FREE!

Part two, which comprises books three and four is available for sale.


To purchase Burn’s World part one on AMAZON.US

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“I’m ashamed of my need to be held – guess it’s been a while. Nothing sexual, just warmth, affection and tenderness, which I crave right now. It’s coming from the father of my baby; how wrong can that be?
Minutes go by and I find myself lying in his arms, my back to his accommodating chest. I bask in his masculine scent – the faint whiff of tobacco mingled with a musky but familiar aftershave – comforting.
As our breathing synchronizes, his hand slowly slides to my belly. ‘This is a miracle, a gift to us,’ he whispers. ‘Forget the circumstances, it’s still a miracle. I need you to love my baby. It means everything to me.’
I nod several times and place my hand over his. He shuffles his strong hand over mine so that our fingers entwine. Snug in a tender but illicit embrace, we drift off to sleep.
When I wake up in the middle of the night and find myself in Reed’s arm, reality bites. I’m married to a US Police Commissioner; he’s part of an Islamic militant group – what the fuck am I doing?
Slowly, to avoid waking him, I ease out of his arms. Sitting a distance away from him, I watch the rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps.
Reed stirs, opens his eyes and looks at me. He doesn’t say anything; he just holds my gaze. Then, he opens his arms to me.
I stare at his opened arms and will myself to shake my head from side-to-side, to say something like, “No thanks, we shouldn’t be doing this. You just caught me at a weak moment. I’m okay. Really, I am.” Smile to show I’m okay.
I do nothing of that sort – I just melt into his arms.
The way he holds me, the way he buries his face in my hair, the contented sigh he gives as he hugs me close, tells me he needs this as much as I do. We fall asleep almost immediately.”
End of Excerpt

Here’s what readers have to say about Captured:

“I laughed, I cried, I felt everything her characters felt. This one brought me to tears so many times!”

“Two hours sleep before work isn’t really substantial but it was worth it. Was one of those books you can’t put down!”

“I may read it again and I don’t usually do that.”

“This book is fast paced and will keep you on your toes, sometimes without time to take a breath.”

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FREE! FREE! FREE! FREE! FREE! FREE! Royal Deception!


“Crying and reading don’t mix, your eyes get watery and blurry and you don’t see what you’re reading. I laughed & I cried also rejoiced. This book and book two are BEAUTIFUL.” Amazon reviewer 

When Henna Day, who is living in poverty, is hand-picked by Queen Karisma of Asokastan for Crown Prince Vijay, her family thinks they’ve hit the jackpot. Finally, they will have food on the table.
Little do they know that Prince Vijay, is not only gay, but he is also slightly retarded.
The deception is something young Henna can live with, until Queen Karisma demands an heir, threatening to have the marriage annulled if Henna fails to produce one.

Unable to go back home and having no choice, Henna, with the aid of her lady-in-waiting, sets her sights on handsome New Yorker, Rusty Carrington, fencing instructor to Prince Vijay.

Since Rusty has never met Princess Henna and is on contract in Asokastan for just six months, things go smoothly between Henna and Rusty and before long, she is pregnant with Rusty’s child.
Immediately, and without saying goodbye, she disappears from Rusty’s life.

Banner 1 orange she bit her bottom lip  sari

Rusty is confused when he cannot locate Henna, but as scheduled, he moves back to New York.

Back home, he cannot get Henna out of his mind and it isn’t long before he realizes he has been duped. Furious, he returns to Asokastan with plans to find Henna and bring her to justice for whatever scam she’s running. If he cannot find her, he plans to enlist Queen Karisma’s help. Not only is she his personal friend, but she has made it clear she fancies him. Royal Deception is a tale of love, lust and revenge.

“It’s not my usual genre, so I was hesitant about this book. I’m so glad I took a chance. If you liked The Other Boylen Girl, you will enjoy this a whole lot more. I know I did.  Some strong language and graphic sex scenes though, so beware. ” Smashwords reviewer


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Obsessed With Me FREE! FREE! FREE! FREE!


FREE 11-15 FEB!

(My Valentine’s gift to my readers. Don’t never say I dont

never give you nuttin’!)

“I was wrapped up in this intriguing story from the first page. I love it when an author tells it like it truly is when it’s required. Eve Rabi is one of the best at it so you’d better have a thick skin and buckle up because it’s going to be a bumpy ride.” Amazon reviewer


“I am not going to tell was happens in the story, but I can tell u that when u read this, there will be times u will want to cry,laugh,cuss (say a few bad words), slam this book down , but I guarantee u will read book one in a day or less!” amazon reviewer


FREE 11-15 FEB!

So whachu waitin’ for? Go on one click it! Okay fine,on the count of three we’ll one click together. One…two…hang on, I have to pull up my bra strap.  Hee hee!

Ready? One , two… three!

Wow, that was awesome! Wanna do it ‘gain?

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My Brother My Rival. FREE! FREE! FREE! FREE!

Banner My Brother My Rival Dishes lay in theFREE 28, 29, 30 January 2014

cover my brother's girls book one 22 aug 13

“If you are not familiar with Eve Rabi’s books, well let me tell you right now if you are a mom with kid’s to feed and a husband to take care of then DO NOT try to read a Eve Rabi book.

They are physically brutal. Your head will hurt your vision will go blurry and the ‘ol body goes numb. WHY? Because once you start one of her books you CANNOT put it down.

Love this book and loved the Gringa series. I literally was laughing out loud reading this book. It’s an emotional roller coaster ride. Romance and action.”


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LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT (Australia Day Blog Hop)




I’d never been to Australia before, but I knew I wanted to live there because I heard that nobody carried guns there.

I’m from sunny South Africa, one of the most beautiful countries in the world. But when the violence escalated and a family member was killed, I made a decision to leave South Africa and say goodbye to my real estate business, all our material goods and to our fair-weather friends.

My husband was not happy, but he went along. Initially.

After our visas were granted, he got cold feet and changed his mind about leaving South Africa. 

That put such a strain on the marriage that it fell apart.

But, I was serious about relocating to Aus with my five year old and nothing was going to stop me.

Yes, it would be hard being a single parent in a country I knew nothing about  (That’s not true, I watched Neighbours! Ha ha!), but I was unafraid, fearless and …well, that’s not altogether true either; I was shit scared, terrified at times and wondered if I was mad to migrate without my husband. I even wondered if mental illness ran in my family.

Then, a month after I split with my husband, I found out I was pregnant with my second child!

That was it; my plans to migrate came to an abrupt end. I resigned my disappointed self to stay in South Africa, obtain more guns, one for each child, get a bodyguard to shadow me, (Kevin Costner would do) and convert the fence on my property into an electric one.

Eh, no. Not quite. I was going ahead with my plans to migrate to Australia with my five-year-old and my unborn baby.  (Years later, I found out that mental illness did run in my family.)

My husband, after he got over his shock over the unplanned pregnancy, was convinced that I wouldn’t leave the country now that I was with child. He was happy and smug.

But clearly he too didn’t know that mental illness ran in my family.  

I came to Australia when I was seven months pregnant.

Even though it had been a horrendous flight, the moment I touched down in Sydney, in spite of my jet-lag and the fact that I lived in a hotel for a week, I fell in love with it. Love at first sight!
With everything, the unpretentious people, the holiday atmosphere, the perfect climate, the absence of guards and guns.

I was in awe when I moved to a place called St Ives, a lovely green suburb, ideal for bringing up children. (It reminded me of Cape Town, so I settled there. You Will Pay was based in this suburb.)

There were no fences, no guard dogs, no This Property is being Protected by Rottweiler and Angry Pitbull Security Company signs, and people didn’t even draw their blinds at night – you could see right into their lovely homes!

My love for Australia soared and I wrote to my family (I am one of seven children) and reported that I had found Paradise, I was thrilled to be here and could they please send me more South African pickles, some Royal Crème biscuits and Beacon Easter eggs, please.  (Yes, I said ‘please’ twice.)

They were relieved that I was okay, but they were baffled that I had no maid, no driver, no secretary, no nanny for my kids and that I would be cleaning my own toilets.

That bothered them the most – me having to do domestic chores.

That bothered me the most –me having to do domestic chores.

Even though I loved Australia, many at times, I raised my unmascaraed eyes, my Ansell gloved hands holding my toilet brush and cleaning sponge to the heavens and said, “What the fuck?”

But my husband kept in touch (was also around for the birth of my baby) waiting for the day I would break and send that all important email:
“I’m coming home, tell the world I’m coming home. I know my kingdom awaits…”    Okay, fine, if you want to be technical, those are PDiddy’s words (but I do believe he found my diary ), but my words would be something like those.
You know, something like, I have made a mistake in leaving South Africa and I want a second chance. I want to come back with my suitcase between my legs and I promise I will never ever speak of Australia ever again.

Guess what? The weirdest thing happened – my husband wanted to come to Australia! To settle here.  Turns out, during his visits, he loved it here even though the speed limit in most places was just 50 KMP and he would have to say adios to his German vehicles in South Africa.

Guess what? The weirdest thing happened – by then, I had lost all the baby fat, toned my bod, grew my hair, had a Brazilian or two and was dating again!

Yes, in the process of relocating and giving birth to a precious baby, I had got my mojo, that years of marriage (to the same man) had eroded bit by bit.
I no longer wanted my husband! He was so yesterday.
I wanted to skank around a little, have some fun, live a little.

(As Jack Nicolson said in The Witches of Eastwick:  “When a woman unloads a husband, or a husband unloads a woman, however it happens – death, desertion, divorce – the three D’s – when that happens, a woman blooms. She blossoms. Like flowers. Like fruit. She is ripe.”)

However, and this is a big however; I did have two kids under the age of six, one a baby, and at times it was hard.  Plus my husband had been brought up by my bitch of a mother in law who had a house so clean and spotless, it was more like a museum than a house.  She had four sons, all around 6’4” but she kicked their arses and had them cleaning and polishing on demand.   

So, he was really good at doing dishes, vacuuming and other domestic chores, all of which I hated more than my mother in law. (Actually, I didn’t hate her. I just preferred to live in another country.)

Maybe, I could take him back, have all the benefits of a husband, and to keep my mojo going, and so as not to waste all that lovely lingerie I had purchased, I could have an affair on the side?
That was a brilliant idea, I thought. While he’d be busy holding the baby and the fort, I would sneak out for matinee sex in sleazy motels, where you pay by the hour. I’d never been to a sleazy motel before, so I was excited at the thought of using one. I wondered what the room service was like.   

Anyway, I took my husband back and unfortunately, the only affair I wanted to have was with him. As I said, “unfortunately.”

Turns out the split did us good, and it was as if we were two different people in Australia. Minus the pressures of the business we ran in South Africa, we were living an idyllic life.
Plus, in all fairness, he really appreciated the new panties and stuff, so we lived happily ever after.
For three months.
Then the bitching started. He expected me to do my share of the housework!
I was flabbergasted at his gall and seriously considered packing his arse off back to South Africa. After all, I still had the men I had been dating on speed dial lurking around, and there was still the sleazy motel I had not had the pleasure of visiting.

But marriage is a comprise I thought, so I compromised and got a cleaner who came in three times a week.
Problem solved, paradise regained and I was loving my sun-burnt country.
A few things have happened since:
The marriage ended years later.
Even though my speed dial doesn’t work, I am dating again.
I have bought more panties. Skanky ones.
I’m writing books and loving it. (21 books published, with two more on the horizon.)
I’m still loving Australia, I’m really loving my freedom and I’ve found my mojo again.
(I hope my ex-husband doesn’t read this, he’s not a bad guy. I hope my mother in law doesn’t read this, she’s not a …well, I hope she doesn’t read this. In fact, I hope nobody reads this.)

Anyway, happy Australia Day to all!

Australia Day Coastal Blog Hop

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drawn Australia Day

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What the bloody hell are you waiting for?

(That’s how I speak now. ‘Bloody’ everything. Cool, right?  :))


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Demelza Carlton

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January 25 Kendal Talbot
January 26 Annie Seaton-Prize draw








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In Just a Few Hours …

In Just a Few Hours ...

…book 2 of You Will Pay for Leaving me, will be available.

Have you posted your review for You Will Pay for Leaving Me?

If you have, for a limited time, book 2 as well will be free to you!

Email with your review link to grab your free copy of book 2.


Remington Correctional Centre. Maximum security prison. A replica of Silverwater Correctional Services, home to me almost four years ago.
Harsh, unforgettable, behind-bars memories that never can be forgotten by a prisoner.
In my quest to be whole again, I have undergone two years of therapy and have learned how to successfully manage these memories.
Emphasis on manage, because there is no SPF50 type lotion you can use to block out these memories. They creep into your thoughts, invade your dreams, your daydreams, your life, and often incapacitate you.
I had to figure a way to manage my fears – I have three children who depend on me and if I am not whole, how can I possibly help them be whole?
But as I walk into Remington and make my way down the dreary, harshly-lit corridor toward Tom, all my recent years of utter freedom, of being unchained to him, of never having to hate weekends again, fades away.
My gut burns, my mouth feels like I swallowed a handful of cotton wool, and I gulp at the air, familiar and dense with the odor of ammonia and hopelessness.
In my mind, I’m back to being Mrs. Botha, wife of successful and charismatic self-made millionaire, Tom Botha, man extraordinaire envied by both men and women alike because of his beautifully groomed and supportive wife, his always-seen-but-seldom-heard-toddlers shod in shoes at all times, his immaculate and spotless home that he runs military style, his efficacious business he built single-handedly.
Perfection personified.
(Ladies, if you ever meet a man who is like Tom, perfect in every single way, got his shit totally together, ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! Get the fuck out of there. Slip off your stilettos, hitch up your narrow skirt and run! In the opposite direction. Sprint, if you have to.)
Tom’s eyes flash in front of me, causing my steps to falter. .
Deep breaths. You’re not going back to prison, you’re just visiting it. In…out…in…out…
Tom can’t harm you anymore. He’s dying of colon cancer, remember?
The picture of Tom changing a colostomy bag, and having to live in a body that is less than perfect, brings on a hysteria-induced chuckle.
Knowing Tom, he’s probably dying quicker from the shame of his illness than from the disease itself.
In spite of my yoga breathing, my stern self-talk, and the mental picture of Tom minus his quinoa and wheatgrass shots, minus a healthy head of carefully groomed hair, my shoulders hitch closer to my ears with every step I take.
The prison corridor snakes on and on and stirrings of claustrophobia hover.
A hitch – prison security has me as Arena Botha, not Arena Shaw.
Tom’s doing, for sure. It’s his way of disregarding Bear, my new surname, the new life I have assumed.
Even Warren has assumed Bear’s surname.
After producing a driver’s license to support who I say I am, and answer a hundred identifying questions, I am ushered into the Visitors’ Room, not into the infirmary or the prison hospital where Tom should be, given the nature of his illness.
Maybe he’ll be wheeled in to see me?
I take a seat in front of a thick, but clear glass partition and wait. I eye the telephone receiver in front of me but do not pick it up. Instead, I inhale deeply and brace myself, force myself to sit upright and look confident. Fake confidence, more like it.
Not knowing what to expect, I play with my knuckles and tap my feet.
Moments later, Tom appears.
He walks toward me, no wheelchair, no assistance from anyone.
Full head of hair, with just the slightest grey around the temples.
When he sees me, he stops walking and smiles.
Do I smile back?
He hangs his head, then throws it back, the broad smile on his face reaching his eyes.
I recognize that smile. It’s the one reserved for wives of his close friends, who he constantly sought to charm and enamour. Have to give him credit; he was successful at it.
They called that smile “charismatic,” I called it “manic.”
Okay, he may have been charismatic, but he had to be to hoodwink everyone around him just about all the time.
But then again, aren’t most serial killers, paedophiles, and psychopaths charismatic?
They need oodles of charm to lure their victims, dazzle them with their magnetic smile and captivating personality, then when their guard is down…
As Tom walks toward me, he raises his hands to the sky. Glory be!
My face is inscrutable, or at least I hope it is.
As he takes his seat across from me, he mutters to himself and shakes his head in what looks like disbelief.
After he picks up the phone, I pick up mine.
Then I hear it – evil’s voice after three long years.
End of Excerpt

Here’s the links to You Will Pay For Leaving Me, a free book:


December 16, 2013 · 5:54 am