by Grey, R. S.
“Is it already time to start?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes rove down my outfit. Ah yes, she wasn’t going to let me off easy on my last day.
“I feel so bad forcing you into this Darcy costume again. Believe me, I don’t like seeing you in it any more than you like wearing it.”
I’d believe her if her eyes weren’t gleaming. “You organize the story time,” I point out. “You rented the costume.”
“No, no,” she says, shaking her head, letting her fingers drag along the buttons on the shirt. She shivers as if just the sight of them turns her on. “It’s done by the city council.” She waves a hand in the air. “Years in advance.”
“Wow. I had no idea it was such a serious undertaking.”
I reach up to wrap my hands around her neck and tilt her head back. I want a good look at her. I want those lips against mine. There are screaming toddlers in the multipurpose room, but in here, it’s just us.
“Madison, move in with me,” I say, staring at her mouth.
I love when she wets her bottom lip in anticipation. She knows I want to kiss her, but I’m holding back. I need an answer first.
“Fine, if only because I know you stole my coffee pot and I’d like it back.”
“Done. Today, after story time, we’ll thank Mrs. Allen for taking you in during your time of need and then we’ll pack up your stuff. I’ll make you a cup of coffee as soon as we get to my place.”
“I’ll miss that apartment, truly.”
I laugh. “It has no hot water, no windows. Last week you called me in the middle of the night because you found a rat under the futon.”
She gags at the memory then catches herself and smooths out her face. She’s the picture of serenity as she continues, “Yes. Obviously, it had its faults, but it’s where I became a woman.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I blossomed into the mature adult you now see standing before you, flapping my wings of independence, owning my worth and conquering the world.”
“Inspiring, truly.”
“Thank you. Now that I’ve said all that, I’d really like to move in with you and please still accept me—and do you think we can get my stuff packed in an hour? I haven’t even taken my clothes out of the duffle bags because there’s a weird smell in that place and I’m worried it’s contagious.” She lifts her forearm to my nose. “Here, smell. I feel like it sticks to me even after I leave.”
I sniff. “You smell like my body wash.”
She blushes.
I can’t help but grin as I bring her closer. “God you’re so in love with me. It’s written all over your face. You wanted to use me to make yourself into a bad girl, and now what? You’re stuck with me, Hart.”
“Ugh. You’re squeezing me. I can’t breathe.”
“There. Better?”
“You just tightened your hold. I’m going to die.”
“Say you love me and I’ll let you go.”
“I love you!” she groans, fake gasping for breath.
I grin and then plant one on her before we start our very last story time together.
Epilogue
Madison
Three years later
A week shy of our first wedding anniversary, Ben surprised me with a trip. No details, no packing list, he just told me to be prepared for a long flight. After a little needling on my part, I did eventually get him to admit I wouldn’t need a big winter coat or anything. I think his exact words were: “Just pack bikinis.”
Oddly enough, I tacked on a few other items too: sundresses and sandals and big floppy hats. I had four paperbacks, but Ben thought that was excessive, so I compromised by bringing three paperbacks plus my Kindle. A girl has to be prepared.
He did a good job of keeping the secret from me. Even at the airport, he kept me from looking too closely at any of the monitors by pushing me along. When we were on the flight, he covered my ears when the pilot announced our final destination. I knew where I wanted him to take me, but I didn’t dare hope that was where we were actually headed.
I forced myself to be practical. Maybe we were going to visit London or Paris. Those places are amazing! Great! Everyone says so! Still, I had my sights set on Vernazza, one of the five seaside villages in the Cinque Terre region of Italy, which Eli made me swear I’d visit at least once in my life. I wanted it to be our final destination so badly, I could hardly believe it when we actually stepped off the plane in Rome with the sun blazing overhead and tourists everywhere.
I looked to Ben, mouth agape. “Are you serious? Are we really going to Vernazza?”
He looked at me like I was insane. “Don’t you remember when you got your tattoo? How you rambled on about me taking you here?”
I kissed him, hard. “Yes, but that was all a lie! A dream! I was just rambling because I was scared of how much the tattoo was going to hurt. I didn’t think you were actually listening to me.”
Turns out, he was.
From Rome, we caught train after train, each one a little smaller than the last. My excitement grew. I don’t think there was a single person in our path that I didn’t smile at or try to drag into a conversation.
“We’re going to Vernazza!” I said to the vendor who sold me a soda at the airport.
“Have you heard of Vernazza?! We’re headed there now!” I said to the train attendant checking tickets.
“Hi! Where are you headed? We’re going to Vernazza!” I said to the elderly woman sitting across from us on the second leg of our journey. She didn’t speak a word of English, but I could tell she was happy for me. Maybe. She did get up and switch seats awfully quickly. Probably just didn’t want me to see how jealous she was.
I never thought we’d actually arrive. The journey isn’t for the faint of heart. It felt like we’d been traveling for seven days and seven nights before I finally got my first view of the ocean. I slapped my hand against Ben’s chest.
“The ocean! Ben! THE OCEAN!”
You would have thought Clifton Cove was a mountain town with the way I droned on. It’s like I’d never laid eyes on a wave before.
When the small regional train pulled up to our station and we rolled our suitcases out, I cried upon first seeing the village. Ben assumed it was mostly due to my hormones. I’m right in the middle of my second trimester and if I so much as see a sappy commercial, I cry for a solid fifteen minutes.
He was wrong, though—Vernazza’s beauty would have made me cry with or without this baby girl in my belly.
“I can’t believe I’m here. I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M HERE!” I repeated over and over again as we made our way down the cobblestone lane.
Ben had searched high and low for the bed and breakfast I’d mentioned to the tattoo artist.
“It wasn’t easy,” he said. “It’s not as if these places have websites or anything. Everything here is a little old school. I only found the phone number after hounding Eli about it.”
He found it, though, and it was just as I imagined. Small. Quaint. Tucked right in the heart of Vernazza’s main town square. The view was split between the rolling waves hitting the breakers and the countryside sloping up behind the stacked buildings, each one a different pastel shade: blue, yellow, red, orange. Their facades were cracked and old, but their age only enhanced the beauty of the square. I wanted to cry again, but I kept it together.
Il Mare was painted on the plaster above the door.
When we strolled inside, a young woman with dark brown hair stood behind the main desk, arguing with the tall man beside her.
“Julianna loves kittens. You have to let her keep it! You’ll crush her if you insist otherwise.”
“She already has a cat. She doesn’t need another.”
“But it’s Mopsie’s child!”
He threw his hands up, defeated. “Child. Georgie, these are cats you’re talking about!”
Just then, a large white cat hopped up onto the desk, wagging its tail tauntingly. The woman—Georgie, it seemed�
�pointed to it. “See, he knows we’re talking about him.” She reached out to pet him lovingly. “Don’t worry, Mopsie, I won’t let this old bugger win.”
The woman’s opponent shook his head before reaching down to whisper something in her ear. Her cheeks went bright red and she pressed her hand against his chest just as her gaze finally caught on us.
“Oh! Guests! Sorry about that,” she said, pushing him aside and straightening her dress.
She was beautiful. They both were. Eli had described them perfectly, even down to their English accents.
“Luca, hurry—go get their bags. They look exhausted.”
I felt a little self-conscious then. I probably did look a little haggard.
They helped us check in and chatted with us about the village and everything we had to see and eat while we were there. The following evening, we joined them for dinner out in the square, exchanging stories about Clifton Cove and how it compared to Vernazza.
“It sounds a bit similar,” Georgie said, nodding. “Beachy town with loads of rich people. God, everyone here is pretty much just fancy Brits wanting to get away from it all.”
“Like you two?” I asked, wondering if that was what had brought them there.
Georgie turned to Luca with a wink. “Our story’s a little more complicated.”
During that dinner, they recommended that we trek over to Monterosso, one of the other villages in Cinque Terre, to lay out on the beach since the weather was so nice and warm.
We’re there now, lying under umbrellas, roasting and getting as warm as we can stand to be before we take another dip in the ocean. We’re in no rush. This entire trip has been about slowing down, taking it easy, forgetting to check our phones. Our lives have been a little hectic lately. Ben’s firm is growing, growing, growing. At a time when most people would buckle down, he’s decided to take on less clients and shave off a little bit of the excess. “It’s not what life should be about,” he told me the other night during dinner. I nodded and tried to hide my smile, glad he’d come to that conclusion all on his own.
In the last year, my programs at the library have grown too, and I’ve had to hire someone to assist me full-time, which means no more Intern Katy! HOORAY!
Our friends keep us busy as well. Arianna and Andy had a baby boy right around the time Kevin and Eli adopted twin girls. When we told the gang we were expecting, they screamed with excitement, Andy most of all.
This vacation away from everyone is good for us, though. We need time to wrap our heads around how much our lives will change in the next few months once our little girl arrives. I can’t wait, but I’m appreciating every moment like this, just the two of us.
Ben’s splayed out on the lounge chair beside me with his baseball hat covering his eyes. It’s midafternoon and we just had a big lunch: fish caught just off shore, freshly baked bread, and vegetables grown right on the hillsides. By the end, I couldn’t have eaten another bite if I’d tried, but then they brought out gelato and, well, somehow I managed to down that too. We’re content right here, lounging and being as lazy as possible as the waves lap against the shore.
Ben’s hand is running back and forth across my stomach slowly, lovingly. My bump is hardly showing, a fact I’m a tiny bit sad about. I’d wear my bikini proudly even if I was huge. As it is, it almost feels like a secret. No one else on the beach knows I’m pregnant, and there’s something special about that.
“Think we should name her something Italian in honor of our trip? What was our waitress’s name at lunch? Giada?”
Ben hums in amusement but keeps his eyes closed.
“No? What about Mopsie? Isn’t that the cat’s name at the bed and breakfast? The one that follows us everywhere?”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Madison and Mopsie—you have to admit that’s adorable.”
“Adorable,” he repeats sarcastically.
I turn back to the ocean and smile.
In truth, I have a list of names a mile long. Each day I wake up with a new favorite and I’m fully convinced that by the time this baby arrives, she’ll have one of those long, rambling names like she’s a British aristocrat. Katherine Marguerite Nicolette Rosenberg.
Ben shifts and sits up, dropping his hat on the lounge chair. It’s the one he gave me after the frisbee incident, the one I let him borrow from time to time. We both know it rightfully belongs to me.
He stretches his arms overhead and his abs pull taut. I lower my sunglasses just a smidge to get a better view.
He spots me and smirks. “I’m going to get back in the water. You want to come?”
I shake my head. “You go. I’m comfy here.”
“All right. Take care of our girl while I’m gone,” he says before he turns, walking over the pebbled beach toward the waves. It’s not so crowded that I lose sight of him as he dives forward and swims out toward the horizon. He’s so beautiful, bronzed, and muscular. His brown hair has sun streaks. Even after years together, the butterflies in my stomach are alive and well.
I think part of that has to do with the fact that I haven’t fully come to terms with reality. Ben Rosenberg is my husband. This giant rock on my finger is a real diamond, not a piece of costume jewelry. He tells me I’m beautiful and he laughs at my jokes. My wildest dreams have come true, and that’s just it—all of this still sort of feels like a dream. I’m scared my dad will shake me awake and tell me I’m running late for work. I’ll throw off my covers and slide right back into my old life, each day the same, each night spent wondering if there’s something more waiting for me.
Then I press my hand to my stomach, and I know our child is growing there, our little girl who will be here before we know it.
This is real. This is what I wished for on my 25th birthday—well, not this exact thing. Wishing for Ben Rosenberg to impregnate me would have been kind of weird, but I like to think the universe extrapolated what I meant.
Ever since then, I’ve made some big birthday wishes. Why wouldn’t I? The first one worked pretty damn well.
On my 26th birthday, I wished that Ben would propose.
Eight months later, he was down on one knee, sliding a ring on my finger while I did an absolutely abysmal job of keeping it together. In every photo from that night, I have snot running down my face. Eli has one framed in his house. He tells the twins, “That’s your crazy aunt!”
On my 27th birthday, I wished that our wedding would go off without a hitch.
Cut to my dad and Ben’s dad side by side on the dance floor, drunk as skunks, stumbling through the Macarena. They’ve been friends ever since.
On my 28th birthday, I wished we’d try for a baby.
And well, here I am, lying on the Ligurian Coast, knocked up.
It should come as no surprise that I’ve held on to that blue birthday candle, the one that first gave me the courage to change my life. In fact, it’s tucked safely away inside a box in our closet, right on top of a stolen copy of The Divine Comedy, two souvenirs from my early days with Ben.
He suggested we give the book back to Jake. Never. Stolen or not, it’s mine now.
I smile at the thought.
Maybe Ben really did make me bad.
I hope you enjoyed being bad with Madison and Ben! If you love enemies-to-lovers, handsome jerks, and witty banter, keep reading for an excerpt from my bestselling romantic comedy
A PLACE IN THE SUN.
SYNOPSIS
When her mother’s incessant matchmaking hits an all-time high, Georgie Archibald does what any sensible woman would do: she flees the country.
Seeking refuge in the picturesque seaside village of Vernazza, Italy, Georgie’s only plan is to lie low, gorge herself on gelato, and let the wine and waves wash her troubles away…that is until she wakes up in a bed that belongs to the most romantic-looking man she’s ever seen.
Gianluca.
After going out of his way to rescue her, the former London financier turned mysterious recluse makes
it clear that despite acting as her white knight, he has no plans to co-star in her fairytale.
She isn’t asking for his heart, though. She’s merely intrigued.
After all, she’s never met a man quite as rude or arrogantly aloof as he is. Even worse, Gianluca isn’t just gorgeous—tall and tan from days spent in the sun—his touch sets her world on fire.
With him, Georgie experiences the most intoxicating passion she’s ever known, and it only takes a few stolen moments for her to realize that sometimes running away from trouble is the best way to find it.
Chapter 1
Georgie
HOW WAS NO one else seeing this?
The two middle-aged tourists in queue to enter the Colosseum were going at it like randy teenagers. The woman had her leg coiled up around her lover’s waist and his hand had disappeared beneath her skirt fifteen minutes ago—the thing hadn’t come up for air since.
She moaned into his mouth and fingered his hair. He growled like an undersexed werewolf, and then went back in for another snog with enough tenacity to suck her lips off.
I sat ensconced from my vantage point a few yards away, picking at a croissant and pretending to pay attention to a travel podcast about the Colosseum. In the last few minutes, the spirited performance had completely stolen my focus. Surely their oxygen levels were getting pretty low.
In all my twenty-six years, I’d never once kissed someone the way they were kissing each other. It was as if they were newlyweds on a transatlantic flight and the pilot had just announced that they’d lost both engines. God, if they went at it like that in full public view at the foot of a crusty old ruin, what on Earth did they do in private?
I blushed just thinking about it.
Eventually, a security guard with a red, pudgy face and an awkward manner asked the couple to politely refrain from boning in line, or so I imagined—his words were in Italian, so I couldn’t be sure. The unflinching lovebirds disappeared inside the Colosseum and I was left with my pastry once again. It’s just me and you, carbs.
