by Leisa Rayven
He grunts when he catches me, and then his arms close around me as he buries his face in my neck.
“Hi.” He breathes deeply before letting out a groan of relief. “I’ve forgotten how incredible you smell.”
I squeeze him so tightly, I hear joints creak. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“Not as much as I’ve missed you.” We just hold each other for a while and breathe, and all the restlessness I’ve been feeling while we’ve been apart dissolves in the warmth of his body pressed against mine.
“How are you here?” I ask at last.
“Nannabeth reached out to me. Said you’d finally agreed to a birthday celebration.” He lowers me to my feet and leans his forehead against mine. “So, birthday dinner, huh? That’s a big step forward.”
I stroke his chest through his shirt. “I figured it was time to let go of whatever trauma I was carrying from Mom’s passing. If she were here, she’d kick my ass for letting it affect me for so long. Nan convinced me that we could celebrate me and honor her at the same time.”
“She told me that, too. Which is why I have something to show you.”
He leads me over to the roses, and I notice there’s a new tub there containing a freshly planted Arctic White covered in blooms. On the edge of the planter is a brass plaque that’s been engraved.
In loving memory of Elizabeth Iris Tate. Gone from our arms, but not from our hearts.
I turn to Jake, lost for words.
He stares at the plaque. “I thought it would be nice if she had a presence here with the rest of her family.”
I slide my fingers between his, and I’m surprised to see him holding back tears. “Jake, you didn’t have to do this.”
He runs a fingertip over one of the roses. “Yes, I did. She may not have been blood, but she was more of a mother to me than my birth mother could ever be. She was the one who loved and nurtured me. Who ran interference when Dad was raging. I miss her and wanted to honor her. Also, she gave birth to the love of my life, so for that alone, I’ll be forever grateful.”
I pull him into a hug and stroke the back of his head. Between the two of us, Jake was always the strong one. It’s easy to forget that even the toughest among us carry scars.
“How long can you stay?” I ask, pulling back. “I love having you here more than anything, but if you need to go and write, I’ll understand.”
He pushes my hair away from my neck and smiles. “I’ve finished the manuscript. I emailed it to Serena this afternoon.” He can’t disguise his joy. “She loved it. In fact, she thinks it’s better than the original book. Naturally, it needs editing, but she’s confident she can get it done in time. Whiplash is moving forward with the publication as planned.”
I beam at him, more proud than I can say. “You brilliant, brilliant man. I never had any doubt.”
“Yeah, you did, but that’s okay. So did I. It’s amazing what one can achieve with the right muse. Which reminds me.” He walks over to Nan’s serenity bench and comes back with a gift-wrapped box. He holds it out to me. “Happy birthday, Ash.”
With a rush of excitement, I lift the lid. Inside is a thick wad of paper secured with a huge bulldog clip, and the sight of it makes me want to hug him all over again.
“Oh, Jake.” I take the manuscript out of the box and weigh it in my hands. “This is incredible. Do you have a title yet?”
He nods. “Take a look. Whiplash wanted an epic biographical love story and, well … this is it.”
I open the front page and read the dedication.
To Asha, for always being the sunshine to my storm.
I look up at him, already on the verge of tears.
He smiles. “Keep going.”
I turn the page and hold my breath as I read the preface:
The day I met my soul mate, I was pissed at the world. I may have only been three, but I already knew my place in the universe, because everyone kept pointing it out to me. I was the one who ruined mom’s modeling career by being born; I was the one Dad saw as a walking, talking inconvenience. I was the inconsiderate boy-shaped wedge who drove my parents apart, causing my dad to drink every night and punish me for the sin of existing, until he passed out on the couch.
So, when dad bundled me into our crappy car and spent the entire five-hour trip to our new house in Brooklyn complaining about how everything that was wrong in his life was my fault, I was tired, angry, and had an intense need to pee.
As soon as I climbed out of the car, I walked over to the chain-link fence on the side of our yard, took aim at the neighbor’s rosebush that had sprouted a slew of pure white flowers, and relieved myself.
When I was done, I looked up to see a little girl staring at me from her porch. She had bright blue eyes and even brighter red hair, and in that moment, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Looking at her made everything else fade into the background. I forgot about mom and dad. I forgot about how I ruined everything I touched. I even forgot about my anger.
The only thoughts in my head were of her. I wanted to run over and touch her face, just to make sure she was real. And if she was, I wanted to ask her name, and how old she was, and how many comic books she had, and if she liked LEGO, and so much more. And as I stared, bombarded by all the ways I needed her in my life, there was a small, lonely hole in my heart that saw her standing there and whispered, “Oh, there you are.”
This is the story of us.
I look up at Jake, tears streaming from my eyes. “You wrote our story?”
“This is what it should have been from the start. It’s the only story I want to tell.” I flick through the pages, skimming sections as I go.
“It’s all in there,” Jake says. “Our whole childhood, Jeremy, high school. I even talk about the true story of Ingrid. There’s just one section left to write, but I need your help to finish it. Can I get your opinion on the ending?”
I flip to the back of the manuscript and read the final page.
Anyone who says true love is easy has never felt it, because there’s nothing easy about loving a person who’s as necessary to your life as breathing. There’s nothing easy about being so terrified of losing them, you’ll make a thousand wrong decisions before you figure out that risking everything is the only right one.
Asha and I never had an easy love. Our journey has been littered with pain and loss, deflection and half-truths, self-preservation and flat-out denial. But no matter how severely those things frayed our connection, they never broke it. And that’s what true love is. It’s not being so perfect you never have problems. It’s understanding that no problem will ever be so vast that you can’t overcome it together.
Asha once told me that there was no satisfaction without struggle. She said that in the art of storytelling, we need see the hero broken and bleeding before he earns his happy ending. Well, if that’s the rule, I figure we’ve both struggled enough for one lifetime. With my heart full, I climb the stairs of an apartment block in Brooklyn, praying to any deity who will listen to grant us our reward.
I’ve loved this woman for my entire life, and I know that I’ll love her until my dying day. So, as I stand on a rooftop on a cool October evening, surrounded by a thousand stars, I ignore the frantic pounding of my heart as I kneel before her and beg her to make me the happiest man in the world .
I suck in a sharp inhale, and when I look up, my heart stops, because Jake is down on one knee in front of me, holding out my mother’s engagement ring.
“Asha,” he says, and takes in a rough breath. “I do a lot of things badly and a few things well. But I do one thing better than anyone else on the planet, and that’s love you. I want to spend my life with you. Have babies with you. Grow old with you. And if you agree to be my wife, I promise that I will adore you with every fiber of my being each and every day, until I draw my final breath. Will you marry me?”
I can’t be strong in this moment. My mind is reeling, and every emotion I’ve ever felt for him is pouring
out of me with such force, all I can do is nod and sob before he stands and pulls me into his arms.
“I take it that’s a yes?”
I cry harder. “Of course it is.”
Even though my face is a mess, Jake patiently wipes away my tears. Then he slides Mom’s ring onto my finger and kisses me. That’s when I hear applause behind us, and I turn to see a huge group of people near the door to the stairs. I recognize a bunch of my friends from Whiplash including Sid and Serena, as well as people I know from Romance Central and Pulse. There are even some of Nan’s friends who live in the building.
At the front of the group is Max, Eden, Toby, Joanna, and of course Nan. Even from this distance I can see tears on her face.
“You’re not allowed to be mad at me,” Nan calls out. “You vetoed a birthday party. You didn’t say anything about a surprise engagement.”
I laugh and gesture for them all to come on over, and after a lot of hugging and tearful congratulations, Nan programs a bunch of love songs into the jukebox, while the rest of us make the area next to Moby’s pond a makeshift dance floor.
One of the last to offer congratulations is Serena, and when she hugs me, I squeeze her tightly.
“You’re a very lucky lady,” she whispers. “Have you read the full manuscript yet?”
“No.”
She throws a glance at Jake. “You’re in for a treat. Your fiancé is a talented man, and his love for you leaps off the pages. This book is going to blow people’s minds. Reading it even made me want to rethink my single status and try to find the kind of love you two have.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Well, if you ever want me to introduce you to a fantastic man who’d treat you like a queen, let me know. Eden’s boss is a total catch, and I know you two would get on like a house on fire.”
She smiles. “You have me intrigued. We’ll talk about it more next week, but right now, I have to get home. I have an incredible book to get ready for publication.”
After she bids us goodnight, Jake pulls me into his arms, and we sway to the music. I smile when I see Mom’s ring glinting on my finger in the low light.
“Nan gave you this?” I ask.
He rests his cheek on the top of my head. “Yes, when I asked permission for your hand. She told me she always knew I’d end up with it someday. Do you think Eden minds? It probably should have gone to her.”
I gaze over at Eden who’s beyond blissed-out dancing in Max’s arms. “I think Eden’s just happy we’re happy.” She sees me looking at her and smiles, and I smile back. In this moment, I think the world’s happiest people are right here on this rooftop. Even Toby and Joanna look cozy.
I look up at Jake, and his expression confirms my suspicions.
“I love you,” I say, so only he can hear. “Thank you for choosing me.”
He leans down and brushes his lips over mine. “Loving you isn’t a choice. It’s who I am. Don’t you know that by now?”
We keep dancing as we kiss, and I realize that loving Jake will never cease to thrill me to my core. He’s like a thunderstorm and the sweet calm that follows. He’s a blazing fire, as well as the smoldering coals. And even when what I feel for him shakes me to my very foundation, I know one thing for certain: I could read every romance novel on earth and still not find a tale as compelling, satisfying, and passionate as the one I’m living.
The story of us.
ALSO BY LEISA RAYVEN
THE STARCROSSED SERIES
BAD ROMEO
BROKEN JULIET
WICKED HEART
BAD ROMEO CHRISTMAS
THE MASTERS OF LOVE SERIES
MISTER ROMANCE
PROFESSOR FEELGOOD
COMING SOON
DOCTOR LOVE
For more information, please visit
WWW.LEISARAYVEN.COM
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing this book was a difficult journey. As any writer will tell you, we’re not immune to the pressures of real life. Health problems, family tragedies, crazy schedules, and garden variety stress can all stifle creativity. And we’re certainly not immune to crippling bouts of self-doubt which convince us we’re rubbish, and our books are trash, and that cat drawing we did in the third grade was total, amateur crap. (Okay, the eyes were cool, but otherwise - GARBAGE.) And even though there was some of all of that behind the marathon creation of this book, that wasn’t the main issue.
My problem from the very start was something I’d never experienced before: I made the horrible mistake of falling in love with my characters. I’m talking deeply, creepily in love. I started obsessing about Jake and Asha’s history, and wrote pages and pages of scenes from their childhood, fights from their high school years, snarky pain-filled arguments between their adult selves who were trying to filter their undeclared love through too many layers of unresolved resentment. I got to know these characters more intimately than any others I’ve ever created, and that became a problem.
All of a sudden, I was so deeply invested in their story, I was terrified of telling it wrong. I wanted to do them justice, and was desperate for the readers to love them as much as I did. And so every word was a struggle, every scene was a trial. I can’t even tell you how many extra chapters I wrote, just for the experience of exploring other parts of their lives.
In the end, I had to block out what I wanted to show and resign myself to letting Jake and Asha guide me. And guide me, they did. They showed me the deepest parts of themselves, opened themselves to being vulnerable and raw, and in the end, they made sure I gave them the happiness they deserved.
Even though I can still see so many of their special moments playing out in my mind’s eye, the only way I can honor them for bringing such joy into my life is to share them with you. I hope you treasure their story as much as I do.
I absolutely couldn’t have finished this book without my amazing editor, friend, ass-kicker and therapist, Caryn. When I was paralyzed by indecision, she talked me through it. When I wrote trash, she made me redo it. And when I made her cry, she swore at me in shouty-caps and cursed my name. Catty-Wan, thank you so much for holding my hand and dragging me over the finish line. You’re my rockstar and my rock.
To my agent, Christina, and the whole team at Jane Rotrosen Agency – thank you for always believing in me and making me strive for excellence. Knowing you’re there with amazing advice and encouragement is a blessing I never take for granted.
To my gorgeous husband, Jason, who loves and supports me through crazy deadlines and no sleep, cranky outbursts, and sobbing self-doubt. My darling man, I would be nothing without you. You are beyond incredible, and I am unbelievably grateful that you are so passionate in helping me to achieve my dreams. And to my handsome teenage sons, Xander and Kyan - you are my heart and soul in human form, and one day when you’re a bit older, Mummy will let you read romance novels so you can learn how to treat women like goddesses.
To my stunning bestie Andrea, who always falls in love with my characters even more than I do - you are my sunshine. My soul-sister. The most loving, supportive, and positive person I’ve ever met. I love you.
To my publicist, Nina, who’s always there to take the flack when I’m late on deadlines and tardy on ARCs. Who gently nudges me when I need it, and ensures I don’t go rock in a corner after release and not talk to people. I adore you, lady. Thank you for everything.
To the incredible Regina Wamba, who continues to bring my cover visions to life in the most spectacular of ways - you’re a genius.
To my intrepid team of pre/proof readers: Cecile, Anne, Ngaire, and Kendra - you ladies are my salvation when I can’t possibly cope with one more read through to make sure it’s not littered with typos. Thank you so much for your eagle eyes. And to my fabulous formatter C.P. Smith - you’re amazing.
To my babes in Romeo’s Dressing Room - I can never express how much you all mean to me. Your ever-present love and support keeps me going on days when all I want to do is lock myself away from the wor
ld. I’m incredibly grateful to every one of you.
To the countless bloggers who are the life-blood of any author’s career, who spend endless hours reading, reviewing, promoting, photographing, and sharing their extraordinary passion - I’m grateful to you all. Thank you for everything you do for the romance community.
And finally, to you, my darling, precious readers. You who send me random messages of support because you haven’t heard from me in a while, or write beautiful reviews that make me cry, or beat your friends with my books until they agree to read them, or create artwork or Instagram accounts or Facebook pages. It’s you who makes every sleepless night, every crappy day, every chapter, scene and word worthwhile. You are the beating heart of what I do and why I do it. And I’m honored that you bless my words with your time and passion. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for taking this crazy, amazing journey with me.
I love you all.
Leisa x
