by M. C. Frank
Oh the feels! What an emotional roller-coaster ride. Such a lovely, well-written story. The characters were fantastic. Loved Ari, Wes, and Ollie. And I liked that there was a Jane Austen loving dude as opposed to a girl, and that he was the one who liked to read and not her. So many sweet moments and sad moments and moments where I just had to keep reading to see what happened next. Just perfect.
-Katie Kaleski, author of A Fabrication of the truth
I wouldn’t change a single letter! I loved this book so much, it was so emotional. I couldn’t stop reading. I knew I would suffer, but I wanted to keep reading anyway!
-Alina, tea-books-lover.tumblr.com
This is too perfect. First Sentences, First Impressions. . . It’s like all [M.C. Frank’s] books are gifts for Austen fans. I love that Ari is a stunt girl, it adds a spin to the story and puts her in a unique position- close to celebrity but not a part of it, physically powerful and yet confronted with dangerous situations. I love the settings so much, they set the mood incredibly well. It’s like watching a film. And Wes is so yummy!
This book is doing dangerous things to my heart.
-Claire Palzer, velutluna.tumblr.com
This book made me tear up and broke my heart. I absolutely loved it.
-Izabella, thepagesfullofstars.tumblr.com
I really loved this story! I read it so fast. It had me laughing and crying the whole way through. I felt connected emotionally to the characters, and the turmoil they faced broke my heart. I thought it had very witty dialogue, and I loved the writing style -from the quick banter to the snippets of magazines/tumblr accounts . . . it was all very clever! And definitely, the lovey-dovey stuff was exquisitely swoonworthy!
-Christina Fong
What I loved about this story was that I was emotionally drawn in. I found myself totally loving the damaged and believable Ari and Wes. Emotionally, I was so connected to them loving each other at their most damaged. I'm a total fan of Lose Me., it gave me all the feels
-Angie Taylor, author of Twists in Time
This is such a beautiful piece.
-A.E. Cummings
Absolutely adorable.
-Raven Desroches
I'm absolutely in love with the protagonist. We're not at all like each other, but she just feels relatable and so cool. It's kind of weird to see yourself in the shoes of someone absolutely different, but it's also kind of the purpose of storytelling, and [Lose Me.] really did great on that.
-Miriam Mitsume
I adored this story! It was absolutely beautiful and heart breaking.
-Hannah B.
I loved it. It was a clever, modern spin on a classic trope. The writing flowed beautifully, and the characters all had clear, recognisable voices throughout. I felt very emotionally invested in Ariadne from the beginning, and it didn't take long for other characters to follow. I would definitely recommend this to people for good, romantic reading! It's quite unique, in a lovely way, but I would compare it to Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, and The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.
-Lorna George, author of The Redwood Rebel
Addictive.
-Flisstea
Lose Me. was a fun and exciting to read! It’s cool that the characters are making a modern Pride and Prejudice film while experiencing it in their love lives. And I like how the story is set on a Greek island, very lovely.
-Chen Yan Chang
Wes and Ari forever. I loved reading this, loved it. It made me lose sleep, laugh, cry and scream on the inside. It caused me pain and joy. I connected with both of the main characters, as well as several others. I loved it!
-Charlotte W.
Absolutely loved this! I loved all the twist and meaning of this story. Wonderfully written.
-Lyric Weldon
Other titles by M.C. Frank
No Ordinary Star series
No Ordinary Star (book 1)
No Plain Rebel (book 2)
and soon to be released
No Vain Loss (book 3)
Regency Retold series
Ruined (book 1)
LOSE ME.
m.c. frank
Title: Lose Me.
Author: M.C. Frank
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 M.C. Frank
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the author.
for the boy with the scar
on the back of his head
who fell in love
with a girl with a scar
on her heart
PART ONE
First Sentences
emails
To: Ollie
Fr: Wes
Re: L&H
Dude, that’s sick! Not funny sick. Sick sick. Are you actually planning to stay on the boat for the entire shoot?! On MY boat, I may add. Sure, it has your name on it as well, but I’m the one who has to bring her. As far as I’m concerned, she’ll only be there for a swim or two, I’m not staying the entire month on a stinking boat, even if it is the L&H, not while working at least. . . But it’s your call, man. I know you hate living in a trailer since that unpleasant incident with that stalker chick, but anyway I hear that Tim’s gone nuts on this one.
Low budget, have you ever heard anything more vile?
Who DOES low budget films anymore? And on a stupid Greek island no one’s ever heard of?
I’m telling you, I almost backed out of this one, only I really need this project to get into the Academy in October. If they decide that I’m not too old or too Hollywood for them anyway, and that’s a big if. FS is going be one of those indie, deep ones, right? Well, they adore those. Damn Tim, he seems to be their darling, although I don’t see how he could be anyone’s darling. Self-important prick.
Ok, enough with the venting.
The boat and I plan on arriving at the Corfu main port no later than 5 pm on Tuesday next. Be there, or else.
Give my sincerest disgust to that bitch your lovely mum. I’ll crash now. Tomorrow I’ll regret writing to you after a drinking spree, but tonight I’m king of the world! Not to mention king of the dystopian pirates. And Mr. Darcy.
Sweet dreams, my dear Bingley.
W.
To: Wes
Fr: Ollie
Re: Re: L&H
If you say ‘my dear Bingley’ one more time you’re dead. Just because we’re filming a modern version of some stupid English lit book by Austen, you don’t need to out yourself in front of girls and everybody. I’ll support your inner bookworm as long as it remains where it belongs, in the closet. If word gets around you’re a nerd, I’m done. I’m so done.
Just kidding.
You may call me Binge. But that’s it.
Get over yourself and get over here. The L&H had better be waiting for me in dock as soon as my plane touches down, ‘cause I’m not staying on that damn island for a second more than I have to. Best stay on international waters while we’re not shooting.
Has Tim finally snapped? Low budget?! Dude, you don’t need this for school! You’re freaking Tristan from THE WATER WARS. Although I do see why a Hollywood teen TV series wouldn’t impress those theatre Brits so much.
It’s gonna be one month, tops. You, me, Laurel and Hardy. And after that the world is ours. Just promise me you’ll be sober when I see you next. I’m asking you as Bingley. Seriously, dude.
I remain Mr. Darcy’s faithful sidekick LMAO.
Binge
To: Ollie
From: Wes
Re: Re: Re: L&H
Eff off Binge
one
Today is not the day I die.
I’m not even breaking a sweat as the road curves steeply upwards, and I continue to jog, my trainers slapping the cobbled stones in an even rhythm. My right hip flexor, which I’d strained a while back, isn’t even tender. Sweet.
At the very top of the road I take a right, my mind at peace as I focus on my breathing and the flexing and unflexing of my leg muscles.
I repeat the phrase over and over to myself, like a mantra. I say it in every language I know, which is three, and turn it over in my head, until the words mean nothing, until their repeated rhythm soothes me.
Until I believe it.
At least I think I do.
It’s stupid really. Stupid and silly and totally useless. As though by merely thinking it I could keep disaster at bay—if it’s about to happen, that is. Normally it’s not about to happen. Not when I’m the one doing the stunt. I’m good and I know it.
Coach taught me the mantra, back when it had no meaning for me, at least it didn’t mean what it does now. It was just a few words strung together, nothing more. He said I should repeat it during especially dangerous and complicated stunts to calm and motivate myself. I told him that was bull and he drew his eyebrows together. So I said okay and started repeating it after him like he wanted.
The man has me wrapped around his little finger.
I reach the school in two minutes, just as the bell is ringing for recess. I don’t have to stand for more than a couple of seconds outside the huge, brass doors on the cobblestone street of the little town of Corfu, before kids start flooding out of the school gates. Behind the herd, dad jogs towards me, his hair a sweaty mess.
“Am I late?” he asks me, squinting against the midday sun.
“You’re filthy,” I answer as we take off towards the car.
He runs a hand through dark wavy hair that still makes every woman in his vicinity swoon like a schoolgirl—not to mention the actual schoolgirls that imagine themselves madly in love with him every day. “I had class until. . . ” he looks at his watch “about three seconds ago.”
“Why don’t you let them do their warm-ups alone?” I say, not for the first time. We’ve had this conversation before. “Two PE teachers passed me as I waited, and not one of them had a hair out of place. Why can’t you just yell orders and watch from afar like a normal person?”
Dad puts on his serious face, but his eyes are laughing. “Cause I enjoy it,” he answers switching in English, as we cross Leoforos Alexandras. “’Sides, I need to be warmed up, the other PE’s don’t. All they’re gonna do is go home and sit in front of the TV.” He lifts his arms and cracks his elbows in a smooth, elastic movement, bringing them in front of his face. He sighs in satisfaction. “Are you ready, Ari?”
I look down at my tattered cut-offs matched with a simple dark blue tank top. To look at me, anyone would think that I was one of the leftover tourists from summer. Only my blue New Balance running shoes, worn out and sturdy on my feet, hint at the athletic nature of my job.
“My swimming suit’s in the car,” I answer and bend my head back to look at the clear sky. No hint of any clouds yet. “You’ll tell me the truth, right?” I ask my dad, as I slide behind the steering wheel in my dad’s old Ford Fiesta, which he gave me as a questionable birthday present two months ago when I turned eighteen.
He immediately starts messing with the buttons, turning the air-conditioning on full blast and wiping his sweaty brow. I slap his hand away.
“My car, my rules,” I say, adjusting the seat to fit my height. I am not what you would call short, not by any chance, but still I am a bit shorter than my six-foot-one dad—although not by much.
“Oh, who are we kidding, Ari?” he says, his voice tired but playful. “We’re going to wear this thing down if we keep passing it between us like this. We can’t share a bathroom, much less a car! I think I’ll call your mum,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, after a small pause. “You’re a grownup now, and a professional, you need a car. That would be the adult thing to do.”
Although I had just pulled into the trickling, midday traffic, I slam on the breaks.
Dad turns surprised eyes to mine and my heart squeezes at his anxious expression. He quickly bends his head down, but he can’t conceal how he feels from me. I have lived with this struggle against his personal guilt for all my life.
“No,” I say simply.
He swallows and turns away.
And that’s that.
At least I hope it is.
We arrive at the beach about twenty minutes later. That’s the beauty of living on an island. I love the feeling of being surrounded by water, even during the winter months, when the streets are quiet and most of the shops in the great tourist markets close down. I don’t mind. This is my home.
Most years I am glad to see the tourists board the ferry that leaves the port of Corfu every half hour. I love the quiet and the space they leave behind. I feel safe in my daily routine, which I’ve kept since I was little with very small variations: school then gym, practicing my stunts with dad and, in the last two years, with Coach as well. Working at grandpa’s shop on the weekend and going out with girlfriends on Sunday evenings.
That’s all I need out of life, at least all I needed until a few months ago.
At the beginning of the summer, my academic career at the Greek primary educational system ended. I graduated from high school, and suddenly I had to face the very real dilemma of what I would do with her.
Oh her.
It always boils down to that, doesn’t it?
Well, not this time.
I snap my hair out of the tight band that kept it securely in a bun at the top of my head. I jog over to the little white beach cabin at the farthest corner of the tourist parking lot, under the fig trees, to change into my Billabong spring wetsuit. Coming out, I toss the car keys to my dad and run on the burning sand towards the water.
“Hey!” he calls behind me, “your car, your responsibility!”
As I dive in one swift movement into the clear water, behind me I hear the beep of the car doors being locked. Dad runs after me, calling my name in frustration, and I dip underneath the surface, blocking out all sound except the water in my ears.
I resurface just as the sea becomes really deep, its color darkening slightly under the sparkling rays of the September sun, and take a few deep breaths, only to discover that my dad, damn him, has almost overtaken me.
“Will you stop doing that?” I yell, frustrated.
He seems to hear me even though he was underwater, because he lifts a wet head next to mine. “What?”
I splash him and we race each other towards the huge rock rising from the water far into the distance. He visibly holds back, and we arrive at the same time. “Ars, are you okay?”
“Just fine,” I gasp in return.
“You did warm up, didn’t you?” his eyebrows meet and he lifts a hand to grasp the lower part of the rock that sticks out and hoist himself up. “You would have told me if you didn’t, and we’d do it now.”
To listen to him talk anyone would think that I was an irresponsible teenager, out for a swim with her daddy, instead of a trained stunt actor, getting ready for her first gig on a low-budget film featuring the famous dystopian pirate Wes Spencer.
Which I totally am. Not a famous dystopian pirate. The other thing.
“We can’t all be like you,” I say through clenched teeth.
I’m not struggling to catch my breath, I say to myself.
Yeah, like that wo
uld work.
Dad waits until I’m ready for the climb, and turns around to stare at the impressive villa perched high atop the cliff that drops straight into the sea, right ahead of us.
Rumor has it that the illustrious film director, Tim Something, is planning to evict the family that owns the place, in order to use it in his new film, First Sentences. I see some kind of movement through the dark green windows, but it is too far high above me to see if it is indeed the film crew already at work or if its occupants have refused to leave it.
And suddenly it hits me.
I am so incredibly lucky to have this opportunity.
I mean, it’s like this film practically fell into my lap. Of course, I know that she arranged it all, but still, it is the greatest opportunity in the world. People like me don’t get breaks like this. And even with the coach she hired for me two years ago straight from Hollywood, and with all the interminable hours of practice—torture—that I put in, I know that there have to be hundreds of better-trained and well-connected stunt actors out there, far more eligible for this role.
You can’t blow this, Ari, I say to myself.
Dad watches me from his perch with something like amusement in his eyes, as though he can sense the struggle within me.
“Shut your face,” I tell him and start climbing.
“Nice way to talk to the guy who raised you.”
For once, I beat him. I reach the top first, quick as a cat, and dive headfirst into the water. When I surface, he is still watching me from above.
