by Eden Butler
Her father had been overjoyed when Donovan asked her to marry him—a spontaneous idea that he’d been unable to keep to himself once she’d agreed and so Layla and Donovan went to their church and Father O’Bryant married them quickly, grumbling that they didn’t want a mass, but eager to have them married before the baby arrived.
The vows were simple, very Layla, very Donovan, small words of agreement, no demands of obeying.
“I’ve probably loved you forever,” he’d admitted. “I doubt I’ll ever stop.”
It had been enough for Layla, more than enough to satisfy her pushy father and only made that ridiculous smile on his face grow.
Layla had entered the hospital at midnight, newly married with dry paint on her elbow from the last minute touch up work on the hallway baseboards. She’d leave with her husband and her baby, to return to the small cottage their parents helped them purchase with the promise that Layla’s upstart clothing line would continue to grow.
Their parents had helped them, thrilled about the prospect of their first grandbaby and the idea that Layla and Donovan’s marriage had healed some of the scars Mr. Donley’s betrayal had caused. It was a slow process, tentative and awkward at first, but their families were healing and taking steps towards returning to the friendly companionship they’d once shared.
Parsons would come, or it wouldn’t, and graduation had brought Layla and Donovan closer to the lives they were building together. She didn’t care about New Zealand and he didn’t seem to either, deciding instead on an assistant coaching position at the private school they’d both attended as kids.
The door flew open and the second Layla spotted the wide smiles on her friends’ faces, a fresh wave of tears flooded her eyes.
“Sweetie, oh wow,” Autumn said, pulling Sayo and Mollie, who both greeted Layla with a kiss, to the side of the bed. The redhead’s eyes widened as she rubbed the fine, white hair on the baby’s head. “Oh, she’s so beautiful. We knew that from watching them bathe her, but really, Layla, she’s just so stunning.”
“Gorgeous,” Mollie said, lowering toward the baby. “You are going to give your dad such shit, aren’t you, beautiful?”
“Hey, you can’t say shit to my kid.”
“Ha. Right. Like that’s the worst thing she’ll hear growing up with you two.”
Donovan greeted Declan with a quick shoulder tap, shook Vaughn’s hand and offered a brief nod to Quinn as the Irishman hung back near the door, looking uncomfortable and, as usual, surly. He also sported a fresh, dark purple bruise under his right eye and when Layla looked at Sayo, eyebrows up in question, her friend shrugged but looked more than a little satisfied that Quinn’s eye was swollen.
“Well done, mate. You’ve a world of grief ahead with a daughter that beautiful.”
Donovan shrugged. “Totally worth it.”
“Did you pick a name?” Autumn asked, bringing Layla’s attention away from Donovan and Declan. When the question came, she immediately caught Donovan’s eye, grinning as he nodded.
“You two have been so quiet about that,” Mollie said, sitting in the chair next to Layla’s bed. “It’s kinda weird, actually.”
They had discussed the name for weeks, nixing old Irish names and the old fashion monikers their grandmothers had been cursed with. None of them seem to fit and it was Donovan who’d made the suggestion that settled the matter altogether.
“Um,” she started, looking at Autumn, glancing at Mollie and Sayo. “If you don’t mind, Autumn, we’d love to call her Evelyn Meara Donley.”
The look Autumn gave her had Layla worried. She knew Autumn would cry, knew that Sayo and Mollie would because they understood what those two great women had meant to them all. Autumn’s mother and Layla’s had been such strong influences; they’d taught by example the importance of kindness, of determination and Layla prayed that one day her daughter would be just as determined, just as kind.
Evelyn had been lost to them all and her death still cut them deeply. Layla’s mother had shown each of the girls what work and ambition can bring to a resolute woman. She’d shown each of them that it wasn’t a question of if a woman can have it all; it was that what she could have was limitless.
Autumn’s tears came quick and Sayo’s chin quivered. Mollie pretended to notice something outside of the large window, as though she wasn’t sniffling, but they didn’t speak and Layla was about to explain how much she loved that name, when she caught her friends’ slow movements, gripping each other’s hands as though they need that life line to steady them.
“Oh, sweetie… I… Mama would have loved that. Just… so much.” Autumn lowered, kissing Layla’s face with her eyes trained on the baby. “Evie, right? That’s what we’ll call her?”
“If you want, honey,” Layla said, smiling at the redhead. Then, because Sayo hadn’t spoken, Layla tugged on her hand. “We wanted to call her Rhea too, but thought it would be too much and Evelyn loved us all so much. So does my mom.” Layla smiled at Mollie when she nodded, agreeing.
“It would have been, sweetie, but I appreciate the thought,” Sayo said. “Layla, it’s just as beautiful as your mom is.” She blinked, wiped her face dry. “It’s as beautiful as Evelyn was.”
“Well, whatever. I’m still godmother,” Mollie said, breaking up the emotional disorder. “I win.”
“You do, honey,” Layla said, appreciating Mollie’s humor and the break in the tears.
Their friends took turns holding the baby, except for Vaughn who didn’t seem comfortable around Evie and Quinn who wasn’t interested at all. Layla watched them, her small little family—focused, driven women and burly manly men who had all been leveled by the tiny baby making them speak in silly, exaggerated tones.
Next to Layla on the bed, Donovan held her, wrapped his arm over her shoulder and kissed her temple and just there in that moment, Layla felt the great swell of happiness she never thought would ever be hers. It was the end of years of torment, the frustration she felt anytime Donovan came to her mind. How far they’d come, how far they still had to go fought against the uncontained pleasure of watching her friends dote and love on their child. And around her, with his arms holding her as though she might disappear from him, Layla felt Donovan’s easy breath, the slow, instinctive touches he made against her wrist.
He was hers now, completely. Years ago, she would have never believed this life was possible. Not with the Demon, not with that arrogant boy who made it his mission in life to torture her. Now though, he wasn’t a boy. He wasn’t difficult or angry and he’d released that pain that kept him back, that prevented him from giving Layla all the things she didn’t know she wanted.
It was a sudden thought that came to her, a realization that struck her silent and Layla could only smile, close her eyes against the sensation of joy that felt all encompassing. Donovan had been hers for years. He’d said it with his attentions, with the hidden drive that urged him to focus on her, even with his harsh treatment, with the anger he wore around himself like a shield. He had been hers. It only took Layla, took Donovan, dropping those masks that blinded them, to realize how much they had always meant to each other. They only needed to look to each other, to claim what had always been theirs.
Sometimes, Layla thought, it takes a perfect mistake to remove the masks we comfortably place over ourselves to keep us from the people we are and the love we pretend we don’t want. Finding that love is one thing, keeping it is another, but Layla knew love had always been hers, just as Donovan had been. Just as she knew he always would be.
I’ve often told my friends, when they ask how I’m able to publish as quickly as I do that it “takes a village” to (self) publish a book. I don’t think that’s ever been truer than it is with Claiming Serenity. Had it not been for the awesome hustle that my street team, betas and incredible editor worked during the editing process, I would have most certainly missed my deadline.
So, first and foremost, thank you, eleventy billion times, to Sharon Browning, the
amazing Karen Chapman and my “Sweet” Team and betas: Trish Leger, Judy Lovely, Carla Castro, Naarah Scheffler, LK Westhaver, Lorain Domich, Melanie Brunsch, Michelle Horstman-Thompson, Allyson Lavigne Wilson, Chanpreet Singh, Emily Lamphear, Heather Weston-Confer, Betsy Gehring, Allison Coburn and Sammy Llewellyn. I am the luckiest lady ever because you all support and encourage me every single day.
My deepest appreciation and thanks to Steve Novak for yet another breathtaking cover and to Angela McLaurin for getting this one done under the wire RIGHT before Christmas. You both are amazing.
Ing Cruz, never stop being magical. Never stop being yourself. Thank you for all your support and the maddest marketing skills I have ever seen.
A special, heartfelt hug and ridiculously inappropriate smooch to all the amazing bloggers who always help promote my books, especially Book Drug Love, Love Between the Sheets, Totally Booked, Three Chicks and Their Books, Michelle Monkou of USA Today’s Happily Ever After blog, Confessions of a YA and NA book addict and Smut Book Club. Thank you for taking a chance on me and for always stepping up when I ask for a little help. Nothing sells without bloggers. Absolutely nothing.
To my beloved readers and Facebook, Twitter and GoodReads friends, thank you so much for chatting with me, sending me notes of encouragement and coming out to say hi at signings and cons. I’m so proud to have each of you along for the ride while I navigate this crazy business.
As always, my sweet work buddies Marie, Sherry, Barbra B., Sarah and Kalpana, thank you for squeeing with me when a new cover lands in my Inbox and for sharing the love when something new comes out. I am humbled by your love and support.
Chelle Bliss, Lila Felix, Penelope Douglas and Kele Moon, I can never say thank you enough. I really don’t think there are any words written that would come close to my gratitude to each of you for your friendship. Chelle- thank you for being a Last Minute Bitch with me.
To Laura Agra, Amy Sutorius Harmon, Amanda Lanclos-Author, Amy Berteau, Amy Lynn, Kim Harnes, SJ McGran, Kellie Coakley, Vania Stoyanova, Bev Marshall, Scott Wilbanks and Sarah Leal for the laughs, for the support and the immense inspiration.
To my bints, who know who they are and to my nieces Jennifer Jagneaux, Kayla Jagneaux and Joy Chambers, who read my smoochy books and always make my days so much better. To Juli Wright, my beautiful, intelligent niece—you are my heroine. You inspire me with your love and fierce loyalty. I love you all.
To my girls, Trinity, Faith and Grace and to my Himself, Chris, who always understands and appreciates the hard work that takes me away from them. My cup runneth over because of you.
I hate cancer. It stole my daddy from us. It is a heinous, family-fracturing disease and I pray for each of you who have been impacted by it. I dedicated this book to three women who have both won their battles and are fighting them with class and grace. I encourage each of you to support various cancer charities that work tirelessly to eradicate this disease. And, if you would indulge me, please check out my sweet friend Sabrina’s fund raising effort as she tackles leukemia. Your kind words and financial support is gratefully appreciated.
Sabrina Rome’s AML (Acute Myeloid Leukemia) Fundraiser: http://bit.ly/16ntmQm
Eden Butler is an editor and writer of Romance, SciFi and Fantasy novels and the nine-time great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.
When she’s not writing or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden writes, reads and spends too much time watching rugby, “Doctor Who” and New Orleans Saints football. Currently, she is imprisoned under teenage rule alongside her husband in Southeastern Louisiana.
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