by Ava Zavora
If she didn’t know him, she would have shuddered had they passed each other in a crowded room. She would have run the other way if she saw him in a dark alley, would have taken him for a dim thug had he asked her out and she would have pretended to be taken already. She wouldn’t have seen the vulnerability in his eyes, the sensitivity in his hulking frame. But she did know him, and he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
There were many things to be said, but she had to say it first.
“I’m sorry, Adam. I’m sorry I did this to us. I’m sorry for every second we’ve been apart. I’m sorry that I destroyed something so beautiful. But I’ve put down my sword. I’ve smashed down the walls myself.”
She struggled not to cry as she got down on one knee. She needed to be coherent. She looked up at him.
“You’ve seen my true face now. All my flaws, all the ugliness. All my scars. Do you still want the woman in front of you?”
Adam reached down and in one swift motion picked her up off the ground so that she was squarely in his arms. He was so solid and so close, she could barely breathe with wonder.
“Eden, I have just come through the worst storm I have ever been in. I thought for sure it would be the end. Yet somehow I survived and my boat reached port. How could I let you walk away from me now? But what happened in Sicily,” his voice broke and there were tears in his eyes. “Can you ever forgive me? Had I known that one of Marco’s old enemies was looking for me, I never would have reached out to you. I would never knowingly put you or Dante in danger like that. But he will never hurt you again, Eden. This, I promise. I want to spend the rest of my life keeping you safe.”
“I didn’t understand,” Eden said as she gazed up at him. “And I still have so many questions. But I want us to start over if it's possible. Do it properly, with no secrets, no walls between us.”
Eden tilted her face up so that there was only a wisp of air between their parted lips. She hadn’t expected that her body would instantaneously react like this to his. Opening, softening, getting warmer and warmer until she would have to shed some clothes soon.
He paused as he gazed at her, struck by something.
“Jack was rather amazed with you, you know. Had some silly things to say about the expression on your face whenever you talked about me.
“Oh? Can you picture what he was talking about now?”
“Yes,” his deep murmur making her tremble with anticipation, “I think I see what he meant,” then leaned down and finally kissed her.
He tasted just as he sounded. Sinfully delicious.
She wrapped her arms around him and wouldn’t let go, not even when he pulled away for a second to say, “Shall we sit and let these good people do their job?” He nodded to the wait staff standing at a respectable distance. They were too far away for her to see their faces, which was a relief. She couldn't hide any of her emotions even if she wanted to.
“Only if I get to sit with you,” she said.
So he sat down while still bearing her in his arms. She leaned against his chest, unable to stop herself from touching him.
A waiter came bearing flutes of a bubbly, raspberry-colored liquid.
“Kir royales!” she exclaimed. “You remembered!”
She brought down her arms from around his neck to open her purse and take out some things she brought from California.
“Mountain Dew and Oreos! You remembered!”
He kissed her once more, so deeply that she felt drunk although she hadn’t had a drop to drink yet.
It was all so new, the heft of him, the solidity. The touch of his lips, his arms encircling her, his eyes holding hers.
“You are a vision.” He drew in his breath as he saw what she was wearing. “Are these the boots from the picture?” he said as he ran his hand up and down the black leather, the sharp high heels, the laces that went all the way up her legs. She drew the hem of her skirt just a fraction so he could see the sheer black stockings beneath.
“Yes,” she said. She reached into her purse once more and withdrew a black box. “I thought they went well with these.”
She felt his pulse quicken. He opened the box with one hand, raised an eyebrow at what lay inside, then snapped it shut.
“You remembered.”
“Did you purposely pick out a room with bedposts?” She slowly circled one of his wrists with her hand.
His eyes widened.
“Would you mind if we took away our dinner, darling?”
She waved at the empty restaurant, the wait staff on attention. “You went through all this trouble.”
“It will still be here tomorrow. But my hunger – that can’t wait any longer. Shall we?”
“Are you sure you’re ready for me, Adam?”
“Ready and willing. I’m your slave, Eden.”
“Then let’s go home.”
“My dear, where are you taking me?” Eden led Adam by the hand down busy Market Street. It was a sunny, late July afternoon in San Francisco, with no fog in sight. The air was warm and the city streets were full of jostling crowds. “The bookshop’s that way. And we’re stopping by Dante's new apartment, remember?”
Eden tried not to let a smile give anything away. It was so hard to surprise Adam but this was too irresistible. He had no idea. “Hang onto your knickers. I want to drop by this place first.”
“Uggh, that horrid word. Grates on my ears it does.”
The stopped in front of an elegant art deco building, 1355 Market Street. She opened the doors and led Adam inside the lobby.
“You and your ideas,” Adam shook his head. He sighed the exaggerated sigh of a long-suffering martyr, but Eden could see the playfulness in his eyes. He was amused.
She was learning to read him and all the myriad, ever-so-subtle changes of expression. His eyes, his face were as mesmerizing as his voice. Often, she would be busy doing something at home and stop, suddenly seized with the need to see him. She would drop whatever she was doing and come to where he was, reading a book, writing, or working in his study and gaze at him quietly from the doorway.
Sensing her, he would turn and say, “My dear, you’re staring.”
And she would say, unashamed, unable to hold back, “I can’t help it. I still can’t believe you’re here. I’m afraid I’ll wake up and I’ll find it was all a beautiful, wicked dream.” And she’d cling to him tightly, as if to prove to herself his reality.
He would never fail to take her in his arms and gently say, “I am here, and here I will stay. I love you, Edie.”
Perhaps in time it will fade, this need to be reassured that Adam was real, sailed through storms, and crossed thousands of miles to be with her. But the need to hear him say he loved her – that will never fade.
“All this mystery, what is it for, I wonder?” he now mused out loud as they rode up the building’s elevator.
She held a finger to her lips and shook her head.
They got out at the ninth floor and stepped into a spacious reception area.
Eden turned to Adam. “Can you guess where we are yet?” She was dancing with excitement.
Adam looked around. “An office.”
Eden pointed to the reception counter, which had a large, dark cutout of a bird on the front.
“This is where we first met, Adam. A year ago today. We’re in Twitter.”
“Ah, so we are.” A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Eden’s excitement fizzled.
“You forgot our anniversary, didn’t you?”
“That’s not true at all.” He motioned to the man behind the counter, who came around the front bearing a silver platter with an opened bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes. “I didn’t forget a thing.”
“You knew all along? I can never surprise you.”
“Again, not true. You surprise me every day. You exist and you love me. No one’s more surprised than I am.”
Dear Reader,
If you are satisfied with the ending you have just read,
please go no further. What follows is a chapter which may or may not ruin your enjoyment of Dear Adam.
Sincerely,
The Author
Epilogue
“Have you got video on your end?” Ollie asked.
Evelyn’s laptop screen was black for a moment and then Ollie appeared. His curly, black hair had only gotten bigger since they last Skyped, and his beard was bushier. He was wearing horn-rimmed glasses for tonight’s call. It was his way of trying to appear more distinguished, more “editorial.”
“Hey, yeah, there you are. Can you see me?”
“Yes. You’re looking beautiful tonight, Miss Evelyn.” Ollie’s eyes twinkled.
“You’re flattering me. Does that mean that you don’t like Dear Adam?”
“Evelyn, as your friend slash editor, am I not allowed to shower you with compliments? And it’s not flattery, it’s the truth.”
“You hate it.”
Ollie stuck out his tongue.
“Well?”
“Oh, okay. I’ve worked on three books with you, I should know by now that you get grumpy when it comes time for feedback. And try not to look so worried, you’re making me anxious.”
“I think I liked it better when we just e-mailed and talked on the phone. Why are we video Skyping again?”
“Because I like being able to look at you, isn’t that reason enough?”
“Ollie,” Evelyn said, distressed. His face was serious for a moment then broke into a smile.
“Relax, relax. I know. You’re still not over Adam, conflict of interest, etc., etc.”
“Right about the conflict of interest. Wrong about Adam. I am over him,” she said firmly.
Ollie raised his galley draft of Dear Adam in front of the screen. There were hundreds of tabs and sticky notes. She groaned. Lots of changes.
“Sure you’re over him. That’s why you wrote a whole book about your love affair.”
“Most of the book was about our love affair. The rest was pure imagination fueled by wishful thinking and wild conjecture. Are you going to tell me what you think or not?”
“I think it’s My Dinner with Andre for The Notebook generation.”
“So it’s too wordy?”
“It’s like … Godot Shows Up.” Ollie smiled.
Evelyn glared at him.
“Okay. It’s good. Better than good.” Ollie may pay her extravagant compliments, but he was temperate when he spoke about her work, which was why she trusted him as her editor.
Evelyn sighed with relief. She was temporarily switching genres, going from writing fantasy to contemporary romance, and she wasn’t sure if she could pull it off.
“Very different from what I’m used to seeing with you, very different from the League of Librarians series. Dear Adam proves that you’ve got range and versatility. Now, before launching into my edits-“
“Proposed edits.”
Ollie chuckled. “The battle begins, I see. Before I get into the nuts and bolts, may I ask how much is true and how much is made up?”
“Easy. Everything before the middle of Chapter 17 is true, with some details changed. My name obviously, for one, and Danny’s name, too. Vivian wanted me to keep her name the same though.” Eden chuckled.
“Why didn’t you change Adam’s name?”
“You’re assuming he gave me his real name. The overwhelming odds are in favor of that being false as well. After all, the private detective I hired couldn’t find any trace of him.”
“None?’
“The detective couldn’t find him among the 67 Adam Carters born in or around the birth date I provided. He might as well have called himself John Smith. I gave the detective every scrap of information I had, every hunch. I pored through all the e-mails and messages, wrote down everything I remembered. The detective still couldn’t find anything promising. Even if Adam Carter is his real name, he would have made sure that all records, all traces of him disappeared. His fanaticism for privacy was very authentic, I assure you.”
“Which leads me to my next question,” Ollie said slowly. He was fiddling with his glasses so that meant he was about to get into a troublesome topic. “Uh, what if he reads this book and sues you for libel? Or breach of privacy? You’re making his private e-mails public.”
“First of all, Ollie, there is no way he could possibly know I’m publishing this. He doesn’t even know about the three books I’ve already published since we broke up. I’m writing under my pseudonym, E.A, Valfiero, which he knows nothing about. Even my family doesn’t know about it. Second, contemporary romance and fantasy are like nonentities to him. Third, this one will be self-published, just like my other books. It won’t even cross Adam’s radar. He’s strictly New York Times, London Review, traditional publishing. So it would a freakish fluke if he even lays eyes on Dear Adam.”
“You know I’ve heard of people like that!” Ollie said in mock surprise. “Every time they say self-published books aren’t real, a self-published author falls over, dead of a broken heart.”
“Yes, he’s a bit of snob. I’m glad I never showed him any of my writing. As for the libel part – it’s a novel, it’s presumed to be fiction. Breach of privacy – well, technically, he gave me the e-mails so they’re mine.”
“That’s some excellent, pseudo-lawyerly analysis which I doubt will hold up on Law and Order, let alone in court.”
“Let him take me to court then! At least I’d finally get to see what he looks like. It would be worth it.”
“Seriously though, I have to put on my editor hat now and tell you that you should be prepared for the possibility, however slim, that he might come across it. How are you going to handle that? What if he tries to get you to pull the book from publication? For someone who’s as private as Adam, this book is going to infuriate him.”
Evelyn laughed. It wasn’t a merry sound. “He should have known better than to mess with a writer. He gave me fiction, so I wrote a novel.”
“You’ve been dying to say that, haven’t you?”
Evelyn laughed a real laugh this time. “You know me so well. I have to think of my withering retorts ahead of time before I’m in a confrontation.” It was one of her favorite daydreams, wherein she and Adam were face-to-face. Only try as she could she couldn’t imagine what his face would actually look like. She would be proud and unyielding, even against his fury. He would be silenced by her brilliant comebacks and fall to his knees, overcome with remorse.
“Although,” Evelyn said, wistful, “I suppose it can be said that if it weren’t for Adam, I wouldn’t have found the courage to put my books out there. He’s the one who got me thinking about it. Polishing and editing the League of Librarians helped me through the dark months. I would have drowned in depression otherwise. And writing Dear Adam has been therapeutic. I wanted a universe where he was who he said he was and everything he told me or didn’t tell me was for a good reason. I got to live in that universe for a few months and now I’m over him and I can move on.”
“And let’s not forget, if you hadn’t needed an editor for your series, we wouldn’t have met. So I guess I have Adam to thank for our friendship! Happy six-month anniversary of the first time we ever talked!”
Evelyn laughed. “Ollie, you’re the sweetest.”
“Awwww.” Ollie batted his eyelashes. “By the way, I thought you said you were going to put me in your next book. Unless you patterned Jack after me.”
“Jack? Tall, dashing, devilishly handsome Jack? Of course!”
“I was kinda hoping you were going to put me in as a serious contender for Eden’s affections.” Ollie had the hopeful look on his face which twisted Evelyn’s heart every time she saw it. “You know, the nice guy who’s crazy about her and supports her in every way, who’s willing to fly from New York to California for her if she ever invited him over.”
“Ollie,” she said quietly. It pained her to hear it in his voice when they talked on the phone, even worse to see it on his face. She shook her head
and smiled a small smile at her friend. “My books are strictly in the no-love-triangle zone.”
“Hehe, right. Zero tolerance for overused tropes.”
“But you are going to be in the next League of Librarians. You’ll be the newest member. Quirky, charming, and most beloved.”
“Wait, most beloved. I don’t like the sound of that. Are you going to do a George Martin on me? A man in a refrigerator?”
“I’m afraid so. Make the readers fall in love with you and then have you be cruelly murdered as a complete and utter surprise for maximum pathos. It will galvanize the League and unify them in a single noble purpose – to avenge your death.”
“As long as there is much hand-wringing and tearing of hair.”
“The tragic loss of you will be felt for at least two, no three, more books! And I will let you have free rein with the editing of your death scene. How about that?”
“Free rein? I’ve never had that before!”
“Just don’t go mad with power.”
“Alright.” Ollie brought his hands together and rubbed them. It was time for work. “Ready to tackle Dear Adam?”
“Ready.”
“Let’s start with the biggest issue, at least as I see it. The second-to-last scene.” He raised a hand when he saw she was about to protest. “Wait, hear me out first, okay? Remember what we talked about? Listen with an open mind, then discussion.”
She shut her mouth and waved him to go on.
“I know this is contemporary romance so there are certain conventions, foremost being the guarantee of a happy ending. But the character of Adam you’ve described throughout the book, I feel, would never fly Eden out to Paris and rent out an entire restaurant for their first meeting. It just seems completely out of character. He’d do something more low key, something subtle. Not ostentatious like that. I think you can pull off a happy ending that’s truer to his character.”
