by Autumn Sand
Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Kathryn Le Veque. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original World of de Wolfe Pack remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Reflections of Love
A De Wolfe Saga
Autumn Sand
Reflections of Love: A De Wolfe Saga
Copyright © Autumn Sand 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Autumn Sand, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act 1976.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attn: Permission Request,” at [email protected].
Cover design—Pixel Mischief
Edited & Proofread—All About The Edits
Interior Formatting—Tiffany Black at T.E. Black Designs
Contents
Stay Updated!
A Special Message
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Bonus Scene
Acknowledgments
About the Author
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A Special Message
Sometime in 2017, I got it in my head that I would try my hand at writing my first PNR romance. Well, this decision was out of the blue since I'm more of a dark contemporary romance writer type of gal. The problem was, I didn’t know how to begin or what the story should be. Then a thought hit me. Not many people, outside of certain members of my family, are aware that I love researching my family genealogy. It is a favorite hobby of mine, for over ten years. I’ve always wanted to do a story on my great, great grandmother, Franny. She always fascinated me, from the stories I’ve heard about her to the children she bore that started what I jokingly claim as a family dynasty.
Franny’s life was not an easy one; it was a very rough road traveled, as so many others. She was an African American woman in a time that being neither black or a woman merited you the privilege of being considered a first-class citizen.
My great, great grandmother, who was never wed, bore three children from a white man, who she worked for. He acknowledged his children, to his wife’s humiliation, and took care of them, to Franny’s relief. I always imagined them as being in love when I was younger, but now that I'm older, I'm more understanding of the harsher, more possible, realities.
I guess I'll ultimately never know for sure, but this is the story I imagined for her. Of course, I took great liberties with the details, but what author doesn’t. After all, this was never meant to be a biography of her; that book is to be for another time.
I hope you enjoy!
Autumn
Dedication
To my cousin Wendy Donnell Moore
January 27, 1970 – January 7, 2018
Prologue
I try to pretend I’m comfortable as the makeup and hair people fuss over me. The inevitable small talk occurs, as they each tell me how they are my number one fan. Apparently, my hair person, Sheila, had to beg the producer for this assignment. It doesn’t occur to me right away to ask why but, after a moment’s pause, I realize my faux pas and quickly remedy the situation.
“Really? Why?” I ask, as she sprays something fruity smelling on my hair, shrouding me in enough aerosol haze to make me wonder the damage this might be doing to the environment. I cough and wave my hand in the air. The fog lifts, and I see Sheila smiling at her handiwork from the mirror. I smile back politely, nodding for her to go on with her story.
“Well, as you know, Mr. Ta-”
She stops as she catches my finger wag reflecting in the mirror. The first agreement I made, when I decided to allow them to do hair and makeup on me before my interview on national television, was for the three of us to at least be on a first-name basis. It just feels strange to have someone do all this work on you, for them not be able to call you by your given name.
She blushes and nods. “Sorry, Evan. I keep forgetting. Because I’m Ms. Sanders’ hairstylist for the show, I don’t normally work on the guests. But I was able to work on her hair and rush over to you.”
“Well, then I should thank you for that. I couldn’t have imagined anyone else doing it.” I give her a wink, and she blushes a shade of pink.
Tina, the makeup artist, puts on her final touches and steps away to look at her work. She nods her approval, not waiting for mine. I glance at the mirror and see my crow’s feet around my eyes have miraculously disappeared. Not that I have ever been ashamed of them, I wear them with pride, along with my graying temples. For my fifty-two years of age, I, at times, can pass for mid-forties. I keep myself physically fit, I don’t drink, and I eat all the right recommended foods. I’ve even been featured in Men’s Health magazine once or twice.
“Thank, you, Tina. You’ve worked wonders!” I remove the tissue she’d placed around my neck to not smudge on my shirt collar. She holds my jacket open for me, and I slip my arms inside, then thank her again as she smooths down imaginary wrinkles.
“Ah, I see you’re ready just in time, Mr. Taylor,” Tisch, the show’s producer, says from behind me.
“Yes, thanks to Tina and Sheila’s fast work.” I give them one last smile before Tisch and I depart.
“They are the best in the business.” She smiles at me as she presses the button for the elevator. “Are you ready for your first interview in …” She shifts the stack of papers she’s holding and quickly gives them a scan.
“It’s been twenty years.”
She nods and smiles. “Yes, sorry. I haven’t had a chance to study all of my notes. But don’t worry, Dori is up-to-date on everything.” The elevator doors open, and she waits for me to step in first. I’m old enough to remember chivalry though, and I hold out my arm, directing her to go in ahead of myself.
“Oh, I’m not worried at all. Dori and I go way back.”
“She mentioned that.” Her voice raises a pitch higher at the end of her sentence. “She and your wife were best friends in college, correct?”
I smile and nod as the elevator begins to move, and then jostles us
to our stop a few seconds later.
“Yes,” I reply, as I wait for her to exit first, then follow her out. I fall right into stride beside her, as she effortlessly maneuvers around people and equipment.
“Dori, here he is.” She waves to the show host, who is talking to someone with headphones and a mic.
“Evan!” Dori walks over to me, and we embrace. She feels way too small, or what they call television thin.
“Thank you for having me,” I say as I take her in. Not a dyed hair out of place and flawless makeup. A pang of pain goes through my heart as I try to imagine what Rae what have looked like at our age. Would she have dyed her hair and gotten plastic surgery for her crow’s feet, or would she not have cared? Rae is forever stamped in my memory as an energetic and thriving thirty-two-year-old.
“I’m just glad that you’ve finally accepted an interview after all these years.” She smiles and gives me an appraising look. She has always had a crush on me, since college, but once she saw Rae and I getting serious, she pushed her feelings to the side.
We walk arm and arm to the refreshment table, where I grab a bottled water, and she pours herself a glass of orange juice. I watch as the audience takes their seats and the director gives them instructions.
“Where have you been keeping yourself? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.” She takes a sip from her straw.
“I’ve been around,” I toss out casually.
“So, why my show? Why now?” She raises an eyebrow as she waits for my response.
I shrug. “I just felt it was time to come out of mourning, I guess. Besides, today marks the twentieth anniversary since I wrote Reflections of Love.”
“It’s been twenty years already? Where has the time gone?”
I know she isn’t talking about my book, but instead about Rae. It has been twenty years since Rae’s passing, and it still feels like yesterday.
I look away as emotions overcome me. You never forget your first love.
“Evan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
I swallow down my loss and turn to face her. “It’s okay. I know how much you miss her too.”
She nods, as her face flushes with emotions.
“Dori, Evan, we are on in two minutes,” Tisch announces from a few feet away.
Dori gives my hand a quick squeeze and walks toward Tisch to discuss something. I finish the last of my water and toss the bottle in the recycle bin, just as they make Dori’s introduction. She smiles at me before she walks onto the stage to a round of applause. She comes to life as she talks to her audience under the glaring overhead lights.
“Well, I know you’ve heard me talking about having a special guest for you all today, and I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to bring him out. But before I do so…”
Laughing and joking groans come from the audience.
“I know, I know. But I want to first tell you how I know him. I met him in college, along with my best friend, Rae. We both had the biggest crush on him, but”—she winks at the audience—“Rae got him, and I got to be the maid of honor at their wedding.”
The audience laughs.
“I still have the burgundy and white dress to prove it,” she jokes. “Rae inspired him, and he inspired her. You may know some of the famous images Rae captured on camera.”
They show images of my wife’s most well-known photographs on the screen behind Dori. Each image brings forth another emotion for me because I was with her on most of those trips.
A stunning image of Angel Falls appears, and memories of our honeymoon flood me. How I made love to her under the stars as we listened to the falls crash behind us.
“That image inspired his first book.”
An image of my first book, Angel Falls and Love Triumphs, appears, and the audience claps.
“Well, I guess you’ve figured out who my mystery guest is, so perhaps I should bring him out.”
She looks in my direction, and I walk onto the stage to thunderous applause. I give a half bow to the audience and nod. I’ve always been awkward in moments like this; one of the reasons why I haven’t done an interview in so long.
Dori takes my hand and leads me to the guest chair, taking a seat adjacent to mine. We both smile and wave at the audience again before she shifts back into the media mogul she has become, crossing her legs and getting down to business.
“Evan, it is such a pleasure to have you here today,” she gushes.
“It’s a pleasure to be here and, of course, this being my first interview in twenty years, it is extra special.”
“Yes, twenty years, and today marks the anniversary of you publishing Reflections of Love.”
I nod toward the audience. “Yes, that is correct.”
The audience claps on the signal.
“I have so many questions, but first, why twenty years? Why so long since you have granted an interview? You must have published dozens of books since Reflections.”
“Well, not quite dozens.” We laugh. “After Reflections, I wanted to take some time for myself.”
“That’s right; you announced a semi-retirement after you published.”
“Correct. I lost the love of my life, and needed to adjust to my new life without her.” A life that I’m still finding hard to adjust to each day.
She picks up Reflections of Love and holds it up for the audience. “If you check under your seats, you will each find your very own signed copy.” There are the sounds of rustling as the audience members reach underneath their seats, collectively gasping, then clap loudly.
The chatter of the audience begins to fade, and Dori turns to me again, eyes alight. “This is also your first paranormal romance. What drew you to write it as a paranormal?”
I blank at the question; not because it caught me off guard, but because I don’t know how to respond without people calling for my immediate insane asylum lockup. How do I explain in such a way that would make sense? My inability to figure out how to answer this very question was the core reason for me not granting interviews anymore. But this story deserves to be told; she deserves it, as well as myself.
“I guess this is a story that only I was ever able to tell.”
“Yes, I agree with you on that, as would your readers. But why paranormal?”
I look over to the audience, as if the answer would miraculously come to me from their own thoughts. I swallow down the trepid anticipation and open my mouth to begin, but no words form. Suddenly, the air in the room feels as if it is being sucked away, and a feeling of warmth flows through me. As if knowing my pain in explaining our story, she gives me the words, my mouth moving as I breathe life into our incredible journey.
“What if I told you, things aren’t always as they seem?”
Chapter 1
20 Years Ago
My fingers move across my keyboard with swift precision as the words flow from my imagination down to my fingertips. Rapidly, the white background of my word document fills with black words, filling up the page and moving onto the next. My heart thrums with excitement as I type the climactic scene between the two lovers. At this rate, my novel will be finished faster than anticipated. I can already hear my editor and manager’s words of approval, singing my praises for what is bound to be another New York Times bestseller and ultimately, yet another one of my books to become a movie.
“Babe, did you hear me?” Rae, my wife, asks from my study door. I don’t bother to look up because I am too engrossed in the scene, and it is too important not to lose the momentum.
She exhales loudly and taps her nails on the doorway arch. I can tell she is extremely annoyed with me and I debate if I should look up to meet her withering glare. As much as she supports me and my work, she also gets annoyed by it, often complaining that the characters of my books have become my life.
My fingers stop moving as I look up to see my beautiful wife. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
She exhales loudly and closes her eyes for a moment before opening t
hem, smiling that same smile that made me fall in love with her. “I said that my assignment might last longer than I expected.”
Rae is a photojournalist and is often sent away to locales, near and far. Where I create images with words, she creates words with her images. At one time, she was courted to do a reality show for National Geographic, but she felt that having television cameras around while she was trying to capture a moment would be too invasive. She likes to be able to move freely and not worry about having to explain why she is taking a picture, instead preferring the picture speak for itself.
“Oh, how much longer?” I ask, more so because if it is long enough, I can finish this book and give her the deserved attention she needs.
She walks into the office and flops down in my leather chair, one long leg dangling over the arm. She looks youthful in her ivory cashmere cable sweater, dark blue denim jeans, and Uggs. Her hair is swept up in a messy bun, with dark ringlets framing her oval face. Her hazel eyes still have their youthful spark at thirty-two years of age.
“It might be delayed by a week or two. I’ll know for sure when I get there, and I’ll let you know.” She reaches over and snatches a page from my book, that I printed out a few hours ago. She scans it briefly and smiles. “I see Grace has chosen Hector after all.”
