Prologue
“But he’s the onlyman I’ve ever kissed.” Meesha’s voice drops to a whisper in the noisy restaurant. “The only one I’ve ever...” She doesn’t finish and doesn’t need to. “I can’t help feeling like I’m missing out on something.”
Jessa and I exchange glances. The distant chime of slot machines mingles with the clink of silverware, and after four days in Vegas for Meesha’s bachelorette, the sensory overload has faded into white noise.
The three of us have been inseparable since our freshman year of college when Jessa and I discovered we were dating the same guy. Instead of turning on each other, Meesha and Jessa, who had already been best friends, brought me into their revenge plot.
We broke into Chad’s dorm room, covered his entire floor with uncooked rice mixed with glitter and corn syrup, replaced his shampoo with pink hair dye, and plastered every surface with printed screenshots of his three-timing text messages.
That was eight years ago. Since then, we’ve seen each other through graduations, career changes, family dramas and countless relationship disasters.
But Meesha and Connor had been together before I met the girls. They’ve been each other’s constant for nearly a decade now.
Jessa launches into protective mode immediately. “That’s ridiculous, Meesha. You’ve found what most people spend their lives searching for. Don’t throw it away on a whim.”
The thing about being a romance author is that you develop a sixth sense for relationship drama. You learn to read micro-expressions and the hesitations between words. And with Meesha second-guessing the only relationship she’s ever been in, every writer’s instinct in me screams that we’re heading toward a third-act crisis.
“Have you told him how you feel?” I ask.
“It was hard enough admitting it to you two.” Meesha blinks rapidly, fighting tears. “I don’t want him to think I’m ungrateful. I love him, I do. I just...” she swallows. “I wonder if I should test the waters before diving all the way in.”
The vibration of Meesha’s phone cuts through the moment. Connor’s smiling face illuminates her screen, and I watch her entire demeanor shift.
She reaches it. “It’s him. I should take this.”
Meesha slides from her chair, phone pressed to her ear, voice instantly brightening as she weaves through the tables. “Hey, baby...”
The transformation is instant and telling. Whatever doubts Meesha has been wrestling with vanish the moment she hears Connor’s voice. Proof that what she’s feeling is anxiety, not dissatisfaction.
Jessa turns to me. “Do you think she’s okay?”
I gather my leather purse. “I’m not sure, but I hope she doesn’t do anything to mess up her relationship.”
“I’ll be in the suite!” Meesha calls over her shoulder, already halfway to the elevators. “Connor wants to see the room!”
Before we can respond, she’s gone, leaving behind two concerned friends. We stand, watching her disappear into the crowd.
“So,” I say, recognizing Jessa’s need for distraction from problems she can’t immediately solve, “I’ve booked that contemporary art tour for this evening. Wanna join?”
Jessa wrinkles her nose. “Hard pass. I’m on vacation from educational activities.”
We wind our way out of the restaurant and through the casino. The late afternoon crowd is different from the morning desperados.
They’re fresher, still optimistic, and not yet worn down by the house’s inevitable victory. By the time we reach the elevator, the buzz of the floor fades behind the closing doors.
An hour later, Jessa’s in the shower, and Meesha’s holed up in her room talking to Connor. I should be writing, but my mind keeps wandering to relationships and their complexities.
How people can have everything and still wonder what else exists. How some of us observe love from the sidelines, writing perfect endings for fictional characters while our own stories remain unwritten.
I’ve been single for two years now, by choice mostly. My characters get their happy endings while I’m still figuring out if I want one of my own.
I stare at my laptop screen where Chapter Twenty-Three sits unfinished, my dragon prince frozen mid-seduction scene. The words won’t come because I can’t figure out if my heroine should trust him.
This is book six in the Celestial series—my first foray into romantasy, the books that launched my career and remain my most successful work. You’d think after five books I’d have the formula down, but the emotional beats still trip me up.
My phone buzzes with a text from my editor.
Pre-orders are live for spring release. Manuscript due this fall. How's it coming?
