GLAMOROUS Harlequin Series Summer Blog Tour Promo Post: The Last Little Secret by Zuri Day

Will a secret child stand in the way of business? Find out in this Sin City Secrets novel by Zuri Day.

Is she willing to risk it all for one more night with the boss?

Thanks to a year-long hiatus, interior designer Samantha Price is desperate for a new project. But the only client she can land is Nick Breedlove, a former one-night stand who’s dominated her fantasies ever since! The real estate billionaire agrees their partnership is strictly professional—even as his flirting promises more. If Sam gives in to their passion…will Nick learn the truth about their baby son?

 Buy The Last Little Secret by Zuri Day!

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“While in Africa, I lived in a rather insular world.”

“Since word on the street is you married a prince, a luxurious one, no doubt.”

“Yes.”

A physical wall couldn’t have made Sam’s intentions clearer. Whatever had happened while abroad, she didn’t want to talk about it. But Nick couldn’t resist.

“Yet you’re back here and working. What does your husband think about that?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re no longer together.”

“Separated?”

“Divorced.”

The tone beneath that one word closed the door on the subject of Sam’s personal life better than King Tut’s sealed tomb. It only made Nick even more curious, about both her failed marriage and her current love life. Now was obviously not the time to talk about it, but one day… Patience was not a virtue Nick knew well, but one he could employ when necessary. Now was definitely one of those times.

His body language remained relaxed but he adopted a businesslike tone. “Whatever brings you back to Las Vegas, your timing couldn’t be better. I need the best and fastest-working designer that money can buy. Before run­ning off to become an African princess, that was you.”

A grin accompanied Sam’s twinkling eyes. “I’d like to think it still is. What’s going on?”

“A project that has to stay on schedule and a designer who isn’t delivering on the promises she made.”

“How many rooms are we talking about?”

“Not rooms…homes.” Nick noted Sam’s surprised ex­pression. “This isn’t a hotel design. It’s a series of private island homes being advertised for vacation rental among the world’s most elite.”

“Wow. I had no idea you guys had expanded beyond the original hotel framework. Considering how the hos­pitality industry is changing, though, it sounds like a smart move.”

“It’s proven to be right on time with industry trends.”

“Does that smirk confirm the obvious, that this was your idea?”

“Still a smart-ass, I see.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Ha!”

“So I’m right.”

“All of the brothers are involved but yes, it’s more or less my baby. Which means failure is not an option. You feel me?”

“Tell me more.”

Sam leaned forward, unconsciously revealing the slightest peek of a creamy quarter-moon of her breast. When his attention returned to her face, Sam was frown­ing. Damn. To her professional credit, however, she didn’t comment on eyes determined to rove on their own. She simply adjusted her blouse and sat back, waiting, to learn why Nick had brought her here.

Nick leaned back as well, determined to take con­trol of a meeting he’d called, ensconced in the comfort of discussing an industry he knew better than he knew himself. Business now, pleasure later, he thought as he began discussing his baby, CANN Isles. There was no way around it, even pushed to the back of his mind. The attraction for one Ms. Samantha “Sam” Price was real, intense, and not going away.

Before it was mere speculation. Now she was sure. It shouldn’t have mattered how much she wanted to see her old lover. Not only should Sam have not returned Ani­ta’s phone call, she shouldn’t have made this appoint­ment. She shouldn’t be here with Nick. Her body was clear about it even if her mind wasn’t sure. Every cell of her body had lit up, awakened by the irrefutable attrac­tion that hadn’t dimmed in all this time away. An attrac­tion that given the sticky situation that even thinking of working with Nick presented, and the increasingly trou­blesome email and text exchanges with her ex, had no chance of being acted upon.

Being this close to him in proximity was TROUBLE, all caps. Just seeing him relax made her heart skip. She watched the lines on his forehead fade away as he broke into a spiel he’d probably recited a hundred times. Clearly, speaking about the company was his forte, his stomp­ing grounds, his zone. But that brief look of desire she’d glimpsed before Nick realized he’d been caught staring at her cleavage suggested something impossible. That he still felt the attraction, too.

About the Author

Award-winning author Zuri Day snuck her first Harlequin romance from her older sister’s collection and was hooked from page one. Knights in shining armor and happily-ever-afters spurred a lifelong love of reading. Zuri now creates these stories as a full-time author. Splitting her time between the stunning Caribbean islands and southern California, and always busy writing her next novel, Zuri still loves to connect with readers via Zuri@ZuriDay.com.

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Book Review: Intention: Building Capabilities to Transform Your Story by Dr. Ian D. Brooks, MS

 

Your story. Ever evolving, with and without your consent. The management of either is fraught with angst, excitement, and an "always," that we struggle to meet or sustain.

The foundation of this struggle is rooted in an imbalance of who you are and what you want, says Dr. Ian D. Brooks, often resulting in frustration. Written in a story based narrative, Dr. Brooks integrates research, experience and fictional imagery to illuminate a path for your transformation in a digestible way. "Intention" shows that successful personal transformations - from leaders influencing their teams, to losing weight, to just being better - starts with you and is sustained through a gift of knowledge.

"Intention" provides a step-by-step guide in transforming your story, by reinforcing and building new capabilities to move forward. if you're ready to:

Prioritize who you are in understanding your stories characters, its set, and script that influence you
Explore beyond your immediate reasons for change to reflect on your wants
Take manageable action for something new, while adjusting old habits
Build capabilities to manage changes for an unknown future

..then your personal journey of transformation begins with "Intention".

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Disclaimer: I received a review copy in exchange for an honest review. 

Now, I don't normally review non-fiction titles on my blog. Fiction, in general, is my wheelhouse. That's not to say that I've never read non-fiction titles; I just don't post my thoughts about them. Anyway, I generally enjoyed reading Intention by Dr. Ian D. Brooks, MS. In the same realm as vision boards (a vision board is a collage of visual images or words that represent the life you want to live, i.e. a dream board). Vision boards are essentially physical/visual representations of your goals and desires. Vision boards serve as motivation to work towards your goals. That's all good and well, however, it doesn't work for everyone. Intention was an inspiring and enlightening read. Written in an anecdotal style, Dr. Brooks puts a spin on "self-help" books, geared towards personal growth. Dr. Brooks' writing is clear and concise, something I greatly appreciated. The exercises are practical and self-reflective. Intention indirectly hinted at issues I didn't even know I had. At the end of the book, I found myself reflecting on my priorities and motivations in life. I am not overexaggerating when I say that I saw my true self after reading this book. I tend not to dwell to much on my actual self. This book helped me acquiant myself with who I truly am, what I really want, and how to change my point-of-view. Overall, it was a quick read and I would definitely recommend this book to anyone entering college or in a rut in their professional or personal life. 

4.5 Stars

About the Author

Dr. Ian Brooks is the chief executive and founder of Rhodes Smith Consulting, leading transformations of peope and organizations for over 24 years. Ian has extensive experience in executive and leadership development, change management, business performance consulting, and communication planning. Ian holds a PhD in Industrial/Organizational Psychology from Marshall Goldsmith School of Managment at Alliant International University, a Master's in Clinical Psychology from Auburn University at Montogomery, and a Bachelor's in Psychology from Morehouse College.

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Blog Tour Promo Post: You Will Remember Me by Hannah Mary McKinnon

He wakes up on a deserted beach in Maryland, wearing only swim trunks and a gash on his head. He can’t remember who he is. Everything—his identity, his life, his loved ones—has been replaced by a dizzying fog of uncertainty. But returning to his Maine hometown in search of the truth raises more questions than answers. 

Lily Reid thinks she knows her boyfriend, Jack. Until he goes missing one night, and her frantic search reveals that he’s been lying to her since they met, desperate to escape a dark past he’d purposely left behind. 

Maya Scott has been trying to find her estranged stepbrother, Asher, since he disappeared without a trace. Having him back, missing memory and all, feels like a miracle. But with a mutual history full of devastating secrets, how far will Maya go to ensure she alone takes them to the grave?

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Chapter 1—The Man from the Beach

Cold. Cold was the first word that came to mind. The first thing I noticed when I woke up. Not a slight, uncomfortable chill to give me the shivers, but a cramp-inducing, iced-to-the-bone kind of frozen. I lay flat on my stomach, my left ear and cheek pressed into the rough, grainy wet ground beneath me, my entire body shaking. As my thoughts attempted to assemble themselves into some form of understandable order, a wave of icy water nipped at my bare toes and ankles, my instincts pulling my feet out of reach.

I had a sudden urge to get up, a primal need to take in my surroundings and assess the danger—was I in danger?—but the throbbing pain deep in my head made the slightest effort to shift anything seem impossible. Lifting a finger would be too much effort, and I acquiesced, allowing myself to lie still for another few freezing seconds as the frigid water crept over the balls of my feet again. When I blinked my eyes open, I was met by a thick, fuzzy darkness enveloping me like a cloak. Where the hell was I? And wherever it was, what was I doing here?

When I lifted my head a fraction of an inch, I could barely make out anything in front of me. There was hardly a noise either, nothing but a gentle, steady rumble in the background, and the cry of a bird somewhere in the distance. I made my brain work its way backward—bird, rumble, sand, water—and the quartet formed the vaguely cohesive image of a beach.

Searching for confirmation, I inhaled the salty, humid air deep into my lungs as another slosh of water took aim at my calves. This time the discomfort was enough to push me to my feet, and I wrapped my arms around my naked torso, my sopping board shorts clinging to my goose-bump-covered thighs. An explosion of pain in my head threatened to send me back to my knees, and I swayed gently, wishing I had something to steady myself with, willing my body to stay upright. As I pressed a hand to the side of my skull, I let out a quiet yelp, and felt along a two-inch gash in my scalp. My eyes had adjusted somewhat to the lack of light, and my fingertips were covered in something dark that smelled of rust. Blood. How had I…?

Another low rumble made me turn around, shuffling slowly in a semicircle. The behemoth effort was rewarded by the sight of a thousand glistening waves dancing under the moonlight like diamonds, the water stretching out and disappearing into the darkness beyond. As my ears tuned in to the rhythmic whoosh of the waves, my mind worked hard to process each scrap of information it took in.

I’m definitely on a beach. It’s nighttime. I’m alone. What am I doing here?

Before I could answer the single question, a thousand others crowded my brain, an incessant string of chatter I couldn’t stop or get away from.

Where is everyone? Never mind them, where am I? Have I been here long? How did I get here? Where was I before? Where are my clothes? What day is it?

My legs buckled. Not because of the unfamiliar surroundings, the cold burrowing its way deeper into my core, or the pain in my head, which had increased tenfold. No. My knees hit the sand with a dull crunch when I realized I couldn’t answer any of the questions because I couldn’t recall anything. Nothing. Not the tiniest of details.

Including my name.

 

Chapter 2—Lily

 

A frown settled over my face as I put my phone on the table, pushed the bowl of unfinished berry oatmeal away and stretched out my legs. It was Saturday morning, and I’d been up for ages, too eager—too hopeful—to spend a day at the beach with Jack, but those plans had been a literal wash-out. The start to the summer felt capricious, with this second storm in the last week of June poised to be much worse than the first. I’d convinced myself the weatherwoman had exaggerated or got her forecast completely wrong, but clouds had rolled in overnight anyway. As a result, I’d been unceremoniously woken up at two thirty by a trio of bright lightning, deafening thunderclaps and heavy raindrops pelting against my bedroom window.

At first, I’d pulled my pillow over my head to deafen the noise, and when that didn’t work, I rolled over and stretched out an arm. The spot next to me was empty and cold, and I groaned. Jack hadn’t come over to my place as I’d hoped he would, slipping into bed and pressing his naked body against mine. I’d buried my face back into my pillow and tried to ignore the tinge of disappointment. We hadn’t seen much of each other this past week, both of us too busy with our jobs to spend more than a night together, and I missed him. Jack had called the day before to tell me he’d be working late, finishing the stain on the cabinets he’d labored on for weeks before his boss had to let him go. Apparently expensive custom kitchens weren’t in as high demand in Brookmount, Maryland as originally thought.

“But you got laid off,” I’d said. “It’s your last day. Why do you care?”

“Because I made a commitment. Besides, it’ll help when I need a reference.”

Typical Jack, always keeping his word. He’d bought a lottery ticket once, and the clerk had jokingly asked if he’d give him half of any winnings. Jack had laughed and shaken the man’s hand, and when he won ten bucks on the ticket, had promptly returned to the store, and paid over the share as promised. His loyalty was one of the many things I loved about Jack, although part of me wished he weren’t quite as dedicated to his soon-to-be ex-boss.

“You could come over to my place when you’re done,” I said, smiling slowly. “I’ll leave the key under the umbrella stand. I don’t mind you waking me up gently in the middle of the night…or not so gently.”

Jack laughed softly. The sound was something I’d fallen in love with eighteen months ago after our eyes had met across a crowded bar, the mother of all uninspired first-encounter clichés, except in this case I’d been forced to admit clichés weren’t always a bad thing.

“It’ll be really late, Lily,” he said, his voice deep. His English accent was something of a rarity in our small coastal town, and still capable of making my legs wobble in anticipation of his next words. “I’ll go for a quick swim now, then finish up work. How about I come over in the morning? Around nine? I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

“Blueberry pancakes from Patti’s? With extra maple syrup?”

“This time I’ll order three stacks to make sure I get some.”

“Pancakes or sex?” I said, before telling him how much I loved him, and whispering exactly how I’d thank him for waking me with sweet weekend treats. I’d hoped it might change his mind and he’d come over earlier, except it was ten now, and he still hadn’t showed. It was odd. Jack detested being late as much as he loved being early. He often joked they set Greenwich Mean Time by his father’s old watch, which Jack had worn since his dad passed a little over a decade before we’d met, when Jack was only twenty.

I checked my phone again. Jack hadn’t answered either of my calls, another anomaly, but I tried to talk myself into believing he’d worked late into the night to make the final good impression he wanted, and overslept. Maybe there was a line at Patti’s—the restaurant was slammed every weekend—and perhaps his phone was set to silent.

I picked up my bowl and wandered to the kitchen. My place was the smallest of six apartments, a tiny but well-maintained one-bedroom in a building a few miles from the beach, farther than I’d planned, but the closest I could afford. I’d lived there for almost five years, had furnished it with an eclectic assortment of third-hand furniture, my favorite piece a royal blue microfiber sofa I’d bought for fifty bucks, and which Jack swore was the most comfortable thing he’d ever sat on. Whenever he sank down into it and pulled me on top of him with a contented sigh, I’d tease him about what made him happier; the squishy, well-worn cushions, or me.

The image made my frown deepen. Where was he?

 

Excerpted from You Will Remember Me by Hannah Mary McKinnon, Copyright © 2021 by Hannah McKinnon. Published by MIRA Books

 

About the Author

Hannah Mary McKinnon was born in the UK, grew up in Switzerland and moved to Canada in 2010. After a successful career in recruitment, she quit the corporate world in favor of writing, and is now the author of The Neighbors, Her Secret Son, and Sister Dear. She lives in Oakville, Ontario, with her husband and three sons, and is delighted by her twenty-second commute.

 

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HTP Summer Reads (Beach Reads Edition) Book Review: Talk Bookish to Me by Kate Bromley

TALK BOOKISH TO ME is a laugh-out-loud stunner of a story, perfect for fans of Beach Read and The Bookish Life of Nina Hill, that will delight book nerds everywhere!

Kara Sullivan is definitely not avoiding her deadline. After all, it's the week of her best friend's wedding and she's the maid of honor, so she's got lots of responsibilities. As a bestselling romance novelist with seven novels under her belt, she’s a pro and looming deadlines and writer’s block (which she definitely doesn’t have) don't scare her. She's just eager to support Cristina as she ties the knot with Jason.

But who should show up at Cristina and Jason's rehearsal dinner but Kara's college ex-boyfriend, (the gorgeous and infuriating) Ryan? Apparently, he’s one of Jason's childhood friends, and he's in the wedding party, too. Considering neither Kara nor Ryan were prepared to see each other again, it's decidedly a meet-NOT-cute. There is nothing cute about this situation, and a bit of notice to mentally prepare would’ve been nice, Cristina! However, when Kara sits down to write again the next day, her writers' block is suddenly gone. She has to wonder what’s changed. Are muses real…? And is Kara's muse...Ryan?

 

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Read an excerpt HERE! 

 

 *Spoiler Alert*

*Advanced Readers Copy was given in exchange for an honest review*

Yup, it’s the good, old enemies-to-lovers and second chance love story trope. Now, I know I come off as condescending and sarcastic, but I genuinely enjoyed this book. I have to admit the synopsis already had me hooked and the delivery was *chef’s kiss* fantastic. Kara is a writer and presently has writer’s block (though she claims differently). Kara has been putting off writing due to her best friend’s upcoming wedding. As the Maid of Honor, she’s got a lot of responsibilities. So imagine her surprise when a blast from the past shows up to the pre-wedding party. Her college boyfriend and first boyfriend ever, Ryan, happens to be childhood friends with Jason, the groom. Unfortunately, their relationship did not end well. Obviously, there are a lot of unresolved feelings between the pair. This book is a romance so it takes us through their reacquaintance and rekindling of their relationship. Amazingly, Kara gains inspiration from the time spent with Ryan, which annoys and befuddles our poot female lead. I liked how, as readers, we see into Kara’s writing process. I was shipping Kara and Ryan getting back together in the beginning, but my feelings changed a bit after a big secret was revealed in the middle-ish of the book. It made me see the characters in a whole new light. Despite this, the banter, pace, and dialog were great. I have to say, for a debut author, Kate Bromley nailed this trope. I look forward to what she has in store. 

4 stars! 

About the Author

Photo Credit: Samantha Rayward, City Headshots

KATE BROMLEY lives in New York City with her husband, son, and her somewhat excessive collection of romance novels (It’s not hoarding if it’s books, right?). She was a preschool teacher for seven years and is now focusing full-time on combining her two great passions – writing swoon-worthy love stories and making people laugh. Talk Bookish to Me is her first novel.

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Blog Tour Promo Post: Match Made in Paradise by Barbara Dunlop

 

Supermodel Mia Westberg finds herself on the run from the paparazzi after the death of her much older husband. In order to stay out of the public eye until the fate of her late husband’s fashion house is decided, Mia leaves behind her lavish Los Angeles lifestyle for the wilderness of Alaska—a place where no reporter would follow. It’s immediately clear that Mia isn’t ready for everything Paradise, Alaska has in store for her: the wild animals, insanely harsh weather, and a gorgeous no-nonsense bush pilot who is immune to her charms.
 
When pilot Silas Burke flies a beautiful blonde into town, he thinks he has her all figured out from the jump. She’s a city girl who has no business in the rough Alaskan terrain. Silas decides against his better judgment to help Mia acclimate to life in Paradise after seeing her struggle. But he’s an impatient teacher and she’s a frustrated pupil—and nothing gets them more fired up than each other. Can these two polar opposites find common ground and let their hearts soar?

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Magnificent was the first word that came to Mia’s mind. If she was casting a model for a rugged, outdoors spread to attract women from far and wide, inspiring them to buy something for their own man from a new Lafayette wilderness clothing line, this would be her guy. There was a hint of irony in his half-smile, a hint of mischief in his blue eyes. He was fit and tall and confident enough to take on the wild. They’d make a fortune.
He looked her over from head to toe. Then he moved his attention to her luggage.
The five men rolled to their feet.
“Hey, Silas,” one of them said.
“Ricardo,” the man, obviously a pilot, and apparently named Silas, said in return.
“How’s it going?” another of the men asked Silas.
“Welcome back to the grind,” Silas said.
The other man grinned and nodded.
They all hoisted their backpacks and lifted their compact duffle bags to head for the door.
Silas, the pilot, stepped to one side, out of their way, while Mia sat down to wait.
“I take it you’re Mia,” Silas said.
She looked up, met his bright blue eyes and felt her chest tighten and her toes tingle in recognition of his sex appeal.
Yeah, she was a woman and she was alive, and he was a perfect specimen of a man.
Then it hit her. He knew her name.
“You’re here for me?” she asked. She’d thought he was here for those men.
“I’m from Paradise.”
“But?” She looked through the glass to where the five men trooped to a small airplane parked on the tarmac.
He waited.
“What about them?” she asked.
“We’re dropping them off.” He moved toward her, nodding at her luggage. “Raven didn’t tell you to pack light?”
Mia looked at her things. “This is light.”
“Lady, we’re getting into a Navajo PA-31 with five other passengers who, as you can see, are heavier than the average weight.” He picked her bags up one at a time, seeming to test them for weight. “They’re my paying cargo. You’re a ride-along.”
“I’m going with them?” Mia was still getting past that information.
Silas pulled her biggest roller-bag to one side. “You have to leave this behind.”
“What?” Was he insane?
“Becky?” he called over his shoulder. “Can you store this bag?”
“Sure,” the woman named Becky said.
“No!” Mia cried out.
Silas gave her a glare of impatience. “Okay, then these two.” He pointed to her garment bag and her carry-on.
“No way.” She shook her head. She could not leave her carry-on behind. “I’ll put this one on my lap.”
“It’s a weight issue, not space.”
“But . . .”
“Those two?” He pointed to her smaller roller-bag and the garment bag.
That was a bit better but still not doable.
Becky joined them, obviously waiting to see which bags she’d be storing in the FBO.
“There must be some other way?” Mia tried her ice-princess look, the one that usually got her what she expected. When that didn’t seem to move Silas, she changed her expression, hoping to appeal to his compassion. “Maybe one of those guys could . . .”
“Those guys are heading to a drilling camp for three weeks. They took exactly what they needed.”
Mia didn’t have an answer for that.
Silas folded his arms over his chest, his expression implacable. “I am not crashing the airplane so you can bring your makeup and evening gowns.”
“My . . .” She started to be affronted but then dialed it back. Okay, she had brought one dress that could be considered an evening gown. It was a gown, and she could wear it in the evening, not to a super-formal event, but surely to anything that happened in Alaska.
“You coming or not?” He looked fully prepared to leave her behind.
“Fine. But I have to rearrange a few things.”
Silas muttered something under her breath.
Before he could tell her no, Mia quickly crouched and unzipped her smaller roller-bag. She pulled out the essentials: panties, bras and nighties. It figured he’d have to get a look at her underwear. But that was the kind of day she was having.
 
From MATCH MADE IN PARADISE published by arrangement with Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2021 by Barbara Dunlop.
 

About the Author

Photo Credit: CATHIE ARCHBOULD

Barbara Dunlop is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has published more than fifty novels. Her stories have ranged from lighthearted comedies to family sagas. Barbara is a four-time finalist for the RWA RITA award, and her Tule novel His Jingle Bell Princess has been optioned by Motion Picture Corporation of America for a Hallmark movie. Barbara resides in Yukon, Canada with her bush pilot husband. You can find her at www.barbaradunlop.com. 

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HTP Summer Reads (YA/Inkyard Press Edition) Promo Post: The Witch King by H.E. Edgmon

Wyatt would give anything to forget where he came from—but a kingdom demands its king.

In Asalin, fae rule and witches like Wyatt Croft…don’t. Wyatt’s betrothal to his best friend, fae prince Emyr North, was supposed to change that. But when Wyatt lost control of his magic one devastating night, he fled to the human world.

Now a coldly distant Emyr has hunted him down. Despite transgender Wyatt’s newfound identity and troubling past, Emyr has no intention of dissolving their engagement. In fact, he claims they must marry now or risk losing the throne. Jaded, Wyatt strikes a deal with the enemy, hoping to escape Asalin forever. But as he gets to know Emyr, Wyatt realizes the boy he once loved may still exist. And as the witches face worsening conditions, he must decide once and for all what’s more important—his people or his freedom.

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DON’T YOU WANT TO BE SOMETHING SPECIAL?

“What if I don’t want to marry him?”

I’m fourteen years old and my resentment toward the fae has been growing for more than a year now. I don’t know it yet, but it’s only hours before the worst night of my life.

When I ask the question at the dinner table, everything goes silent. No more forks scraping against glass. No more persnickety sipping of blackberry wine, glasses held daintily between perfectly poised fingers. My father shakes his head, looking down at his plate with exasperation. My mother stares at me, lips parted in surprise. The glare on my sister’s too-familiar face is what rattles me most. I think, and

not for the first time, Tessa would kill me if she had the chance. “I’m just asking. Maybe it’s not what I want for my future.” “Of course not. Because being queen of the fae is just too mundane for you,” Tessa spits, batting one hank of dirty blond hair over her shoulder.

I bristle. I know if I acknowledge her, it’s going to make this fight worse than it needs to be. But I’d like to smack the hateful look right off her face.

My mother sighs. “Sweetheart, I know you must be anxious. A lot is going to change over the next few years. I can only imagine how that must feel.”

She reaches across the table to rest her warm, soft hand over top my own. I wish I could find some comfort in the touch. I wish it could make me feel anything other than trapped.

“But this is going to be such a good thing for you. The first witch to ever marry into a royal family? We’re talking about making history.”

I don’t care about making history.

“Revolutionaries usually end up getting killed by the masses,” I remind her. “No one wants me to rule. Aren’t you a little worried they’ll revolt against a witch wearing their crown?”

My mother sniffs. “People will adjust.” “But—”

“This conversation is pointless,” my father interjects, tone firm. “There is a contract in place. You will marry Emyr North or you will die.”

When my black energy sweeps out around me, it brushes up against the energies of my family. My father’s biting ice blue. My mother’s, the same shade as her favorite red lipstick. My sister’s, a perfect mix of the two—a field of lavender.

My darkness and I don’t belong here. We never have.

My mother snatches her hand back as if I’ve burned her. If I did, it was a happy accident.

“Contracts can be dissolved,” I insist through clenched teeth. “You can ask the king and queen to talk to the Court, tell them—”

“We will tell them nothing.” My father isn’t even looking at me. “What’s done is done.”

“You should be so proud,” my mother insists, shaking her head. “Most of your kind would be thrilled to take your place.”

“Then let one of them,” I snap back, fists clenching until my nails dig puncture wounds into my palms.

“For crying out loud,” Tessa scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You’re a witch. And you want to run away from the one thing that might make your life worth something? Are you seriously dumber than you look?”

I do not point out that we look eerily similar.

“Tessa. Please.” My mother sighs at her before she turns her attention back to me. “When we were made aware of Emyr’s bond, we were so excited for you. So proud. And we demanded the contract be put in place to protect you. To protect your future here. Don’t you understand why?”

Of course I do, but I wonder if my mother does. I know it’s because she’s like a hellhound on a scent, catching the whiff of power from a hundred miles away. Why does she think she did it? Does she actually think she’s the good guy here?

I shrug.

“When you were born, when we learned you were a witch, we were terrified of what your life might look like. We were so scared of who you would grow to be.”

“Should’ve dumped you in the human world and left you for dead,” Tessa interjects, and my mother silences her with a glare.

I’ve grown up hearing that line my entire life. How lucky I am that my parents chose to keep me, their broken little daughter, when so many of the fae abandon their witchling offspring outside the gates of Asalin. To starve to death or be eaten by wild animals, whichever should come first.

How lucky I am that my mom and dad were willing to take on the burden of keeping me around.

“Sweetheart, marrying the prince is the only thing that will save you from being like the rest of them. You don’t want to be like the other witches, do you? Don’t you want to be something special?”

As I look between their faces, I know I have my answer. Nothing I can say or do will sway them. My parents will never take my side because they believe the way the rest of their kind believe. That the only value my life has is what I can do for the fae around me.

The terms of my engagement are clear, signed with Emyr’s and my mingled blood when we were barely old enough to spell our own names. We will be married. It’s only a matter of when. One day, the contract will finally be called in. If I’m not there to meet him at the end of the aisle, he can trigger the clause that forces my own blood to wreak havoc on me. The magic in my system will eat away at my insides until there’s nothing left, until I’m nothing more than an un- anchored energy that can never move on, never find peace. The same would happen to him, if he were to break our pact.

It sounds like a terrible way to go.

But so does putting on a white gown and a fake smile and living the rest of my life as a placeholder in someone else’s fantasy. Being forced to produce heirs for the Throne. And what would they do to those children if they were born witches, like me? Would I be forced to keep having baby after baby until I gave them a fae? What if I never did? Would they ever let them rule? Or would the fae mob finally bubble over and do what they’ve wanted to do for a long time?

Dying because I broke the contract would suck. But there’s a good chance I’m going to end up dead because of this engagement either way.

The memory eats at me as I make my way back inside. It comes to my mind often, the last conversation I ever had with my parents. The fire happened the next night.

About the Author:

H.E. Edgmon was born in the deep south but has had many homes, dropped out of school to do gay stuff, and is at least a little feral.

In both their writing and daily life, they aim to center the voices of Indigenous people, trans people, and survivors of trauma. It is always their goal to make fascists uncomfortable.

They have an eccentric little family of their own design, several very sensitive pets, and a lot of opinions. They can most often be found on Twitter @heedgmon.

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What her friends also didn’t know, and Clare wasn’t about to tell them, was that their new client was the same man she’d had a one-night stand with recently. She’d never shared his identity with them, feeling a strange sense of protectiveness about that night. Also, because if she talked to them, then she’d have to own up that she’d mostly failed at abiding by the most im­portant rule of one-night stands—keeping it strictly ca­sual. Especially as Dev had clearly had no such problem doing that himself.

Athleta was far too big a fish for Clare to walk away from just because its CEO hadn’t proclaimed that he’d love her forever. And tonight had been her one chance to impress on him that her small PR firm could clean up his recently tarnished image.

Only the mobster’s goons had trailed her all the way from London to a conference in New York and then to São Paulo, and it was terrifying. Today the mobster’s intentions had been made crystal clear. He intended to simply…take her in lieu of the money he insisted she owed him.

For two weeks, she’d lived in terror of being snatched from wherever she was.

She’d been meaning to hightail it back to her hotel room when she’d spotted Goon Number One with a drink in hand on the main deck of the superyacht this evening. The short, blond, chubby-faced man had smiled angelically—clearly his cheerful appearance was a useful tool in nabbing unsuspecting women. It was the same man she’d seen leaning near the newspa­per stand on the street where The London Connection’s offices were located, looking up at the sole window. The very same posh and supposedly secure street that they paid astronomical rent for.

He’d even bumped into her late one evening when she’d been rushing to catch the Tube after work. Apol­ogized profusely. When she’d then seen him lounging in the foyer of her New York hotel, she’d wondered if she was hallucinating.

Now, he was here, aboard Dev’s yacht. Looking just as posh as the rest of the designer-suited men. Wearing an affable smile, chitchatting away. He’d almost touched her. Tried to talk to her as if they were long-lost friends. She didn’t have time to wonder how he’d got on board. She needed to hide. Now.

She ran her hand over her hips, contemplating the rounds the uniformed security guard was making. The emerald green silk skirt she was wearing had been a gift from Bea, and it gave her some much-needed courage. Without looking back, she stepped gingerly down the spiral staircase—who knew yachts could have stair­cases like this one?—and tried to not trip in her four-inch heels.

The champagne sloshed around in her belly again as she passed door after door. Peeked into one expansive lounge after another. Even in her panic, Clare couldn’t help marveling at the airy, contemporary spaces, the chic stylish interiors. The click-click of her stilettos on the gleaming floors sounded like a sinister countdown.

Heart pounding, she walked into the biggest cabin.

For a second, she was thrown at the sheer size of it. A large bed with a navy-blue duvet looked so welcoming that she took an involuntary step toward it longingly.

It was the feel of the luxuriously soft cotton under­neath her fingertips that made her realize she was paw­ing it. Her eyelids felt heavy, her entire body swooning with exhaustion. She’d been traveling nonstop for a week. Hadn’t slept a wink ever since that ghastly man had started following her. But she couldn’t sleep now. Not if she wanted to remain undetected until after the party wound down.

After one last wistful glance at the bed, she shook off the lethargic fog that threatened to engulf her. She was crashing from the shock of seeing that mobster’s henchman again. Moving like an automaton, she walked into a massive closet.

About the Author

Tara Pammi can't remember a moment when she wasn't lost in a book, especially a romance which, as a teenager, was much more exciting than a mathematics textbook. Years later Tara’s wild imagination and love for the written word revealed what she really wanted to do: write! She lives in Colorado with the most cooperative man on the planet and two daughters. Tara loves to hear from readers and can be reached at tara.pammi@gmail.com or her website www.tarapammi.com.

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