by Tempest Phan
I smile.
The love of my life hoists his acoustic guitar over his left shoulder, holding my hand as we walk to our spot at Pine Lake, that magical spot where we’d spent our senior year falling irrevocably in love, laying down the path, no matter how circuitous, no matter how fraught, that would always lead us back to each other.
As we step into the clearing, I am greeted by a garland of fairy lights, white balloons tied to the branches of a small tree nearby, and a red and white gingham blanket is spread on the ground.
The tears start to pool in my eyes as he grabs his guitar and begins to play my song. No, our song.
“My Damien James,” I choke out, blinded by the tears that are now falling, fat and scalding, as he strums the last heartbreaking chord, the most heartbreaking one of all.
Emo 101.
My heart thrumming in my chest, I stop breathing as I watch him gently set his guitar down. He pulls a square box from his pocket, gets down on one knee, and whispers, “My Mirabella Mei Grace, you are and have always been the love of my life, the light in my dark, my reason for everything. I’ve adored you since we were seven, sweet baby girl, and I want to spend the rest of my days and nights making music with you.”
My heart nearly breaks free from its cage as I look into his shimmering blue eyes, clear, so very clear now. Damien’s voice of shadows is dark still, but ever since he claimed his rightful place by my side, a ribbon of light underpins it all. His demons haven’t been vanquished, but they’ve been tamed. And I hold him during those nights, rarer as months go by, when they try to resurface. I hold him until it all passes, just like I’d promised.
He continues, “You’re mine, have always been. Say yes to forever with me?”
I look at my beautiful dark knight, think back to the boy he was, the teen I’d fallen in love with, the man I can’t even breathe without. Finally. After the stark loneliness of all my nights without him by my side.
I throw myself into his arms and say, “Yes, my Damien James. Yes, a million times over!”
He pulls back, toys with his spider bites, and, hands trembling, slides a ring onto my finger. The sizeable, sparkling diamond is cut into the shape of a flower, its five petals blooming, curling over a platinum band. I know in my heart of hearts that it’s our cherry blossom love, not the ephemeral flower, but a Chinese symbol of strength and beauty. Our love captured for all eternity.
Still holding me, he stands up and kisses me, hard, his tongue dancing with mine, claiming me over and over again, leaving me breathless, as the rain begins to fall softly around us, plastering his dark hair to his forehead, soaking his white shirt through.
He murmurs against my lips, “Let’s dance in the rain, baby girl.” And we begin to sway to some imaginary tune that only the two of us can hear, until he breaks the silence to sing softly, “Let’s dance just you and I, under this darkened sky . . . the world will have to wait . . .” as he’d done once, so many years ago, and my eyes begin to once again fill with tears.
He pulls back, and with fingers ever so gentle, he wipes them dry, before leaning his forehead against mine and echoing his promises from when we were seventeen. “I will never, ever fucking let you fall, baby.”
He dips down to kiss me gently on the nose. Laughter in his ocean eyes, he then nips it.
Kisses and bites.
And as he swoops me into his arms and captures my lips once more, my heart soars and I think, All things in their own time . . . That time is now and Damien is mine. Forever.
Stay tuned for Lukas, Forever releasing in Spring 2021!
All along, I'd known. I’d tried to ignore the warning bells in my head, ignore that when I looked into her eyes, she had never been quite there, that when she’d looked at me, somehow she’d wished I had been someone else, that I’d been him.
I had ignored it, because I was in too deep. I loved her to the point of madness, loved her still. Still could not believe it as she whispered to me softly, tears in her eyes, that she was sorry, that she had never meant to hurt me, would never have chosen to leave me like she did, but that she couldn't continue this lie. You see, she loved him. Not me. Never me.
“Please go, Bella. Leave me now,” I managed to whisper as my world shattered around me for a second time.
She caressed my cheek gently, but I pulled away. She pressed the ring back into my hand, and left me.
I watched her walk away. In a fit of uncontrolled rage, I threw the obscene fifteen-carat engagement ring across the room.
I’d trusted.
I’d loved.
Never again would I make these mistakes.
***
Two years later
I stood there, eyeing the ocean. The waves were coming at me hard and fast, the color a soft grey mirroring the cloudy skies ahead. A good day to catch a wave, as they all were. I threw down my board and skipped over the incoming water, feeling the cold waves wash over me. I kept hoping they’d wash it all away, one day. The hurt, the betrayal, the humiliation. The pain. But they never did.
Two years in, all of it was still there.
I headed towards my “bungalow,” a modern, simple structure sitting on my own private beach. When I, Lukas Stone, Viscount Ryding, had walked away from the top tier law firm founded by my father, I’d walked away from it all. I gave away the Maserati, sold the penthouse in NYC, closed the lake house in Seattle. But not the bungalow. I kept it, even though I couldn’t walk through a single room without the ghost of her, of us, haunting me.
I’d never be free of her.
As I walked back, I saw a small figure huddled on the beach, facing the ocean. My heart stopped at the familiar lines of the slight body, the dark hair spilling out of her hoodie to blow in the wind.
What was she doing here.
Had she come back?
Disgust flooded my blood, poisoning it bitter when I realized that if she had, that I wouldn’t hesitate to take her back. I had no self-dignity, no shame when it came to her.
I stood there, frozen, unable to breathe, my heart ready to burst through my chest.
Please let it be her coming back to me.
Please don’t let it be her coming back to me.
And then she turned her head slowly towards me. My heart dropped, both in deep relief and disappointment.
The eyes that stared back at me were not her ethereal mix of green-grey-brown, but soft molten chocolate. And they were big and bright, long, lush lashes shimmering with the tears that would stream down her face. She turned away to look at the ocean again.
I couldn’t think clearly, but finally said, my voice harsher than I’d meant for it to sound, “This is a private beach. You shouldn’t be here.”
She did not budge. I couldn’t tell if she’d even heard.
“I repeat, you shouldn’t be here,” my natural assholeness seeped darkly through my words, coating them harsh and bitter.
I knew she’d heard, this time. But she didn’t deign respond.
I stood there as she continued to ignore me, sitting on the sand, swaddled in a too large hoodie, hugging her knees as she stared out into the water.
Few were those who dared to disobey me. I’d gone an entire lifetime with the world at my feet. And here was this tiny girl, trespassing on my property, making it a point to dismiss me.
She ran the back of her sleeve-covered hand across her eyes, and stifled a sob.
The sound, the image, made my heart constrict. I was breathless. There was so much beauty in her pain, and, just like all those years ago, when my eyes had caught Bella’s, this girl’s loneliness called to me.
Bloody hell.
Still in shock, I spun around and headed back to my bungalow and slammed the door behind me.
This was the last thing I wanted in my life right now. Or ever.
Damien and his mom were faced with significant emotional and mental health issues, and their journey would have been much easier and less heartbreaking had they received the help they needed. An
d there is help. No one should have to do this alone. Much love.
My dearest Wicked Owl Writes … I really put you through the wringer with my crazy expectations, constant (not so) small changes, and anal-retentive ways, didn’t I? I’m so glad (and surprised, really) that you still answer my texts. I couldn’t thank you enough in a million years, or convey how this book wouldn’t ever have seen the light of day—or look like a real book at all—without all the hours you spent doing and redoing things for me. I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. Merci, ma belle.
My eternal gratitude to JoVon Sotak, the very best editor (and friend) anyone could ever wish for. Thank you for reading this little book I wrote for an audience of one and telling me I should totally publish it. How lucky was I to cross paths with you all those years ago? Thank you for talking me through my fears, for taking such good care of Dame and Bella, for making their love story shine … and for not making me cry—too much—in the process.
Tammy P … Oh, girl! So sorry I gave you such a shitty rapper name. Thank you for being one of the first to encourage me to publish my story. If it weren’t for your early cheerleading … Thank you for reading all those drafts, for the crazy brainstorming at midnight. Couldn’t have done it without you. Mwah.
Mon petit renard Gigi: Thank you for reading my ARC when I asked you to at the last possible minute. Your excellent insights and ideas helped me add layer and nuance to key moments in Dame and Bella’s story. Thank you for your discerning eye, impeccable taste, and (scary) cerebral questions. I definitely appreciate the sensibility you brought to the process, even if sometimes, I cried a little. I kid, I kid. I cried a lot. ;) XOXO.
To my Badass (Beta) Babes. Leanne “Lags” Wyszkowski, Daria Loshlin, Brittany LC Bailey, Michelle Mastandrea: this writer has no words … Thank you, thank you, thank you for your Beta/ARC feedback and beautiful words of encouragement. I’m not ashamed to admit that I read them multiple times per day (and may or may not wipe a tear or two)! Thank you so much for getting and loving Dame and Bella. (And Lags, yes, it’s all so lickable. And Daria, I’ll always remember all of our profound midnight conversations about HHGR, kisses and bites, and to nip or not to nip). To Priscilla: thank you for saving me from continuity issues, character incongruencies, and pesky typos. I appreciate you so very much! And Anita Medeiros, Dawn Weekly, and Jess Grimes: I am humbled every single day by your endless support and cheerleading. I can only hope to return the favor someday soon. Cue sobbing emoji. You ladies rock!
To the lovely Bookstagrammers, bloggers, and Facebookers who rallied behind this newbie (and clueless) author and promoted my work tirelessly—thank you!
And to you, dear reader, thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving this newbie author and Dame and his Bella a chance. I hope you loved reading their story as much as I loved writing it. It’s surreal to me that characters who have been in my head since I was fourteen, whose story I then wrote on my phone decades later in-between “real-life stuff” actually made their way into the world. Thank you for making my wildest dreams come true. And psst: whether you loved them or not, please consider leaving an honest review. Thank you!
Mwah,
Tempest
Tempest Phan loves ink, words, leather pants, and emo (#SorryNotSorry). She lives in a grey, rainy region with her own real-life tattooed bad boy lawyer, their littles, and a pup. Good news is that all the terrible weather means more time for book boyfriends and writing about broken heroes and indomitable heroines. (By the way, she’s never met a bar of dark chocolate that she hasn’t fallen head-over-Loubs for).
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