“It’s not a secret,” I reply and lean over to kiss the ball of her shoulder. “Tell everyone. In fact, let’s take a selfie with the ring and mug and post it on social media. Post it everywhere. Send me the photo, and I’ll do the same.”
She’s staring at me as if I’ve just asked her to jump off a cliff. “Don’t you have to go through people for announcements like that?”
“Fuck that. This is my news, and I say where and when it goes out to the world. This isn’t a secret.”
She grins and does a little shimmy in the bed, then goes to work smoothing her hair and rubbing her face.
“I don’t have any makeup or clothes on.”
“You look amazing. Fresh. You’re always gorgeous. And we’ll keep it rated G.”
She picks up the mug, positioning it so both it and her ring are pointed toward the camera.
“Now, kiss me,” I say and snap the photo when she complies. She turns her face to the camera, and I kiss her cheek and snap another. And then, just for the fun of it, we both smile at the camera, and I take one more. I send all three photos to her. “There, feel free to post any of those.”
She looks through them, her face bright with happiness. “They’re all cute. But I’ll use the one where we’re kissing.”
“Do it.”
She takes a deep breath and stares at me. “Are you sure?”
“Do you want me to do it first?”
She just nods a little, so I pull up my Instagram and post the kissing photo. I caption it #taken.
I turn the screen so she can see, and she bites her lip while tears fill her eyes.
“Your turn, fancy face. Unless you want to keep me a secret.”
“Hell, no.” She opens her own Instagram and posts the same thing I just did, then opens her personal Facebook page and uploads the photo of us smiling at the camera. She recites the caption as she types it. “He asked, and I said yes!”
“We should probably turn our ringers off now because they’re about to go crazy.”
She just laughs and launches herself into my arms.
“I’m crazy about you, movie star.”
* * *
It’s been two weeks of craziness. The media had a field day with the announcement of our engagement, and I had to have Nina and my social media team field hundreds of requests for comments and interviews.
I’ll give them all a nice bonus for the extra work they’ve put in.
This evening, we’re attending an engagement party that Jacob is hosting for us up at the Lodge on the mountain. I think that half the town came out for it, given that Jenna knows everyone.
Nina flew in for it yesterday, and even Luke and Natalie Williams arrived a couple of days ago.
Jenna and I spent the day house hunting with them, and they’ve decided on a place on the lake. It seems the Williams family will be making many trips to Cunningham Falls in the future.
The food is set up buffet-style so we can all mingle and eat at our own leisure. The room is beautiful with twinkling lights strung overhead and fresh flower bouquets on each table.
Jenna is a few tables away, gorgeous in a white dress that shows off her shoulders, her hair swept to one side, and her makeup flawless. She’s laughing with Grace and Nina, and it makes me happy to see that my sister and my love are mending things between them, one day at a time. Jenna’s capacity to forgive is astounding to me.
“Hi,” a tall man says as he approaches, and I immediately recognize him from the photo on the gossip site. “I’m Noah King.”
“Good to meet you.” I shake his hand. “And I need to thank you. If it wasn’t for the photo of you hugging Jenna, I might not have come back when I did.”
He smiles and looks down at his feet, then at me. “I’ve never had a hug get me in so much hot water before.”
“You’re lucky.”
“You be good to her. She deserves it.”
“You’re right. She does.”
He nods and walks on, pulling Jenna in for another hug, and this time, I don’t even want to slug him.
Progress.
I scan the room, enjoying a free moment to take everything in. Luke and Natalie are talking with Brad and Hannah. I love that everyone here is happy for us as a couple, not because there are celebrities in attendance, and so far, no one has acted like a fool.
It goes to show what I already know, that Cunningham Falls is a community full of respect and honor, and I couldn’t be prouder to be a part of it.
Max is standing off to the side, watching Willa intently.
“Careful,” I say as I sidle up next to him. “You don’t want to be labeled a creeper.”
He snorts. “I’ve been called worse.”
“You should go ask her to dance.”
He shakes his head no. “There’s a lot of history there, man. Too much. Trust me when I say, Willa doesn’t want to talk to me, let alone for me to touch her.”
I notice Willa glance this way, then quickly avert her gaze to the other side of the room.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
He sighs. “That ship sailed a long time ago. Congratulations. I’m truly happy for you and Jenna.”
“Thank you.”
“If you fuck it up, Brad and I can still make it look like an accident.”
“Understood.”
Max winks and walks away, and I wander over to Jacob and shake his hand.
“Thanks so much for hosting this, Jacob.”
“Oh, I’m not hosting,” he says with a frown. “Your sister planned all of this. I just provided the space.”
“She didn’t say,” I mutter, watching as Nina tells a story to the other girls, using her hands in grand gestures before they all collapse into a fit of giggles.
“She did a lot of work,” Jacob replies with a wink. “I think I’ll go get some dessert.”
I nod as he walks away, and I wander over to the DJ, ask him for the mic, and when the music stops, I tap the top of the microphone, getting everyone’s attention.
“Good evening,” I begin. “First, I need to extend a huge thank you to our host. You went above and beyond, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am. Of course, you thought you pulled one over on me, but a brother always knows. Thanks for this party, Nina.”
Jenna’s jaw drops, and she throws her arms around Nina, hugging her close as the applause breaks out. Nina blushes and just shrugs at me when Jenna pulls away.
“And now, if my fiancée would please join me.” I hold out my hand, and Jenna glides to me, her gown flowing around her. She takes my palm, and I immediately kiss her cheek. “I’d like to take a moment to twirl my girl around the floor.”
Her eyes widen in horror, but I just smile and pass the mic back to the DJ. He winks at me. You and I comes on, and Michael Buble begins to croon out of the speakers. I pull Jenna to me, holding her in the traditional waltz stance.
“Christian—”
“Just look at me,” I remind her and set off across the floor. “This is our community. All of these people love you, and you can’t do anything to embarrass yourself. All you have to do is follow me, and I won’t steer you wrong.”
Her hand on my shoulder tenses, but she keeps her eyes on mine as I lead her around, and then dip her deeply, kissing her with all my might.
Applause breaks out around us, making me grin against her mouth.
When we straighten, I wave for others to join us, and the dance floor fills up with our guests, twirling around us.
“I’m not a good dancer,” she mumbles into my ear. We’re close together now, swaying to the music in a sea of people.
“You’re the best dancer.” I kiss her temple. “I love our home.”
She smiles brightly. “I love you.”
* * *
Thank you for reading KISSING JENNA! Don’t miss the next book in the Big Sky Series, WAITING FOR WILLA, available now.
Max Hull left Cunningham Falls a long time ago. Thanks to his killer instincts
and business smarts, he’s come back to town richer than anyone’s wildest imagination. Now he’s closer to his family, living in his dream home, and at the top of his career—it sure looks like he has it all.
All but one thing. And she’s not interested.
Willa Monroe and Max were childhood sweethearts. She daydreamed about their wedding day and named their children, but Max’s dreams were bigger than her. After high school, he left her behind without another word. Now, Willa is a single mother and a successful business owner, and the heartbreak of losing Max was a very long time ago.
She’s moved on.
But when he walks into her shop and back into her life, suddenly it feels like no time has passed at all. He’s as handsome as ever, and more charming than she remembered. Once he makes friends with her son and turns his attention on her, how long will she be able to resist him?
And does she really want to? Sometimes you do get a second chance at first love.
READ WAITING FOR WILLA NOW >
Turn the page for a scorching hot retelling of King Arthur, his queen Guinevere, and the knight Lancelot in AMERICAN QUEEN by Sierra Simone…
Or if you’ve read that one, skip ahead to the mafia romance HOLD YOU AGAINST ME. Once upon a time a mafia princess fell in love with a foot soldier…
AMERICAN QUEEN
Sierra Simone
It starts with a stolen kiss under an English sky, and it ends with a walk down the aisle. It starts with the President sending his best friend to woo me on his behalf, and it ends with my heart split in two. It starts with buried secrets and dangerous desires…and ends with the three of us bound together with a hateful love sharper than any barbed wire.
My name is Greer Galloway, and I serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States.
This is the story of an American Queen.
“Enthralling and drop dead gasp-worthy.”
—CD Reiss, New York Times bestselling author
Prologue
The Wedding Day
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.
It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in truth.
It bears all things,
it believes all things,
it hopes all things,
it endures all things.
It endures all things.
I stare at the last line of the Bible verse as my cousin Abilene and her mother continue to fuss with the edges of my veil. The entire passage from I Corinthians is etched into a marble block in the church’s narthex, and any other bride standing here might have seen these words as a comfort and an encouragement. Perhaps I’m the only bride ever to stand in front of these massive sanctuary doors and wonder if God is trying to give me a warning.
But when I think of what awaits me at the end of the aisle, of who awaits me, I straighten my shoulders and blink away from the verses. From the moment I met Ash, I knew I was destined to love him. I knew I was destined to be his. There’s no place he can go that I won’t follow, no sacrifice he can demand of me that I won’t give, no part of myself that I won’t offer willingly and completely to him.
I will bear, believe in, hope for, and endure Ash’s love until the day I die, even if that means robbing my own soul.
And it will mean robbing my own soul.
My only comfort is that I won’t be alone in my suffering.
With a deep breath, I step in front of the doors just as they open, the airy notes of Pachelbel’s Canon in D drifting through the stone nave. My grandfather takes my arm to guide me down the aisle. The guests are standing, the candles are flickering, my veil is perfect.
And then I catch sight of Ash.
My pulses catches, races, trips over itself as it rushes to my lips and face and heart. He wears his tuxedo as if he were born wearing one, his wide shoulders and narrow hips filling out the tailored lines perfectly. Even if he didn’t stand at the top of the stairs leading up to the altar, he would still seem taller than everyone else around him, because that’s just Ash. He doesn’t have to exude power and strength, he simply is power and strength made manifest. And right now all of that power and strength is bent toward me as we lock eyes and, even across the distance of the nave, begin to breathe as one.
Shock seems to ripple through him as he fully sees me—the dress, the veil, the tremulous smile—and pleasure kindles and glows in my chest at this. He wanted to wait to see each other until the ceremony, he wanted this moment. And I have to admit that watching his handsome face struggle to contain his emotions, feeling my own blood heat at the sight of him in his tuxedo—it was worth it. No matter how outdated the tradition is, no matter how much it inconvenienced our guests, no matter how long those hours were this morning without him, it was worth it.
And then as my grandfather and I move closer, I see him.
Right next to Ash, dark-haired and slender, with ice-blue eyes and a mouth made for sin and apologies, sometimes even in that order. Embry Moore—Ash’s best friend, his best man, his running mate…
Because of course, I’m not just walking down the aisle to the man I’ve been in love with since I was sixteen, I’m walking down the aisle to marry the President of the United States.
The hundreds of guests fade away, the massive stands of flowers and candles vanish. And for a moment, it’s only the bride and the groom and the best man. It’s only me, Ash, and Embry. There’s no presidency or vice presidency or freshly painted First Lady’s office awaiting me after the honeymoon. There aren’t hordes of cameras inside and outside the cathedral, and the pews aren’t filled with ambassadors and senators and celebrities.
It’s the three of us. Ash stern and powerful, Embry haunted and pale, and me, with bite marks on the inside of my thighs and a hammering heart.
It’s when I’m almost to the front that I see the best man has a bite mark of his own peeping above the collar of his tuxedo, large and red and fresh.
It’s when I’m almost to the front that I see that the small white square in Ash’s tuxedo pocket isn’t a silk handkerchief, it’s undeniably the familiar lace of my panties. No one who hasn’t seen my panties before would know, but he’s so blatantly displaying them, like a trophy. The last time I saw them they were clutched in Embry’s strong fist…
My grandfather lifts my veil and kisses my cheek, putting the veil back down over my face. Ash extends his hand and I slide my fingers into his, and we step up to the priest together, one of my bridesmaids straightening my dress after we find our places and stand still.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Ash lets go of my hand, reaches under my veil, and swipes his thumb across my cheek. He lifts his thumb to his lips, licking the taste of my tears off his skin. His dark green eyes smolder with promise, and behind him, Embry’s hand unconsciously goes up to touch the bite mark I’m certain Ash left on his neck.
I shiver.
The priest begins, the guests sit, and I wonder one last time if God wants me to stop this, if God can barely stand to look at the three of us, if God wasn’t trying to warn me before, because what did I really think I could endure? What did I really think the two most powerful men in the world would be willing to endure from me?
But then I catch sight of Ash’s eyes, still flared with unmistakable heat, and Embry’s long fingers, still probing the mark on his neck, and I decide now that this fairy tale couldn’t have ended any other way.
I mean, God can warn me all he wants, but that doesn’t mean I have to listen.
The Princess
Chapter One
Eighteen Years Ago
I was cursed by a wizard when I was seven years old.
It was at a charity gala, I think. Save for the wizard, it wouldn’t have stood out from any other event my grandfather took me to. Ball gowns and tuxedos, chandeliers glittering in opulent hotel ballrooms while string octets played in discreet
corners. Ostensibly, these events raised money for the various foundations and causes championed by the rich and bored, but in reality, they were business meetings. Political allegiances for this candidate or that were sounded out; potential donors were identified and wooed. Business deals began here, and marriages in the upper reaches of society began here as well—because among the wealthy, what were marriages but lifelong business deals?
I understood some of this, even as a young girl, but it never troubled me. It was life—or at least Grandpa Leo’s life—and it didn’t occur to me to question it.
Besides, I enjoyed dressing up in the expensive flouncing dresses Grandpa Leo bought for me. I enjoyed having adults ask my opinion, I enjoyed seeing all the beautiful women and handsome men, and most of all, I enjoyed dancing with Grandpa Leo, who always let me stand on his shoes and who never forgot to spin me around and around so that I could pretend I was a princess in a fairy tale.
And late at night, when the big black car would pick us up and take us back to the Manhattan penthouse, he would let me chatter happily about everything I’d seen and heard, asking me questions about who had said what, about how they said it, if they had looked happy or sad or mad as they said it. He would ask me who looked tired, who looked distracted, who grumbled under their breath during the keynote speeches. It wasn’t until a few years later that I realized Grandpa relied on me as a kind of spy, a watcher of sorts, because people will behave around children in ways they won’t around adults. They let their guard down, they mutter to their friends, certain that a child won’t notice or understand.
But I did notice. I was naturally observant, naturally curious, and naturally ready to read deeply into small comments or gestures. And at Grandpa Leo’s side, I spent years honing that natural weapon into something sharp and useful, something he used for The Party, but that I used for him because I wanted to help him, wanted him to be proud of me, and also because there was something addictive in it. Something addictive in watching people, in figuring them out, like reading a book and deciphering the big twist before the end.
Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance Page 20