1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Nine

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  My throat closed up and I threw my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his. “You aren’t,” I sobbed. “I love you and I won’t let you be alone. You deserve to be happy, Sebastian.”

  He gathered me in his arms, lying back and letting me weep against his chest. “Thank you. I can’t say there won’t be setbacks, and I’ll tell you right now there will be good days and bad, but I promise to talk about it with you.”

  Nodding, I blubbered for a solid ten minutes as he stroked my hair and rubbed my back. I don’t even know why I was crying so hard—relief? Sadness for the child he’d been? The man he was now? Laying my cheek on his chest, I listened to his heart beat and vowed he would never know loneliness again.

  “Will you come to therapy with me?” Sebastian asked once my sobs had subsided.

  “Of course,” I said, picking my head up to smile at him. “I’d love that.”

  “Good.” He wiped the tears from under one eye with his thumb. “Because this is it for me, Skylar. You’re the love of my life.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I’ve spent nearly all my days being dominated by doubt, unable to trust myself—tortured by what my mind says and what my heart knows. But for once, I feel—I know—this is right. You’re the one.” He smiled. “And that is the only time the number one will ever sound good to me.”

  I laughed. “I want to be the one.”

  “Do you?” He arched one brow. “Because you know what it means to be my one.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It means being the one I’ll kiss good morning and good night—twice.” He grinned. “It means being the one who’ll have to hold my hand when we fly off to our villa in France.” At my gasp, his smile widened. “It means the forever things, Skylar.”

  “I want them.” I scooted up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I want them all.”

  He flipped me onto my back again and looked down at me. “Live with me.”

  My heart stopped. “What?”

  “Stay here. Live with me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. I’m one hundred percent sure about this, and one hundred is a good number.”

  I laughed softly as tears filled my eyes again. “You keep making me cry tonight. What’s with that?”

  “I don’t want you to cry. Ever again.” He kissed my eyelids.

  “They’re happy tears, Sebastian. Of course I’ll live with you.”

  “Good.” He scooted down to rest his head on my chest and we lay together, the fire warming our skin, our breathing slow and deep. “Happy tears are good, I can handle those. And if there are sad tears, I’ll handle those too. I’ll take care of you, Skylar.”

  “And I’ll take care of you.” I closed my eyes and inhaled, loving the weight of his head on my chest, the warmth of his skin against mine, the promise of hope in the air. “Forever.”

  Epilogue

  Skylar

  “Are you ready?”

  “I think so.” His face told me what a lie that was, but I’d budgeted plenty of time for his nerves into today’s itinerary. After living with him for the past two months, I knew to allot extra time for pretty much anything we did outside the house.

  “Come on. You’ve got this.” I tugged on his hand, but he didn’t move. “It’s not like we’re getting on the plane yet, Sebastian. This is the airport entrance.” As I talked, I took his elbow and ushered him gently through the automatic doors. “There are nice people in there who are going to look at our boarding passes and tell us what gate to sit at, and some other nice people are going to overcharge us for coffee and tell us to have a nice flight, and then some more nice people are going to show us how to use a seat belt and thank us for flying with them today.”

  By the time I’d finished my soothing little speech, we were inside the terminal.

  “See? You’re here, and you’re fine,” I said triumphantly.

  “Now what?” he asked shakily.

  “Now we’ll check in and find our gate. We don’t even have any luggage to check, so it will be nice and easy. Okay?”

  He took a deep breath. “Okay.”

  “Good. Because this little weekend jaunt was your idea and you paid for it, so it would be a damn shame if I had to give your ticket to someone else.”

  “Don’t you dare.” He caught me around the waist and squeezed. “How long is the flight again?”

  I kissed his cheek. “One hour and ten minutes, and I will talk to you the entire time.”

  Some color returned to his face as he smiled. “I have no doubt.”

  I pulled out our boarding passes, which I’d printed at work, and we got in line to check in. Sebastian seemed more relaxed until we were told that the flight was leaving from gate three.

  “Stop worrying,” I told him, taking his hand again. “The gate number does not matter.”

  We located our gate, grabbed five dollar cups of coffee, and chose seats near the window. It was a late February afternoon, but the weather was still bleak and dreary, and I was looking forward to getting away. Not that the Chicago weather would be any better, but it would be fun to stay in a luxury hotel together, shop the Magnificent Mile, have dinner in a gourmet French restaurant or maybe a cozy little Italian place. Honestly, I didn’t care what we did—what mattered most was that we’d be there together. Our first vacation.

  “Hey.” I tipped my head onto his shoulder. “Thanks for this. I know you don’t really want to do it.”

  “That plane looks small. Are you sure it’s regulation size?” He squinted out the window, his right knee bouncing continuously.

  I sighed. “Yes, dear.”

  “Let me see the boarding passes again.”

  “No,” I said, lovingly but firmly. “You’ve looked at them a hundred times. You already know we’re in an even row. Row two, first class.”

  His brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

  “You booked the tickets, Sebastian. Now let’s talk about what we’re going to do this weekend. How about massages?” I tried my best to distract him from his own thoughts, but he didn’t make it easy.

  When he tried to retrace his steps down the tarmac because it hadn’t felt right the first time, I grabbed his hand and refused to let go.

  When he took out the pamphlet explaining how a water landing works, I took it away from him and shoved it back in my seat pocket.

  When he gingerly eyed the arm rest where our tray tables were tucked away, I brandished a package of antibacterial wipes. “Come at me, babe. I’ve already thought of everything.”

  He looked around. “There’s eleven people sitting in this section. Someone needs to sit in that empty chair.”

  From my bag I pulled out a Barbie doll I’d dug out of a trunk in my mom’s attic. “Now there’s twelve in here. A nice even dozen.” I stuck her legs in the seat back pocket in from of him.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” He grabbed the doll and shoved her back in my bag. “I’m not that desperate.” Cracking a smile, he leaned back in his seat, although he kept flexing and fisting his fingers in his lap.

  “Hey. It’s going to be fine.” I stilled one of his hands by placing mine over it. “Say it.”

  “It’s going to be fine,” he repeated quietly, eyes closing.

  I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now let’s say it together eight times.”

  He opened his eyes and smiled at me for real. “God, you’re adorable. We don’t have to do that.”

  “You sure? I don’t mind, if it will make you feel better. I know you’re doing this for me.”

  “I’m doing this for us.” He lifted my hand to his lips. “And the only thing I need to feel good is you next to me.”

  My stomach fluttered. “You’ll always have me.”

  “Say it again, quick.” He grinned sheepishly. “Two is still better than one.”

  “You’ll always have me.” I poked his leg. “God, Sebastian, if we ever have kids, you’re going to want twins every time,”
I teased.

  “It’s funny you say that.” He looked down at my hand on his lap, and suddenly I was very aware of him staring at my ring finger. “I’ve been thinking about it. About a family.”

  “Yeah?” I swallowed hard. “Me too.” Being around the happy Fourniers had gotten to me over the last few months. I wanted that with Sebastian, and I thought I might be ready for the next step, but I hadn’t wanted to rush him.

  “Maybe we can talk about the future a little bit?” he asked.

  I nodded, awestruck by the turn this conversation had taken. “I’d like that.”

  He played with my fingers. “You know, this is the first time in my life that thinking about the future doesn’t mean dreading it. We’re going to be happy together, aren’t we?”

  I smiled, squeezing his hand. “Say it again, quick.”

  Leaning toward me, he pressed his lips to mine before whispering softly against them. “Marry me.”

  A Note from the Author

  This book and the character of Sebastian were inspired by several things: the heartbreakingly raw and moving performance of “OCD” by poet/writer Neil Hilborn (please look him up, watch the live performance, like him on Facebook…I’m in awe of him), the song “Creep” by Radiohead (listen to the original and the cover by Hailey Reinhart of Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox), and my own life experience loving someone who struggles with anxiety. But how does a writer of romantic comedy take on something like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, especially in the male love interest, do justice to its sufferers, and yet still write a lighthearted romance? I tried very hard to be true to the harsh realities of OCD, which is nothing like what I thought it was, and still write a compelling, sexy character, who is so much more than his anxiety. My heart goes out to anyone who suffers from OCD. Love cannot cure you, but I hope you find it with someone wonderful, and it brings you peace, hope, and happiness—you deserve it.

  For more information on OCD, visit https://iocdf.org/

  About the Author

  Melanie Harlow likes her heels high, her martini dry, and her history with the naughty bits left in. In addition to AFTER WE FALL, she’s the author of MAN CANDY, the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series (contemporary romance), the FRENCHED series (contemporary romance) and the SPEAK EASY duet (historical romance). She writes from her home outside of Detroit, where she lives with her husband and two daughters. Connect with her on Facebook at Facebook.com/AuthorMelanieHarlow.

  Also by Melanie Harlow

  Click to purchase

  THE FRENCHED SERIES

  Frenched (Mia and Lucas)

  Yanked (Mia and Lucas)

  Forked (Coco and Nick)

  Floored (Erin and Charlie)

  THE HAPPY CRAZY LOVE SERIES

  Some Sort of Happy (Skylar and Sebastian)

  Some Sort of Crazy (Natalie and Miles)

  Some Sort of Love (Jillian and Levi)

  THE MAN CANDY SERIES

  Man Candy (Jaime and Quinn)

  After We Fall (Margot and Jack)

  If You Were Mine (coming February 2017)

  The Speak Easy Duet

  The Tango Lesson

  SOME SORT OF CRAZY

  A Happy Crazy Love Novel

  By Melanie Harlow

  Now Available!

  When a psychic tells Natalie Nixon her life is about to be upended by a mysterious stranger, she laughs it off. After all, she has everything she’s ever wanted—a successful bakery, the perfect boyfriend, and the keys to her dream house.

  Who could possibly make her want to throw all that away?

  Then Miles Haas comes back to town.

  But he’s no stranger—they’ve known each other since high school. Plus, he’s only around for the summer, he’s still a shameless playboy, and he makes a living writing articles for a men’s magazine with titles like 'Should You Bang the Boss’s Daughter? A Flowchart' and 'Butt Stuff for Beginners: A Field Guide.'

  Except he makes her laugh like no one else, smells like heaven, and wears those panty-melting glasses. But he’s not the man of her dreams, and she’s not about to abandon everything she’s worked so hard for just for a little fun.

  She's not that crazy...or is she?

  MAGNIFICENT BASTARD

  By Lili Valente

  PROLOGUE

  Picture this: it’s a rainy spring day in the city. The streets are covered with a fine layer of mud and soggy garbage, the sun is a distant memory from another, brighter time when you were still stupid enough to believe in happy endings, and you’ve just been dumped so hard your heart looks like it’s gone three rounds with Mike Tyson.

  You’re ugly crying in a corner with a box of wine and a chocolate bar the size of your forearm, wishing Prince Charming would come swoop you up on his white horse and carry you far away from all those nasty memories of Mr. Wrong, but I’m here to tell you, ladies—

  You need to stop that shit.

  Stop it. Right now.

  Why? Because Prince Charming is a crock of shit. Like unicorns, mermen, and other fairy tale creatures, he doesn’t exist.

  When you’re down and out and your heart has been ripped to shreds by an asshole with a dickish-side a mile wide, you don’t need Prince Charming. You need a man who’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, a man who can teach Mr. Wrong a thing or two about what it feels like to be deceived, betrayed, and laid low by the one person in the world you thought you could trust. What you need is a Magnificent Bastard, your very own one-man vengeance machine.

  Love isn’t a fairy tale, sweetheart; it’s war, and now you’ve got a soldier with an anti-asshole missile on your side.

  Want to ruin your ex’s reputation? No problem. Every true asshole has a few skeletons in his closet and I specialize in spring cleaning. Want to send that human come stain to jail? A little harder, but often still possible. I only accept cases involving the very worst examples of mankind, the most miserable liars, cheats, and scoundrels. Truly terrible people tend to be good at covering their tracks, but I’ve delivered exes in cuffs before.

  Want to make your former lover green with envy? Make him wish he’d never kicked you off the love wagon, spat in your face, and walked away? Well, that, cupcake…

  That’s what I’m best at.

  I’ve been blessed with a face that turns heads, worked hard for a body that inspires shudders of lust at twenty paces, and honed my envy-inspiring skills into a razor sharp weapon I wield with ruthless efficiency. I will make you feel like a queen and ensure your ex doesn’t miss a minute of it. You’ll be treated like a treasure, pampered like a princess, and kissed like a slut who can’t get enough of my magnificent dick.

  In reality, of course, things between us will never go further than a kiss, but your ex won’t know that. He’ll see your flushed cheeks, lust-glazed eyes, and wobbly legs and think I’m giving it to you hard every night.

  He’ll imagine my hands on your ass, my fingers slipping between your legs, and your pussy slick just for me. He’ll imagine you screaming my name while you ride my cock and remember all the times he was lucky enough to be balls deep in your incomparable snatch. Before long, he’ll have a jealousy hard-on so bad he’ll come crawling back to you on his belly, begging for a second chance.

  But you won’t give it to him.

  Did you hear that?

  Even so, it bears repeating—

  You. Will not. Give that loser a second chance.

  By the time I’m through with you, you will know deep down in the marrow of your bones that you’re better than that. You’ll realize that you deserve a man whose eyes won’t wander, whose hands won’t hurt, and whose heart belongs to you and only you. You’ll be able to look down at the sniveling, pathetic, limp-dicked excuse for a man you used to love and tell him that he has no power over you.

  Not anymore. Now you’re free to move on with your life without any of the bad breakup, psychic baggage.

  And that, gorgeous, is the most important of the services I deliver. I give you b
ack to you, the only person who can be trusted to steer your course as you ride off into the sunset.

  But if for some reason, you break this all-important rule, if you sour the gift you’ve been given by going back to Major Dickweed, don’t bother contacting me again. No amount of money will convince me to pick up the phone.

  A Magnificent Bastard intervention is a once in a lifetime opportunity. One and done, no exceptions.

  None.

  Not even for her, the woman who made me break all my rules, the woman who made me think—for one amazing week—that even magnificent bastards can live happily ever after.

  CHAPTER ONE

  From the e-mail archives of Sebastian “Bash” Prince and Penny Pickett

  From: MagnificentBastard1

  To: Penny4YourLobsterPot

  Re: Two-Year Anniversary

  What’s up Buttercup?

  Congratulations on surviving two years of ten-a-day e-mails, late night phone calls, crazy client vetting interviews, and general insanity. When I first sent out a call for a virtual assistant, I had no idea I’d end up with someone like you. You make the work possible and ten times better.

  They said we couldn’t do it, kid, but last I checked, we were laughing all the way to the bank.

  Speaking of the bank, check your PayPal account for a token of my appreciation.

  Here’s to another year of kicking ass and taking names,