The Romance Novel Cure

by Ceves, Nina

  I went back to the review about Silas the Perfect Alpha.

  Silas is such the perfect alpha because he does not come across as an alph-hole. He is all about being strong enough to put Sera’s needs first. He thinks she is wonderful, just the way she is. All he wants to do is keep her safe. He wants her all the time. He is vulnerable with her, because she’s the only one he lets in. He loves her with a loyalty that most of us never see in our lifetime. He cares about her pleasure. He’s a take charge kind of man, but only because he wants to serve Sera, and keep her safe, and make her happy. He’s bossy, but it’s only because he is protective.

  It went on for several more paragraphs, with other writers chiming in at the end, in the comments. At the bottom of the page were some quotes from the Silas novels that readers had highlighted and shared.

  * * *

  “You tell me,” said Silas, his hand coming to rest on her hip. “Tell me when you’re ready for our first kiss.”

  His hand slid under Sera’s shirt and he touched her waist, stepping closer. Sera looked up at Silas, at his dark eyes that looked hot enough to spark flames. His mouth was slightly open, and her eyes could not drag themselves away from his full lips.

  “First kiss, in this lifetime,” whispered Silas, one hand tracing a line down her face before coming to rest on her neck.

  Sera reached a trembling hand to Silas’s face. She delicately traced his scar, looking into his eyes once before looking back at his mouth. With both hands, she cradled his head, and leaned against him.

  “Kiss me,” she said shakily.

  With a groan, Silas gently pressed his lips against hers. Sera wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him even closer. She couldn’t get close enough. Her heart was speeding and she ached for him. She felt the hard length of him, hot and steely against her, and she gasped. Silas held her head firmly as he kissed her again, his tongue filling her mouth, until she sagged against him, lightheaded with desire…

  * * *

  Quite a kiss, I thought, feeling a little… warm. I thought about kissing Greta. In the last year or so, just quick pecks on the cheek, if anything. I remembered, though. I remembered hot, crazy kisses that lead to more. I took a shaky breath in and out.

  Getting Greta back: that would be my mission. Somehow, some way. If she still wanted me. I had to admit, I had started to wonder if she regretted marrying me. She gave up her whole family for me. Without a backward glance, it seemed. But all I could do was try. If I could just be the kind of guy who made her smile again, the way she used to smile at me? How amazing would that be.

  All this romance reading and thinking about Greta reading these books had made me want her in a way that I had tried to shut down for so long. My wife is hot. She is little, and curvy, and she has long, light brown hair that never stays in a clip, it’s so fine. Her skin is so fair, it shows every flush or blush. She has light blue eyes that kill me when they look sad. They looked sad a lot lately. But they used to sparkle so much, and she does this thing where she kind of purses her mouth before she smiles and laughs. She wears pajama bottoms around the house a lot, and she has put herself down for doing that, but she looks really cute. And there is this one pair… they hug her hips and she looks so hot in them, it’s crazy. I tried to tell her once, but I guess she thought I was making fun of her, and I couldn’t convince her otherwise. It was before I stopped trying. Everything out of my mouth would make her angry, or worse, her eyes would fill with hurt. Looking back, all I was trying to do was get close to her, to fix things. But I felt like such a jerk. Eventually it became easier to look away from her in those stripy pajama bottoms, and not try to fix things between us.

  And now? I think we were afraid to even start a conversation, because it seemed as though every interaction resulted in the stupidest argument. Literally, stupid. Couples should argue about big stuff, but we just bickered. I’d do something stupid, like leave my wet towel on the doorknob, and we’d just be snapping back and forth, with me backing down, saying I was sorry, and her looking hurt. So we slept apart. We avoided each other’s eyes.

  I went into the kitchen where there was tea, still warm in the teapot. She always left some for me. I opened the fridge. If she really didn’t even like me anymore, would she still be leaving me tea, and meals? Here’s the thing: yeah. Because Greta is a kind, caring, and just all around decent human being. Then, I saw the note Greta left for me and picked it up, feeling a gigantic, goofy smile take over my face.

  Later, I read some more:

  * * *

  Sera woke up and blinked. Slowly the unfamiliar surroundings filtered into her consciousness and she remembered the entire day and evening, leading up to her arrival last night. She sat up slowly, feeling as though she were forgetting something else, though. Something important. Shivering, she got out of bed and reached into her duffel bag, pulling out a sweater and jeans. She dressed quickly and went into the kitchen. The scene outside the window was one she had never seen where she grew up in Texas. Fog swirled over golden brown reeds. She opened the door and leaned on the frame. The heavy scent of the ocean hung in the air, its dampness permeating the cottage and already causing her hair to curl. She walked outside, looking around, unable to see very far in any direction. Getting a bag of groceries she had left in her car, she hurried back inside, feeling chilled. In the kitchen, she found a battered saucepan and a dusty, chipped mug. She made herself a cup of tea.

  Her mind should be full of the tasks at hand, finding some furnishings and learning her way around town. Instead, she could not shake the sensation that she was forgetting something important. She tried to shake it off. After days of driving, a whole new environment, anyone would be feeling off kilter.

  She drove to the nearest grocery store, where she bought some cleaning supplies and food. The rest of the day was spent cleaning and arranging her things. She hung curtains, swept, mopped, and scrubbed and dusted.

  Finally, she sat in her doorway, drinking another cup of tea listening to the soft, sweet melody of the breeze in the rushes, and the gentle sounds of birds clinging to reeds and flying to their nests for the night. The sky was violet, streaked with orchid and orange. The house at her back gleamed and sparkled, and a small fire snapped energetically in the fireplace.

  “Guess I am home. Home for now,” said Sera, turning to go back inside. After a cursory meal, she washed up and fell into bed, utterly exhausted. As she fell asleep, again she had the sensation that she had forgotten something important, something that she was supposed to remember, and act upon. It troubled her. She turned over, unable to stay awake, and drifted swiftly into sleep.

  She opened her eyes. Her face was pressed into warm sand, and the sound of the fire crackling was louder. Where was she? Sitting up slowly, she began to dimly remember the cavern from the night before. How could she have forgotten?

  “As much as it is always a pleasure to see you again, Sera, I thought I told you to leave.”

  Sera gasped, turning. Silas was leaning against the cavern wall, his face half in shadows, his expression grim. She placed a hand on her chest, trying to slow her galloping heart, trying to steady her breath. Angry, she scowled at him.

  “First of all, I don’t have to obey you, as though you’re the boss of me. Whoever you are. Second, terrify me much? God! Third… never mind.”

  He came over to her and stood, his arms crossed. “Third? Tell me.”

  “Again, I don’t have to do what you tell me to,” Sera spoke the words slowly and deliberately, trying to hide how terrified she felt.

  He took and even breath in and let it out slowly. He sat on a rock close by, and rubbed his face with his hands, grimacing.

  “Please, will you tell me what the third thing was?” He asked, his voice dangerously quiet. Sera swallowed audibly.

  “I… I forgot,” she admitted, confused about everything that was going on.

  “Forgot… what the third thing was?”

  “No. I forgot about t
his. This place. You. This… dream.”

  He cursed and stood up, pacing. Looking up at the skylight, he said something softly in a language Sera had never heard before. Then he sat down again

  “Forgot.” His voice was grim.

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said furiously, “so don’t blame me!”

  His expression softened. “Blame you? Of course not.” His voice was gentle. “This has the dark siders written all over it.”

  “You mean… something… someone…? My memory was… what? Tampered with?”

  Silas nodded once, his face turned away.

  “Well, whatever you need to tell me, we’ll find a way to make me remember it. But what you said about leaving? No way. I just furnished my cottage! I start my new job and all my new research tomorrow!” She was distraught.

  He crouched in front of her, his eyes fixed on hers. “You’re not… you’re not crying are you?” He sounded breathless, horrified.

  “No,” she scowled, blinking fast. “You are!”

  “What?” His hunted expression lightened into a smile.

  “Nothing! Just… nothing! I’m not crying, that’s all.”

  “I could never handle that well,” he admitted, seemingly to himself.

  “What?” Sera was confused.

  He shook his head, taking another deep breath in and out.

  “Where are we? How did I get here? This has to be a dream, right? But it feels so real.” She looked around. Everything seemed familiar, somehow.

  “It’s a shared dream-space I created so that I could warn you to get the hell out of Salem. You’ve been called there. By those that don’t have your best interest at heart. You’re in danger.”

  “I don’t understand.” She crossed her arms, regarding him steadily.

  * * *

  I admit it: As much as I was tempted to skim ahead, wondering when they’d start having the steamy scenes, I was into the whole story by this point.

  Greta

  All throughout the day at work, I kept thinking about Ben and positive interactions. I noticed how I was patient and encouraging with the toddlers.

  “Jayden, Aiden was playing with that truck. Now he’s crying. Let’s give him the truck. It’s his turn,” I said during outdoor time.

  “It’s really hard to wait, isn’t it?” I commiserated with Yasmin, who was crying at snack time.

  “Breaks just don’t seem long enough, do they,” I empathized with my assistant when she came in, ten minutes late, apologizing.

  I thought about how angry I’d been with Ben. All the time. At work, I’d be in control. At home, I was constantly feeling mad. He was such a great guy, but I’d zero in on the fact that he left dishes piled up instead of just putting them in the dishwasher the way I’d asked him so many times. So many times! I’d think that he didn’t remember what I asked him, therefore he doesn’t care about how I feel, therefore he doesn’t really care so much about me. I knew that was crazy but I’d just react so fast. Critical, complaining words would be flying out of my mouth before I knew it, and I’d see Ben start to look aggravated, guilty, and then just kind of distant.

  When I got diagnosed with Premature Ovarian Failure (POV) (and yeah, who had the great idea to put failure right in the diagnosis?) I felt so stupid. I felt as though I’d been tricked. All along, I had thought how great it would be to have kids with Ben. Maybe two. I imagined saying, “kids, get in the car” when I was getting into the car with Ben, just imagining what it would be like to have them in the backseat. I’d daydream that we’d have to play kids music all the time, and we’d roll our eyes humorously at each other, Ben and I, remembering the days when we’d listen to whatever music we wanted. Ben loved to listen to National Public Radio, too, and I imagined him turning it off, looking in the back seat, shaking his head, not wanting the news to upset them. They started to feel real to me, these shadowy, what-if children.

  My cycle had always been irregular, so at a routine check up, my gynecologist suggested sooner rather than later when I expressed some interest in getting pregnant. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait. I blurted out the idea to Ben and although he got really pale, he started grinning and said those words I used to love to hear from him: you got it, Greta.

  Well, I didn’t. We didn’t. After several months, I went in for preliminary testing and I was shocked. At first, every month I thought I was pregnant. I’d take a pregnancy test and get disappointed, but there was always next month. I can’t even describe the impatience I felt. It was so powerful, the desire to be pregnant. Every day, surrounded by babies and toddlers and preschool aged children, I kept imagining that one day, hopefully soon, I could bring my own to work.

  The diagnosis of POV meant for me and Ben that we’d never conceive naturally. I could never conceive, never feel our baby growing within me. We were given a lot of information about how we could still become parents, but at that moment, all I felt was betrayed by my own body. I felt guilty, too. Ben was fine, there was nothing wrong with him. He could become a father just like that. But with me? No. No way. Ever.

  It hurt. I hurt. At first, the hurt was something I could cry about, and talk about a little, with Ben. But then, I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to think about it. He wasn’t upset the way I was. Maybe that should have made it easier, but instead, I felt as though it made it harder for me. I felt so angry, but about stupid stuff. I used to be a patient person, and I found that every little thing would irritate me. At work, I was patient. It was the only place I felt like me. I thought that maybe it would be too hard to continue working with kids. But, even though it was painful at times, I loved my job and I loved who I was when I was working.

  I had this feeling that Ben would be better off without me. I think he settled too quickly on me, and he had to be regretting that. The thing about Ben is that he doesn’t know what a catch he is. He is kind, funny, so smart, and such a handsome guy. He is very talented, and hard working. He had extremely bad cystic acne as an adolescent, all through college. He was on all kinds of medications, including antibiotics. They hurt his stomach really badly, eventually, and he got sick. He started having all kinds of stomach problems. Later, he was diagnosed with celiac disease. Nobody had guessed that’s what was going on. Finally, after a year of being on a gluten free and dairy free diet, he started to gain some weight, and his skin began to clear. He was left with scarring on his cheeks and jaw. He got into the habit of ducking his head, and it is so adorable, he has no idea. So, he just had no confidence with girls, having such severe acne. Then, by the time he had graduated from college, I think he didn’t even know how to begin meeting someone and dating. He had gotten used to being the good friend, that’s all. When we met, all I saw was this handsome guy with a shy side. I thought his scarring gave him a kind of rugged appearance that I liked. Not only is he a sweet, hot, and smart guy, he has depth and kindness to him. That volunteer project where we met was only one of so many he has been involved in. He always has a volunteer project going on the side. He designs websites for programs that help people who are poor, all the time. When I found out about that, I praised him but he just shrugged and said, “Tikkun Olam. It’s a broken world, we’ve all got to try to hold it together, fix what we can.”

  I thought it was pretty crazy and awful that someone like me who lived and breathed romance would be completely failing at her very own marriage. I thought it sucked that someone who loved children the way I did couldn’t get pregnant. I thought it was pretty tragic that we couldn’t figure out how to fix our broken hearts.

  Ben

  Greta’s note changed everything.

  I’d been feeling as though she would be better off without me. I seemed to make her mad or miserable, all the time. She could heal the rift between her and her anti-Semitic, racist, gun loving, knife collecting, conspiracy theories believing, family.

  So, yeah: no.

  I would do everything I could to be the man who made her smile again. To do that, I couldn’t g
o back in time and start over, so, I had to find a coach. I’d pick the one guy that seemed to spend the most time making her smile these days: Silas.

  What Would Silas Do? That would be my question when it came to my wife. I had the Silas books. Every free moment I read. Every once and a while I’d highlight sections.

  I was reading about Silas and Sera on the run from the bad guys:

  * * *

  “Here,” said Silas roughly, wrapping a wool blanket around Sera’s shoulders. “You’ll get sick. You know you get cold easily.”

  Sera tried to speak clearly, shivering, “Th-th-thanks. I’m not… too cold.”

  The cold autumn wind made the pine branches creak and sway overhead.

  He hesitated, then placed his large arm around her, and pulled her close. He took her two hands into his own, and blew warm breath onto them.

  “How’s that?” he murmured. “You warming up?”

  “Y-yeah,” whispered Sera, looking up into his eyes.

  “Here, put your hands…” he held them.

  “What? Where?” Sera frowned, feeling anxious.

  “Here.” He placed her hands on his chest, inside his shirt, where they encountered his heat. “What, you think I’m going to try to flirt with you? At a time like this?”

  “Yes, actually.” She couldn’t help smiling.

  “Well, you’d be right…”

  * * *

  Silas was freakishly tuned into everything about Sera. If she had asked him to remember not to hang his wet towels on doorknobs, then he just would remember. Boom; you’re welcome.