by Leylah Attar
I pried the creamy, brown shell open. The inside was filled with sand. Lodged in the center was a ring with three sparkling alexandrites.
“You like it? You like it?” Sierra was prancing around me.
“It’s beautiful.” I smiled at Damian.
My mother’s necklace lay somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, where he’d thrown it. I’d never get it back, but I had something of my own now.
“Thank you.” I leaned over and kissed him.
He deepened the kiss, burying his hands in my hair. “Sierra—”
“But I didn’t bring any books!”
“You said twenty minutes.” Damian groaned into my ear.
“Maybe twenty more?” I laughed. “Where are you going?”
“For a swim,” he answered. “In the cold, deep end of the ocean.”
I watched him take off, slicing through the water with fluid, graceful strokes.
Sierra and I finished lunch and stretched out in the sun. Blondie, Bruce Lee, and Dirty Harry watched us from their rock. I didn’t know how long green iguanas lived, but I was glad Sierra had the chance to make friends with them. Damian had given her the task of naming the island, and she had spent the morning conferring with them. The verdict was still out.
By the time Damian returned, Sierra had fallen asleep. He adjusted the umbrella so she was in the shade, and tiptoed around her, to my side. His wet skin gave me goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature.
“Put it on,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow. “I was betting you’d tell me to take it off.”
“I like the way you think, but I was talking about the ring.” He gave me a wicked smile as he slipped it over my finger. “I want to see what it looks like on you.”
I held my hand out, against the endless blue horizon. Rainbow glints reflected off our faces. It wasn’t just a ring. It was an open window and paper animals, a boy clutching fifteen pesos and a girl writing strawberry letters. It was the story of two people who had come full circle, and it was wrapped in gold around my finger.
What are we? Damian had asked on this very beach.
There on our little piece of paradise, with Sierra sleeping beside us, I finally figured it out.
We are sand and rock and water and sky, anchors on ships and sails in the wind. We are a journey to a destination that shifts every time we dream or fall or leap or weep. We are stars with flaws that still sparkle and shine. We will always strive, always want, always have more questions than answers, but there are moments like these, full of magic and contentment, when souls get a glimpse of the divine and quite simply, lose their breath.
A NEW MOON PERCHED IN the dusky sky, a slender arc of the softest silver. The small group of guests who had shared our special day—Nick, Rafael, their wives, some of the women I worked with, and a handful of Damian’s associates—were all gone, but the gardens of Casa Paloma were still twinkling with lights. Damian, Sierra, and I were sitting by the pond.
“Who’s Monique?” I asked, holding up a card personalized with a deep-purple lip print.
“Let me see that.” Damian put aside his cake. Pink frosting, topped with fresh strawberries. It was an unusual choice for a wedding, a replica of the birthday cake he’d never got around to having. He’d laughed when they’d wheeled it in. The cake topper was a giant white tooth, a private joke harking back to when he’d knocked Gideon Benedict St. John’s tooth out.
He looked the card over and grinned. “Monique was someone who made my time in prison so much more pleasant.”
I crossed my arms and waited for an explanation.
“Don’t scowl. It’s not very bride-like,” he said.
“Don’t bring up exes on our wedding day. It’s not very groom-like.”
“I can think of a few very groom-like things I’d like to do to you.”
“Don’t even.” I pushed him away. I didn’t feel the least bit threatened by this Monique, but it was fun playing it up. Rafael had not been able to convince Damian to wear a tux, but he looked so damn fine in a crisp, white shirt and tailored jacket.
“Fine. I’ll take you to see Monique one day, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He tossed the card aside and grabbed my waist. “I have something for you and Sierra.”
He reached inside his jacket for MaMaLu’s Lucky Strike tin and opened it. “She would have wanted you to have these.” He handed me her earrings.
I held them up: two doves joined at the beak to form a circle, with turquoise stones hanging from them. I had a flashback of cool, blue stones brushing against my skin as MaMaLu kissed me goodnight.
“Hey.” Damian wrapped his arms around me. He knew it had been an emotional day for me. I’d missed my father’s three kisses, missed him walking me down the aisle. Sierra had filled in. She’d picked out her own dress: Kermit-the-frog-green, accessorized with a new pair of sneakers. Her one wedding day concession had been a floral hairband that matched the color of her orange shoelaces. Apart from a headache, she had come around from the sedative Victor had administered with no idea of the disaster we had escaped. When I thought about how close we’d come to losing it all, I hugged Damian tighter.
“You think she’ll like it?” he asked, holding up MaMaLu’s hair clip.
It was shaped like a fan, made from abalone shells and alpaca metal—pretty without being too girly.
Sierra examined it before handing it to me. She turned around and motioned to her hair, voicing her silent approval. I gathered two sections of her hair from the sides and secured the clip in center.
“What’s this?” she asked, unfolding the newspaper article that Damian had saved all these years:
‘LOCAL NANNY ACCUSED OF STEALING FAMILY HEIRLOOM.’
“This is a little piece of paper that caused a whole lot of trouble,” said Damian.
“Look.” I caught a yellow flower as the night breeze rustled through the trees. In the moonlight, it looked almost ivory, like my dress. Damian tucked it behind my ear.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”
I had planned on designing my own wedding gown, but then Damian had found the Louboutins I’d left behind on the island, and once I’d strapped them on, I felt a full-fledged celebration coming on. The WAM! facility was up and running, and I splurged on a strapless Vera Wang design.
“Hey! I did it!” Sierra was sitting at the edge of the pond, pointing to something in the water. Floating away from her was a perfect paper swan.
“Nice.” Damian crouched next to her, but then his smile faded. “Is that . . . what did you use to make it?”
“The piece of paper in that old tin.”
Damian swung his hand out and pulled the swan out of the water.
“What’s the matter?” asked Sierra.
Damian had carried that newspaper article with him for so long, his first instinct was to preserve it. He looked at me as he held it, and we both thought of the story MaMaLu had told us, about a magic swan that graced the grounds of Casa Paloma, a swan that could bless you with the rarest of treasures.
I caught my breath as Damian placed the swan back in the water and realization hit me.
You don’t always get the treasure by holding on. Sometimes the magic happens when you let go.
And Damian was letting go of all the things that had fueled him for so long—the rage, the injustices, the horrors he had witnessed in Caboras, the guilt he felt over his actions. Sierra had folded them up and set them free. We watched in silence as the swan disappeared into the shadow side of the pond, and all that remained was an empty Lucky Strike tin.
“What do you want to do with this?” I asked.
“Exactly what should be done with a smelly old tin of tobacco.” He filled it with rocks and flung it into the water. It sank to the bottom of the pond with a reverberating gurgle.
“Race you two back to the house!” said Sierra.
“Hey, not fair!” I kicked off my shoes and gathered my gown around me.
“On five!” said Damian.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . .
<<<
First and foremost, I’d like to thank you—yes, you, for picking up and reading The Paper Swan. There are so many amazing books out there, I consider it a privilege to be let into your world. I hope this book was worthy of your time and attention.
I am grateful to every single person who has read or recommended my books, shared something of mine, contacted or encouraged me. I cannot thank you enough for all the love and kindness you have shown.
So many wonderful people have supported me through the writing of this novel.
Hang Le—for understanding my vision and devoting your incredible talent into designing this phenomenal cover. You have mad skills, woman!
Lea Burn, editor extraordinaire, en dash/em dash specialist, and overall perfectionist—thank you for pouring your heart and soul into this novel.
Christine Borgford of Perfectly Publishable—for making my work look so pretty, with your seamless formatting, design, and astounding creativity.
Christine Estevez of Shh Mom’s Reading—my multi-talented, go-to person for proof-reading, handling all the promos, lighting fires to get me moving, supporting me from start to finish, and putting up with all my nincompoopery. You get the award for being the sweetest person ever.
My incredible team of beta readers: Chelsea Peden McCrory, G.G., Jackie Bagley White, Lisa Chamberlin, Luisa Hansen, Tasha B, Trisha Rai. Thank you for your invaluable feedback. I couldn’t have done it without you!
Soulla Georgiou, your friendship has carried me through all the ups and downs. Thank you is not enough for your daily missives, support and encouragement. This book is as much yours as it is mine. You are all kinds of EPIC.
Christine Brae, I am so blessed to have met you. You have been with me from the start, and you continue to blow me away with your grace, generosity and kindness. I can’t wait for That Darn Book!
Claire Contreras—my role model and hero. You inspire me with your words, your attitude, and all round amazeballness. Also, you make me invent new words.
Bloggers: the hardest working, most passionate group of book lovers. For every author who has reached an extra reader because of something you loved, reviewed, recommended or shared, I thank you! You continue to overwhelm me with your passion, generosity and professionalism.
My brilliant author friends—Mia Asher, KA Linde, K Larsen, BL Berry, Willow Aster, Corinne Michaels, Cat-Porter Porter, NJ Frost, Tarryn Fisher, SL Jennings, Kennedy Ryan, Ava Bell, Amy Harmon—each of you has touched me in some way, and all of you have gone out of your way to make me feel welcome.
I am forever grateful to the little band of Leylaholics on Facebook. You deserve all the stars!
And finally, thanks to my family. Without you, none of this would be possible or mean anything. It might also have wrapped up sooner if you hadn’t kept popping in, asking, “Are you done yet? How about now? NOW?” I love you! Thank you for allowing me the gift of time to write this book.
Leylah Attar writes stories about love—shaken, stirred and served with a twist. When she’s not writing, she can be found pursuing her other passions: photography, food, family, and travel. Sometimes she disappears into the black hole of the internet, but can usually be enticed out with chocolate.
CONNECT WITH HER AT:
www.leylahattar.com
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OTHER TITLES BY LEYLAH ATTAR:
53 Letters For My Lover
From His Lips: a 53 Letters Short Story
Table of Contents
THE PAPER SWAN
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
Part 1: SKYE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
Part 2: ESTEBAN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
Part 3: SKYE
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
Part 4: DAMIAN
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
Part 5: SYKE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR