Chapter 1 #2
I’ve known Samira “Sam” Alavi since our freshman year of college, where I was studying PR and she was planning to be a therapist. We lost touch after our second semester when I moved off campus and then were reunited at a Hollywood after-party where I was babysitting a client and she was a plus-one.
It took approximately four minutes to remember why we’d been friends in the first place.
I’m practical and efficient, and Sam is chaos in human form—but the good kind.
The kind that shows up with Persian cookies and an opinion you didn’t ask for and is somehow always right about everything, which is annoying.
She’d dropped out of school and was trying to break into acting (much to the disappointment of her very Persian, very traditional parents) and it just so happened that we were both looking for a roommate.
“So, what happened?” Sam asks once I’ve moved the bucket of licorice to the floor (not before grabbing a piece) and plopped myself down on the opposite side of the couch from her, kicking off my heels onto the LVP flooring and tucking my feet under me.
I eye her. “You know what happened.”
“The curse?” she asks, eyebrows lifting.
I sigh, leaning my head against the back of the couch. “Yes. The curse.”
Sam is the only person besides my mother and Grandma Gigi that I talk to about it. I don’t think she actually believes me, but she plays along.
“What happened?” she asks.
I tell her about the date, and she listens intently, scrunching her nose when I tell her about the garlic/mint situation, and then gives me a sad smile when I give her all the details about the terrible good night kiss.
“Are you sure he didn’t have somewhere to be? An emergency situation?”
I pull my head up from the couch to give her my best scowl. “We’ve been over this.”
“Yes, I know,” she holds out a hand, trying to placate me. “But—”
I shake my head. “No therapy.”
In her two semesters of college, Sam only took two classes for her major: Intro to Psychology and Developmental Psychology.
It was definitely not enough to be giving any kind of professional advice.
It’s become a running joke between us—Sam will often preface her attempts to psychoanalyze me with, “When I was studying to be a therapist,” as if two semesters and an intro course gave her any right.
Besides, she’s just going to tell me—in some version or another—that it’s possible I’m subconsciously pushing people away or something else therapy-sounding.
If it had been only a handful of botched first kisses, I’d definitely be doing some self-reflection. Because in that scenario I could be to blame. But forty-nine of them? That’s a pattern. And I’ve got the stories from Gigi and my mom to prove it’s real.
It’s simple, really: one kiss, and if he isn’t the one for you, then all attraction, whatever was there, is gone. In an instant. Like it was never there to begin with.
My brother Ryan seems to have missed out on this particular gift.
He’s on his third long-term relationship.
I try not to hold it against him. He’s never had to count his kisses.
While I’m staring down the barrel of number fifty, Ryan is probably on kiss number five thousand with Sienna, and that attraction has never gone poof. Not yet, at least.
“Well, he sounds like a loser to me,” Sam says.
I give her a closed-mouth smile. “I’m hanging up my dating shoes at number fifty.”
She slumps. “Not this again.”
“I’m serious. I can only take so much rejection.”
“So you’re just going to give up?”
I shrug. “Maybe not forever. We’ll just have to see.”
I told myself that at fifty kisses I would need to reassess this whole situation.
I’ve been trying to end this curse for too long, and I think I need to take a step back, get off all the apps, stop going on dates, and focus on something else.
I might dust the shoes off later, but after one more try and no luck, I’m taking a much-needed break from it all.
Do I think a kiss count of fifty is too much?
Not really. Do I think a rejection count of fifty is too much? Definitely.
“So what you’re saying is number fifty needs to be the one,” she says.
I give her a sarcastic-sounding chuckle. “Not the one, just someone who’ll kiss me more than once.”
I’m not looking for “the one.” I’m not sure I believe there is just one person out there for me. I just want someone to break this curse so I can choose for myself—fall for someone on my own terms. Without a stupid curse making the decision for me.
“Okay, then I think you should let me set you up with Colin from work.”
I scrunch my face. “No setups,” I tell her. Not because it’s a rule of mine, but because Sam gets too invested and it makes it awkward when it’s not a match. And of course, it never has been. Or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“Claire,” she chides. “He’s perfect for you.”
She says this every time.
“I think I’ll stick to my dating apps,” I tell her.
She sits up, giving me her best puppy dog eyes. “Please,” she begs.
I let out a breath. I don’t know if it’s the failed date I just went on or if I’m feeling drained right now, or a combination of the two, but somehow I hear myself say: “Fine.”
“Really?” she says, her voice going up an octave.
“But don’t get mad when it doesn’t work out.”
“I won’t, I swear.”
She most definitely will.
Sam snuggles back down into the couch, grabs the remote from the floor, and points it at the TV.
“Should we watch our show?”
“I probably need to go to bed,” I tell her. It’s a work night and I have a busy schedule tomorrow. Those client statements aren’t going to write themselves.
“Just one episode,” she says, pulling the menu up and doing a search.
Sam will not take no for an answer, and truthfully, I could use something to take my mind off this evening.
She finds our show—Kingdom of Flame and Moonlight—and starts episode six of season one.
Unlike everyone else on the planet, Sam and I didn’t get into the hype over this beloved book adaptation until recently.
And that’s only because the two actors—Bailey Lockhart and River Rhodes—who play the main characters were a couple in real life.
Were. Past tense. It all blew up right before the announcement of next season’s premiere date, much to the fandom’s dismay.
Seriously, I’ve never seen so much crying online over the demise of a celebrity coupling.
Both were represented by Harrow & Finch, the PR firm I work for.
Now Bailey, who plays Elora—the human woman who gets stuck in a dying fae realm—will stay with us, and River, who plays Kaelric—the fae prince searching for a cure to save his people—will be repped by someone else going forward.
My boss, Simone, is doing the handover tomorrow.
It wasn’t until the breakup that Sam and I decided to see what all the talk was about.
And now . . . we get it. The show is incredible.
The acting is stellar, and the production is top notch.
I’ve even considered reading the books, and I never read for fun.
Not unless it’s some sort of work-related nonfiction piece.
Because I spend the bulk of my day crafting statements—some of which are even more fictional than this show (you have to get pretty creative when trying to spin a story), reading fiction for leisure isn’t at the top of my list.
But I kind of want to read this one. I’ve even taken a quiz to see which of the courts I belong in—Sun, Moon, Stars, or Eclipse—and I was put in Sun, which is where Kaelric’s family is from, so obviously I wanted to be there.
And Sam is in the Star court because it’s full of performers and dreamers, the creatives of the kingdom.
That’s how addicting this show is, though. It’s got two women in their late twenties taking online quizzes.
“Have you heard any more lore about Bailey and River?” Sam asks when they appear on the screen for the first time in this episode.
River, with pointed ears and long flowing blond hair, wearing dark, fitted armor made of leather and metal, and Bailey in a flowing purple dress, her white hair curled and cascading down her back.
They really are devastatingly good looking together, and the chemistry is off the charts, which has made this show what it is.
No wonder fans are in such an uproar right now.
“Nothing interesting,” I tell her. She knows about River leaving Harrow & Finch, and how the studio—Silverline—isn’t loving the press right now with the breakup. Not when they’re set to start filming season four, the season when Kaelric and Elora finally get together.
Bailey and River ending things is crappy timing overall, but that’s where Simone steps in.
As VP of crisis communications, she handles the high-profile messes, getting ahead of the story with such ease, she could probably do it in her sleep.
And I, as her senior account executive, handle the rest. So, clients more of the D-list variety.
Certainly no one Sam would be interested in hearing gossip about.
I settle into the couch, stretching my legs out, and Sam covers them with her throw, like we do this all the time. Because we do.
For now, I’m going to put Joshua, kisses, and curses out of my mind, enjoy this romance between a fae prince and a human, and worry about reality later.