1. Eliana
Eliana
"You're leaving again."
The quiet accusation in his voice made me look up from my book.
His head rested comfortably in my lap, one arm loosely draped around my waist as though he'd already decided I wasn't allowed to go anywhere without his permission. A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. I closed the worn paperback and set it beside me.
"I haven't even stood up yet," I said, smiling.
He frowned slightly, looking almost offended. “You were about to.”
"And now you're reading my mind?"
"I don't need to." His thumb traced slow circles against my wrist. "You've had that look on your face for the last five minutes."
"What look?" I raised a brow.
"The one where you're already saying goodbye."
I shook my head, amused.
The sunlight slipped through the wide branches of the old tree in warm, golden patches, turning the grass around us into a sea of light and shadow. A soft breeze stirred the leaves overhead, carrying the faint scent of summer, even though I couldn't remember what month it was.
I didn't care. Nothing existed beyond that tree. Nothing except him.
His face remained strangely blurred, the features never quite settling no matter how hard I tried to focus on them. It should've unsettled me. Instead, the familiarity of him was almost frightening.
I knew him.
Not his name. Not where we were. Not how we'd gotten there.
But him.
I knew the way he breathed when he was relaxed. I knew the weight of his head against my thighs. I knew that if I stopped running my fingers through his dark hair, he'd complain.
As if to prove me right, his hand caught mine before I could pull away. "Don't stop."
I smiled down at him. "Weren't you supposed to be sleeping?"
"I was." His voice was low and lazy, carrying the faintest hint of amusement. His eyes remained closed as he brought my hand toward his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss against my palm.
"Then why were you pretending?" I asked, amused.
"Because I like listening to you breathe," he replied without a second thought.
I laughed under my breath. "That's a little creepy."
His eyes opened. Even blurred by the strange haze of the dream, I could feel the intensity in them. "Then I suppose you'll have to get used to me," he murmured.
I shook my head, pretending to be annoyed, but my fingers returned to his hair anyway.
"I get jealous, you know."
I raised an eyebrow. "Of what?"
"Everyone."
I stared down at him, amused. "Everyone?"
"Anyone who looks at you for too long."
I shook my head. "That's ridiculous."
"I know."
"You're admitting it?"
“Of course.” A slow smile appeared on his face. “I’m not saying I’m reasonable.”
I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on as his arm tightened around my waist.
"If I could have my way," he continued, "I'd keep you somewhere no one else could see you."
I studied him for a moment and laughed again, but he didn't. "That's not healthy. You're not going to lock me in a tower somewhere, are you?"
He didn't even blink. "I've considered it."
I was about to complain as his name almost escaped my lips. But for a strange second, I couldn’t remember. Neither of us moved and I looked at him confused. His expression softened. "You were saying?"
I shook the feeling away. "You're horribly possessive."
"With you."
"And what happens when I refuse to be possessed?"
He studied me, then slowly loosened his hold. "Then I'll spend the rest of my life trying to earn the right to be the man you choose."
The answer caught me off guard. For all his teasing, there was something deeply serious beneath it. I looked down at our hands. "That's quite an ambitious promise."
"I know."
"And you still mean it?"
"Every word."
I lowered my gaze, letting my hair slip forward to hide the blush warming my cheeks. I took a quiet breath to steady myself before reaching for my poetry book. “Do you know what I love about poetry?
He glanced at the worn pages in my hands. "That you can hide behind it whenever you're embarrassed?"
I gasped. "I do not hide."
"You absolutely do." He chuckled.
"No! I happen to appreciate literature." I laughed and opened the book to a familiar page.
His gaze followed my fingers. "Read it."
I looked at him. "You like this poem?"
"I like hearing you read it." The teasing had disappeared from his voice.
I began softly.
"It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee?—"
His eyes closed. I continued, watching the way his expression softened as the words filled the quiet space between us. When I reached the lines about the angels coveting the love between Annabel Lee and her lover, his fingers found mine again.
"Tell me again," he murmured.
I smiled. "Tell you what?"
"How much you love me."
I laughed softly. "You already know."
"I want to hear it."
"You're needy."
"Only with you."
I brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. "Fine. I love you."
He opened his eyes. "That's all?"
I laughed again. "What do you want? A five-page declaration?"
"I'd read every word."
"How generous."
His hand found mine and intertwined our fingers. I couldn't stop smiling. There was something enchanting in the way he looked at me, as if I were already caught in his spell and had no desire to escape.
I leaned back against the tree and looked at him. His smile faded into something softer as he sat up. For a moment, he only looked at me quietly. Then his hand came to my waist.
I swallowed. "What are you doing?"
"Reminding you that I don't share." He stood and pulled me gently to my feet.
My back met the rough bark of the tree. He leaned closer. I could feel his breath against my lips. The teasing smile disappeared from his face. So did mine. His fingers slipped beneath my hair, resting against the back of my neck.
"Tell me to stop."
I should have. Instead, I whispered, "But I don't want you to..."
He chuckled and lowered his head. Our lips were almost touching when?—
SQUAWK!
I jolted awake.
"Wake up! Wake up!"
The alarm shrieked beside my bed almost at the same time. I nearly fell off the mattress.
I yelped, "Cookie!"
“Wake up! Wake up!” My African grey parrot flapped wildly on his perch, looking entirely pleased with himself.
"I am awake!" I hollered back. My phone continued screaming from somewhere beneath my pillow. I grabbed it and silenced the alarm.
Cookie tilted his head. "Late!"
"Yes, thank you. I noticed."
"Late! Late!"
"You are enjoying this far too much."
He bobbed his head. I stared at him. Then I laughed despite myself.
The dream came rushing back.
The tree. The man. His voice.
The way he'd looked at me. I pressed my palms over my face. "That was actually a really good dream." Of course, Cookie chose that moment to scream again.
"Wake up!"
“I hate you,” I muttered, peeking at my bird through the gaps between my fingers.
He squawked, “I love you!”
I lowered my hands and looked at him smiling. "You're forgiven."
He puffed his feathers proudly. I reached for my phone and immediately regretted it.
Twenty-three notifications. And on top of them all was from Rebecca Collins. My editor had apparently decided that sleep was optional.
The first message read:
Rebecca
Eli, seriously, you gotta come up with an idea FAST.
Another appeared beneath it.
Rebecca
I know it's a brand-new genre for you. But that's what's selling now.
And then:
Rebecca
No excuses. I need a plot by tomorrow. Get to work! CHOP CHOP!
I stared at the screen. "Well, good morning to you too, Rebecca."
I had spent the better part of two weeks staring at an empty document, trying to convince myself that billionaire romance was something I could write.
Apparently, my imagination disagreed.
I'd written romances for years. Ordinary people falling in love. Complicated women. Difficult men. Second chances. Broken hearts. The kind of stories where love had to fight its way through real life before earning its happy ending.
But billionaires?
Private jets. Luxury penthouses. Designer watches. Five-star hotels.
None of it felt like me.
Unfortunately, my publishing house didn't particularly care what felt like me anymore. They cared about what sold. And billionaire romance was selling.
If I couldn't produce something soon, my next contract was in trouble. I stared at my blank calendar for a moment before remembering something far more important.
The wedding.
"Oh, no." I sat upright.
Today was Camilla's wedding.
My cousin Camilla Carter was marrying one of the country's most recognizable actors, Theo Ashcroft, which meant the wedding would probably involve more security, photographers, celebrities, and expensive flowers than I had seen in my entire life.
And I was supposed to be a bridesmaid. I looked at the time. "Great."
I was going to be late.
I climbed out of bed and Cookie watched me hurry around the room.
“Pretty! Pretty!” he yelled, eyeing the bridesmaid’s dress as I held it against my body in front of the mirror.
I smiled, "I haven't even put it on."
"Pretty! I love you." He stared at me.
"You're just too adorable. But I hope I don't embarrass myself today."
He whistled. At least someone in this house believed in me.
I showered, dressed, and spent more time than I wanted trying to make my wavy hair behave. By the time I slipped into the bridesmaid dress, I barely recognized myself.
The dress was from Carolina Herrera, an elegant deep green gown that fell softly around my body. Camilla had chosen it herself for all her bridesmaids.
I ran my fingers over the fabric.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd worn something this expensive. "Camilla really went all out."
I looked at myself in the mirror. The woman staring back at me looked put together.
Almost elegant. Almost like someone whose life wasn't currently being held together with double shot americano, overdue manuscripts, and sheer stubbornness.