Copyright © 2021 by Becca C Smith
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published by Red Frog Publishing a division of Red Frog Media
Visit our website at www.redfrogpublishing.com
First published in 2021
Cover Art and Design by Stephan Fleet
Chapter Heading Art by Phoebe Wood
(IG: @Phoebewoodpaints)
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN 9781949877311
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
This story has lived with me for a very long time and in many variations, so it makes perfect sense that I ended up writing the first draft in twenty-one short days. Sometimes when the story is ready, it’s ready. To all the dreamers out there: no matter what your age, never give up. Let your imagination guide you and know that someday your dreams will come true.
And to my husband, Stephan: I love you with all my heart and soul! I’m the luckiest person in the world and I thank my lucky stars every day that I found my soul mate and our life together is one big, magical adventure!
The night was perfect.
“You are the most beautiful girl in the world, Jeraline. I can’t believe how lucky I am,” Josh said to me, his eyes staring into mine with an intensity that always made my toes tingle.
“How lucky we are,” I answered with a dazzling smile.
The moon was bright and full, towering above us as we danced on the large marble-tiled balcony that extended from the castle’s ballroom. Other attendants of the ball danced inside, enjoying a night of magic and festivities. The gowns alone were enough for the eyes to feast on for days. But my gown? It was the most stunning dress of them all. Intricate blue, yellow, red, orange, and white crystal beads swirled on top of black velvet, as if a tiny universe existed in its fabric. The bottom of the dress parachuted out to such a fullness I was surprised Josh could reach me. But when he pulled me close, hands gently touching my waist and the fitted corseted top, I shivered with the sensation of feeling perfectly aligned with everything in existence.
Not to be dramatic.
But it felt pretty dramatic.
And Josh.
Everything about him was a dream, from his tailored tuxedo to his beautiful face, but mostly his eyes captured my heart. Those honest, endearingly sweet eyes pierced through my soul, and I instantly knew how much I loved him, and I hoped my eyes told him the same thing.
Because I did.
I loved Josh.
We danced as if in a fairy tale, with the giant castle looming behind us, silhouetted from the bright moonlight. We had danced so far away from the glass doors of the ballroom, I didn’t see anyone else anymore.
It was just the two of us.
Me and him.
Him and me.
I didn’t need anything else in the world.
He bent down to my ear, ready to tell me something that I was sure would make my heart beat faster.
“I’m sorry, Jeraline, but I think I’m getting too old to dip you,” Josh said.
Huh?
“But you’re twenty-two.”
The scenery shattered in front of me as I now stood in the living room of the apartment I shared with my grandmother, Anna. She held me and looked as if she was about to dip me, despite her reservations of being seventy years old.
“No, you’re twenty-two,” she replied. “And I don’t want you dipping me, so can we call it a night? My back is right at that point where if I turn the wrong way . . . crunch. I don’t want another pull. The last one had me out for two weeks. I should do my stretches.” Grandma pulled away from me and lifted her left arm, stretching sideways.
I was a far cry from my fantasy: hair tied back, my clothes pretty ordinary (jeans and a sweater), and my face as plain as it got, or at least that was the way I saw it. My grandmother, of course, would disagree (what doting grandma wouldn’t?).
“Do you need some ibuprofen?” I asked her.
Grams continued to do her stretches as she nodded a big yes to me. I walked over to the counter, grabbed the bottle of pain relievers, and poured her a glass of water.
She stepped closer and took the cup and pill bottle. “Thanks.”
Looking around our apartment, I sighed in contentment. It was cozy and warm and had truly become home to us these last three years. It wasn’t big by any means, a little less than seven hundred square feet, but for a two-bedroom it was the perfect fit. The living room and kitchen made up the main space, with three doors on the west wall that led to each of our bedrooms and the bathroom in the middle. Definitely no room for a dining room, but Grandma and I usually ate at the couch watching TV anyway. We did have two cherry-red stools underneath the butcher-block-topped kitchen counter, which had a small lip that served as a bar, but I don’t think either one of us had used it once since moving in.
A few pictures of us and my parents hung sporadically throughout the apartment, and the furniture situation was pretty basic: cushy couch, plushy armchair, dark wooden coffee table, and the aforementioned stools. Simple but effective.
Fairy lights draped two of the walls, which didn’t help my overactive imagination any since it always gave me hope that when I opened my bedroom door I’d be stepping into another world.
Grandma had put them up after we moved in here three years ago to cheer me up, right after my parents had been killed.
Their twinkling lights had helped me cope at the time.
At least I had Grams though. I didn’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t been there for me.
Plopping
