Fan of broken souls and friends to lovers stories? Then don’t miss Heart of Glass, my latest soul-stirring contemporary romance.
Heart of Glass kicks off a brand new series, but like all my books it stands alone and is set in the same world you know and love. In fact, you may recognize someone from the excerpt of chapter one below. 🙂
Chapter 1 – Mia
Such a stunningly beautiful place for one’s heart to be ripped out.
We’re gathered on the sprawling lawn of the new expansion of the Swan Pointe Botanical Gardens, at a reception hosted by the Rivers Paradise Resort. The area has been set up with high cocktail tables, a full bar, and buffet indicative of the resort’s five-star reputation.
The highlight of the expansion—for the moment—is a round platform in the middle of the huge pond. The platform’s circumference is about four car lengths. Its base is nothing but cement.
A blank canvas. Waiting for some magician to come along and make it something worthy of notice. The centerpiece of the entire space. The reason we’re all here.
The source of my current troubles.
“There you are,” my sister Cat says, approaching with her fiancé, Marcus. “You didn’t bail after all,”
“I considered it.” I give first her then Marcus a hug.
We look like sisters, except instead of keeping her hair dark like mine, she goes for the blonde hair, dark roots look. She has more edge than I do, so it totally works on her.
The two of them look amazing, actually. He’s in a dark suit, no tie, the top two buttons undone and she’s wearing a red dress with an uneven hem. Such a gorgeous couple.
Even though they’ve only been back together for six months, Marcus was such a constant presence in our lives when they were first together that it’s easy to feel like he never left.
Especially because they look at one another with an overflowing love that makes my heart melt, and maybe break a little.
It made me so happy to see things work out between Cat and Marcus, a couple I’ve always felt were meant to be together. But why can’t I have that for myself?
“You look beautiful,” Cat says pointedly.
“Thanks, so do you.” She does, too, as always. “Are you sure this dress doesn’t make things obvious?”
“Not at all. You’re a beautiful woman at a fancy event. Why wouldn’t you look amazing?”
Cat insisted I needed to look and feel my best tonight, and I guess I agreed even though there’s literally zero point.
I’m in a dress we picked out just for the occasion. A mulberry-colored form-fitting gown with two-inch wide straps and a swooping back.
When we went shopping for it, Cat declared it made me look, “Sexy as fuck.”
That should have made me put the dress back.
But it didn’t.
The dress really isn’t helping me feel any better about things. Because this dress is not going to change the fact that my dating life is a disaster.
The last guy I went out with, someone I met on a dating app, spent most of the evening talking about his ex-wife. No, make that ranting. It didn’t start out that way, but eventually that’s what it turned into.
I don’t know her and I don’t know him, and I don’t know what actually happened between them. Maybe she’s as horrible as he said, but he didn’t come off looking too good either.
The whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth.
It’s been a week and I’m still miffed about the whole thing, because I haven’t exactly been handling the ups and downs of single life very well recently. I know exactly why, too.
“Have you seen him yet?” my sister asks.
Him.
Both the reason I’m here and the reason I don’t want to be anywhere near here.
I shake my head. “I haven’t really looked though.”
“Are you nervous?”
I take a deep, steadying breath. “Well… yes. But it’ll be fine, right? I mean, it’s been two and a half years since I’ve seen him. It’s been so long, it won’t be like before, right? It should be fine. Right?”
“Riiight,” Cat says slowly, giving me a knowing look. “Let’s get you a drink.”
We head to the bar where I get a glass of Chardonnay. Cat is trying to distract me with talk of work—she wants me to meet one of her interior design clients because he’s a potential collector for my gallery.
This strategy to divert my attention wasn’t a bad idea. I love my work. And tonight is definitely about work; I have no small list of people I need to connect with while I’m here.
But right now I can’t focus on any of that because the crowd is starting to quiet and everyone’s attention is being drawn toward the stage. My heartbeat starts to pick up. I know what’s coming.
I look toward the stage too, and immediately feel I’m hovering above the ground somehow. I grip the delicate sphere of my glass and watch as two men cross the temporary platform set up at the far side of the lawn.
One of them is our evening’s host, Mr. Rayce Rivers. In addition to being one of the owners of our local, world-renowned resort, he likes to spend exorbitant amounts of money on the arts in his spare time.
Which leads me to the man next to him. Luke Fraser.
As I take him in, my pulse stutters and my legs start to tingle. Luke isn’t in the typical suit, like every other man here. He’s in a black dress jacket with a dark maroon collar and maroon pocket square. It’s the kind of thing that’s typical in the New York art scene or maybe the red carpet in Hollywood, but not so much in this central Californian tourist town.
It makes him stand out. It says he’s something unique and worthy of notice, though I highly doubt he was purposely trying to make that sort of statement.
Next to him, Mr. Rivers is a commanding presence, as he always is. But Luke holds his own. Maybe I’m already prejudiced because I know him, but it seems to me that he exudes the aura of artistic genius.
His hair is the same dark brown, shorter on the sides and back, and longer on top. He has a short, neat beard, almost just scruff. He’s strikingly handsome, at least to me. Impossibly gorgeous. Though I’m hopelessly biased.
Hopeless period.
Cat’s arm comes around my waist. “See? You’re doing fine.”
I huff. What a crock. I’m not even trying to hide my reaction to him.
It’s no different from before, not at all. Because all I want to do is plop down on the grass, rest my chin in my hands, and stare at that man all day. All damned day.
Luke.
Here.
Back in our shared hometown and not where I last saw him in the dusty bowels of his mentor’s glass studio on the outskirts of Manhattan—where he’d gotten me my first post-college job.
I’d already been secretly in love with him for some time. It happened when I was a senior in high school and my new friend introduced me to her brother visiting from college. Even then, I thought Luke had both the plans and the talent to take on the whole damned world.
He is almost the entire reason I left New York, along with my own failed attempts to conquer the world. After my grandfather’s passing, I returned home to lick my wounds instead.
I’ve been hoping and praying that it’s been long enough that it wouldn’t be so bad to see him again—knowing all along that I was hoping in vain.
I know perfectly well that time makes no difference. Every time I’ve seen Luke, it’s been after a long period apart. It never seems to matter. My heart has been unrelenting in its desire for him.
No matter how off limits he is.
Mr. Rivers approaches the microphone and at his simple, “Good evening,” an attentive silence falls over the crowd.
I am not able to take my eyes off Luke, who has assumed a professional smile. He wears that humbly honored smile all through Mr. Rivers’ announcement, that a certain Luke Fraser has been awarded the commission for an art installation in the Swan Pointe Botanical Gardens.
Of course, I knew this. I’m the reason it happened.
Mr. Rivers, my gallery’s best client, asked me for a recommendation for this installation and I gave him Luke’s name. I almost didn’t. Because I knew it meant I’d be faced with this moment.
I even tried to think of other people I could recommend with a clear conscience: the glass artist in Michigan, the one in Texas, the one in British Columbia.
But in the end, there was only one person who fit the bill.
Now, faced with the consequences of that decision, I try to remind myself of all my valid reasons for giving Luke’s name. The sizeable finder’s fee. The fact that finding an undiscovered gem like Luke would mark an important step up for my gallery. The fact that Luke truly fit every criteria Mr. Rivers was looking for.
The fact that it would help Luke, too.
That was the factor that tipped the scales more than anything else, actually. How could I not want Luke to have such an amazing opportunity?
But now, watching the unobtainable love of my life with blissful anguish, the real reason becomes clear.
I just enjoy torturing myself.
My attention is starting to sharpen on something else, though. Even from this distance, I’m picking up on something underneath Luke’s professional countenance. He seems weighed down. There’s a somberness there that makes me want to go to him and find out what’s wrong.
“Breathe,” Cat whispers.
I inhale, realizing I’ve been holding my breath. “God,” I whisper, “why is this so hard?”
“You’re okay,” she says reassuringly. “It’s only one night.”
“There will be another reception for the installation.”
“Okay, two nights. But that one won’t be for a while.”
“I haven’t even talked to him yet. I still have to go talk to him.”
She nudges my hand. “Take a drink.”
I take a hearty swallow, then nearly choke on it when Mr. Rivers says this: “Mr. Fraser has also been granted a six-week residency here in Swan Pointe.”
“Wait, what did he say?” I spin on Cat, but she’s exchanging a panicked look with Marcus. “He’s building it here?” I ask. “Why is he building it here?”
“I don’t—”
“I can’t do six weeks of this.”
“Yes, you can. You’re just…” Her eyes go back and forth between mine as she tries to come up with something comforting. “It’s just hard right now because it’s been so long and you’re not used to seeing him. But you used to see him every day and you survived that.”
“Barely.”
“Now, now,” Cat says, rubbing a soothing hand down my arm. “It won’t be like before. You won’t have to see him all the time. And when he’s done, he’ll go home.”
Applause erupts around us. The announcement must be over, but I don’t look away from Cat’s face. “They’ll go home.”
She gives me an understanding look as I remind myself, for the millionth time, about the reality of this situation. She nods sympathetically. “That’s right.”
My eyes go back to the general direction of the stage; Luke and Mr. Rivers are descending the steps and some people are already moving forward to meet the artist. But I’m scanning the area for someone else.
Luke’s wife.
His elegant, beautiful, high-class wife. The niece of his beloved mentor. The bane of my existence.
The reason why Luke and I will never, ever happen.
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