Page 118 of Isabela

“Lara Graff, as I live and breathe,” Mr. Hale says almost reverently. The way he says my pen name makes my lips part in surprise.

I’m always so surprised when anyone knows it. Being an author is weird, you hope you’ll be recognized, but when you finally are it’s almost a shock. “I love your books, and Tracy’s read them all.”

Tracy’s cheeks heat as she turns to me. “You’re Lara Graff?!” she squeals. “Oh my God, you’re amazing. I saw you left your publisher. What happened?”

I don’t even mind the question, so I shrug. “They wanted me to write the book I’m writing in a different direction, and I’d finally had enough. My muse has been pissed off the entire time I’ve been with them,” I explain, realizing it’s true. “Writing felt like a chore, because I was always worried it would be the wrong direction.”

“The only direction in writing is your own,” Mr. Hale says with a shrug. “We give our authors full creative license. I’m here to bring your books to life, with the most gorgeous bound books I can create.”

I am seriously falling in love with this place by the second.

“I wasn’t planning on offering you a place here, because I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but what do you think about Lafferty Publishing House?” he asks.

“I think this place is amazing,” I say honestly. “I’m really impressed with it.”

Mr. Hale tells me about his successes with other authors, how he helps with marketing and advertising, etc.

“I am also an artist, and occasionally I enjoy drawing or painting my characters,” I tell him. “My previous publishing company wouldn’t allow me to sell them, even though my readers wanted to buy the prints. So instead, I had to give them away.”

“That won’t happen here,” he grunts. “We can post them to your website or through our site, and maybe create special edition book boxes as well.”

Grinning, I glance at my husband, squealing as I give him a hug. “I know, I’m a shit,” Gael says with a chuckle. “I only told him who my wife was. Your reputation precedes you, baby.”

Just like that, my husband gives me the validation I crave, and when Mr. Hale offers me a place at the publishing house, I accept. I’ve felt none of the anxiety here that I often have when making big decisions, which tells me that I’ve made the correct choice.

ISABELA

One year later

Aria and Gael have been out all day running errands. I have the stomach flu, so I begged to stay home. At least, I think that’s what this is, because I’ve been hugging the toilet for a couple of days.

Gael wanted to take me to the doctor, but I told him that he could tomorrow if I was still sick. I hate the doctor, and I want to avoid it if I can.

Rolling my eyes at my aversion to doctors, I brush my teeth again, for what feels like the millionth time today. Maybe I should just start swishing mouthwash and call it a day, but that feels gross.

My teeth feel cleaner when I brush them instead, even though doing it so many times a day feels excessive.

“Isa? Where are you?” Aria calls out from the front door. Blowing out a breath, I rub my stomach as I walk toward her. I’m wearing a bralette, panties, with a black, hooded, over the shoulder sweatshirt on top. I just want to be comfortable.

I may be a little whiny too, but I’m really trying not to be.

“Coming,” I tell her as I walk down the hallway. I love our home, and Aria and I started gardening recently, so everything is blooming right now.

“There’s my girl,” she says with a smile, opening her arms to hug me. “Let’s get a little fresh air, shall we? Gael is getting you wonton soup from our favorite restaurant. We’re both worried about you.”

“This sucks,” I pout, as we cross the house to walk into the backyard. “My stomach isn’t as bad after this last time, though.”

The sun is starting to set, the sky a kaleidoscope of colors as we snuggle on the swing. My head is in her lap as I curl up like a cat to watch the beauty around us. Due to my stomach, Aria makes sure to keep it still, pushing my wet hair away from my forehead. I have taken two showers today, the last one fairly recent, the warm water was soothing.

“I can’t figure out why you’re so sick,” Aria murmurs. My eyes slowly close, her fingers moving gently over my scalp. “It can’t be food poisoning, or we’d all be sick.”

“I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “I’m hoping I’m at the end of all of this.”

Her fingers still as she thinks before beginning again. “Honey, when was your last period? I’m not saying you could be pregnant, but it’s possible…”

Blinking, I slowly sit up as I realize that I’ve definitely missed a period. Maybe two? I’ve been so busy lately, I figured it was the stress. Also, Aria hasn’t had a period in at least two months, either, so it wasn’t on my radar.

“When was the last time you had one?” I ask her pointedly, biting my lip. “I don’t think I paid attention, since you weren’t getting one either, so out of sight out of mind.”

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