Page 1 of Taming Georgia

PROLOGUE

“True love is a concept only valid in storybooks. A boy will never save me. Only I can do that.”

—Georgia Wright

I’ve never believed in fairy tales. I’m not waiting for a prince to come sweep me off my feet. Sometimes, I wonder if true love—the kind that lasts a lifetime—is even real. Is it possible to love someone so much that their mere existence is enough to fill one’s soul until their lungs take their last breath? When my heart ceases to beat, will its last fatigued movement be bursting with unyielding adoration for the love of my life? Or will it just stop because it’s tired?

Happily ever after is a big commitment.Ever after—that’s like always. It’s huge. But is it attainable?

Most days, I think not.

And it’s not because I haven’t had a good example. My parents claim to have that kind of love. My mom is always boasting about being one of the lucky ones to have found her soul mate. There’s a part of me that’s not certain if she even knows what true love means. I know that they love each other, sure. Yet, sometimes, I wonder if it’s more accurate to say that theyneedeach other.

My mom worships my dad. She’s his cheerleader, his stunning partner, always ready to look good on his arm. She’s there to encourage him and tell him how great he really is. He eats it up, too. I’m not saying that my dad isn’t great because he is. He works hard and has made a lot of money in the business world doing so. He deserves someone to love him the way my mom does.

In turn, he makes my mom feel beautiful, needed, special. As a handsome, wealthy man, he could’ve chosen anyone, but he wanted her. He decided that she was the woman who was worthy to be by his side, to raise his kids, to spend his money.

If his job, title, and money went away tomorrow, would their love remain as strong? I can’t say for sure, and that’s why I question it all. True love isn’t fostered by circumstance; it’s steadfast—impenetrable through any storm that life throws its way. It’s two people who love each other so deeply that the entire world could fade away, and as long as they had each other, they’d be okay. That’s a tall order to fill.

Even though it goes against my beliefs, sitting here now on this hard stool, I want to be proven wrong.

It’s insane that one boy can make me want to throw all of my principles out the window.

But he does.

My fingers tap the cool tabletop as my gaze darts toward the door while I wait for him. In my mind, I know that I’m too young to understand what true love feels like. The rational part of my seventeen-year-old brain knows this is just hormones. But the small sliver of my conscience that dares to listen to the tales of Cinderella and Snow White wants him to be my Prince Charming.

I’ve only been in contact with him in this classroom, and yet he holds a permanent residence in my nightly dreams.

I want him to be the one who would search the world until he found me to return my shoe. I want his love for me to be so incredibly powerful that with one kiss, he could wake me from the deepest sleep. I wish it so entirely, though I know it could never be.

Fairy tales aren’t real.

Our eyes meet, and I take a sharp breath, quickly pulling air into my lungs before holding it in. He shoots me his signature grin. Lips full, smile wide—the joy that radiates from his face causes me to feel sick with happiness.

Wyatt Gates strolls across the room toward me. His hair is a deep brown and short with a few random chunks styled up, framing his face. The contrast of his dark hair and bright blue eyes is a combination that drives me insane. Though it’s now November, he still holds on to his summer tan, making his eyes shine brighter.

At this moment, my heart breaks at the sight of him, as it does every day. How can someone so perfect exist if not for me? The thought is selfish, I know. But I don’t care. Wyatt makes me want to believe in true love.

Surely, attraction has something to do with my obsession with this boy. Would my heart pound such erratic beats if he wasn’t as beautiful as he was?

Maybe.

“Hey, Peaches,” he says, taking a seat on the stool beside me.

I’m going to faint.

“Are you all right?” he asks when I don’t respond.

Breathe, Georgia.

I take a breath. “Yeah. I’m fine. How are you?”

“Good. Did you finish the worksheet?”

“Yeah. Did you?” I grin, lifting an eyebrow.

“Not all of it.” His lips purse into a slight pout.

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