Page 137 of Ward Willing
“It certainly does,” I respond, closing my eyes so I don’t vomit all over his car.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
THE SIGN
Zoe
One Month Later
“When all is said and done, I think this is one of the best debut fantasy romances I’ve ever read,” Cheryl finishes, setting my printed manuscript down.
My hands are shaking when they come to my face, and I resist the urge to kick my legs and scream with joy.
“Really? Because I know we talked about that bit at the end, with Ethan and the demon. Do you think the readers are going to hate me for making it a cliffhanger?”
Cheryl, a British literary agent who is my mentor at the workshop today, leans forward. “Readers say they don’t like cliffhangers, but their actions say otherwise. Besides, I’ve not seen a twist quite like this before. I mean, we have sweet Ethan, who becomespossessedby the demon, and Lily’s internal conflict when they kiss…” She kisses her fingers. “It’s literary butter.”
I laugh as my heart swoops with excitement. “Thank you for all of your help. This workshop has been life changing.”
Cheryl stands up and brushes her hands off. “I truly hope to see your book on the shelves of my local bookstore in the future, Ms. Arma. You have a real knack for words. Have a safe journey home, okay?”
I nod, and once she leaves our workshop room, I let out an excited whoop that almost sounds like a sob. While I’d finished my book last month, I spent my days in London self-editing and making the words pop. I took a red pen to my book, and between my fellow writers and the amazing line up of mentors they had for us every few days—including award-winning authors, agents, and editors—I feelreallygood aboutBetween All Realms.
In fact, I would be going home with a list of agents to query, as well as resources for starting up my social media accounts, learning how to market my book to boost sales, and recommendations for how to write a three-book series.
I’m still grinning as I walk up the old stairs to my bedroom.
London was everything I’d dreamed of and more. The workshop was located in an old townhouse across the street from Hyde Park, and I had a perfect view of the Christmas decorations, the old lanterns, and the black taxis. When it snowed the first week I was here, I spent an entire afternoon making a snowman with a few other people in the workshop, and I had my first true white Christmas and New Year’s. Apparently it was rare for this time of year in England. My bedroom overlooked the lake, and it was absolutely stunning—the perfect spot to hone my craft and focus on my book.
Most of my days were spent waking up early and going down to the frosty kitchen to make a piece of toast and a cup of tea.
While in England, after all.
Most days, I finished working around one and then spent a couple of hours workshopping what I’d written with the mentor assigned to me for the day. After that, I had about an hour before the sun set, and Stella had given me a list of must-see things to do in London, and I took advantage, checking every single thing off her list.
I made sure to send her lots of pictures, because I knew she missed her home country.
I went to Harrods, visited all the museums, and rode the Tube. I took a freezing cold river tour along the Thames, stared at more art of old white men than I thought possible, and ate the best Indian curry of my life on Brick Lane. Doing all of it without my phone was a task, especially since I’d grown up with access to the internet at my fingertips. But somehow, I managed.
And I missed Liam.A lot.
Mostly at night, when I was cuddled up under the duvet, shivering and wondering why English people relied on a piece of metal on the wall to heat a room.
But also when I used his pen that I’d stolen—which was every day. It was silly, and insignificant, but it felt like I had a small piece of him with me.
In those moments, I would think of how his hands felt on my skin—the rough pads of his fingers caressing the delicate areas of my body.
I would think of his Dominant voice, getting myself off every night when I thought of how good he was with his fingers. Mine aren’t nearly as long as his, so it always left me feeling wholly unsatisfied, and after I came, I would getsad,because there was a chance we could never be together like that again.
But it’s not only the physical parts of him that I missed during my month away.
I would think about his soothing voice, the warmth of my cheek against his beating heart, and how cozy it felt to hug him. I would think about how he always ensured I was fed and hydrated, how he couldn’t help but love when I pushed him to do something he was scared of.
Like being vulnerable with me.
I’m still mad that he chose to walk away, sure, but the experience in London has dulled my anger. Now, I’m just…hurt.
Because if he doesn’t want to be with me when I get back…
