You know that pivotal moment in every love story, when the hero or heroine makes an imperative move that leaves the other with a life-altering choice? Whether it be a pronouncement of love (I’ve been in love with you my entire life, and I don’t care that you’re my stepbrother) or a salacious secret (I’m pregnant and the baby isn’t yours) or a shocking decision (I’ve decided to embrace what I am… I’m transitioning into a unicorn, and I’m pregnant by my stepbrother), we can always count on this familiar occurrence.
I’ve always deemed them cliché yet necessary in the romance genre. A good plot twist is as vital to a story as its characters. Without it, the hero and heroine would have no reason to change, to evolve. They’d have no reason to step out on faith and madness and take hold of their destiny. Take hold of their story.
I once lived for the perfect plot twist.
I just never expected to actually live it.
I look down at my boarding pass for the eightieth time in the last fifteen minutes. Gate 3B, Seat 2A. GEG to LAX. Final boarding in…now.
Sixteen hours ago, I succumbed to the insanity of feeling, and made my crucial confession. I began that almighty trek up a story’s climactic mountain. And every hour, every minute, since, I’ve waited for her to make her choice.
To make me her choice.
The attendant glares at me from over her intercom receiver and announces that the gate for flight D5611 will be closing in sixty seconds. She’s saying it for only me, because I’m the only one here. Waiting. Crumbling.
I take one last look down the corridor that leads to security. I just knew that she’d show up, racing through the airport, screaming for someone to stop the plane. That was how I’d imagined my story…our story. The greatest cliché of all, and I still couldn’t breathe it into fruition. I still couldn’t get her to read between the lines scrawled on my heart.
I guess the most epic romances are still tucked away within the pages of her favorite novels, safely swathed in inked lies and faded paper promises. Forever fictional. Just like love.
Are you ready to meet Rhys & Fi in this romantic stand alone
releasing February 9th!
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**Additional retailers coming soon**
No. Scratch that. Too cheesy.
…two people, torn apart by the tumultuous tides of life, only to discover refuge in…
WTF? What does that even mean? DELETE.
…two people, confused as shit as to where they should be and who they should love and none of this means a damn thing because it’s all lies!
Lies.
I’m not Hope Hughes. I’m not some fierce woman romance machine. Hell, I’m not even a woman.
I’m a liar.
And while I refuse to believe my own BS, deceit masked in heartfelt phrases of love and devotion, I want to make her believe them. Because maybe—just maybe—if she can find the soul within my words, she’ll also be able to find the truth scribbled on my heart.
You see, I once lived for the perfect plot twist.
I just never expected to actually live it.
This is my story. Well, maybe her story. I just wish I could make it our story.
The one I’m still writing.
S.L. Jennings is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and paranormal romance, reality TV junkie, obsessive coffee drinker and collector of crazy.
…two people, torn apart by the tumultuous tides of life, only to discover refuge in…
WTF? What does that even mean? DELETE.
…two people, confused as shit as to where they should be and who they should love and none of this means a damn thing because it’s all lies!
Lies.
I’m not Hope Hughes. I’m not some fierce woman romance machine. Hell, I’m not even a woman.
I’m a liar.
And while I refuse to believe my own BS, deceit masked in heartfelt phrases of love and devotion, I want to make her believe them. Because maybe—just maybe—if she can find the soul within my words, she’ll also be able to find the truth scribbled on my heart.
You see, I once lived for the perfect plot twist.
I just never expected to actually live it.
This is my story. Well, maybe her story. I just wish I could make it our story.
The one I’m still writing.
