A breathtaking debut novel of love lost and found again that culminates in a stunning and unforgettable end.
From Morocco to Paris, Sera has traveled the world over but she never forgot Rosethorn, the beautiful, abandoned mansion where she and Andrew used to meet for trysts. Until the day Sera found her mother's diary. Her obsession with the shocking secrets it contained tore them apart and sent Sera fleeing to New York with a devastated heart.
10 years later, Sera revisits Rosethorn, only to run into Andrew, all grown up and handsomer than ever. Politeness gives way to a heated confrontation over their painful past. Yet unable to resist each other's lure, both surrender to the undying power of first love.
Fate has brought them together once again, but will an old tragedy destroy Sera and Andrew's second chance - forever?
Approx. 320 pages/101,000 words
She said nothing as Andrew walked towards her, unhurried, gleaming with sweat, disheveled and unreal. She saw at once that he had grown taller, if that was possible, and wondered if there existed in the world a pair of shoes with heels high enough so that she could one day be eye level with him.
It seemed an eternity that he walked toward her, silent as she was silent, with that steady gaze, head tilted slightly so that she saw the full measure of his deep blue eyes.
With all her power she tried to summon just an ounce of the cool and imperious demeanor she had perfected in college, fueling her courage with how she must appear to him, in her black dress and high heels, her sunglasses and hair upswept in an elegant chignon. She liked to think that her worldliness would have made her unrecognizable to anyone who knew her back in the day.
That Andrew had seen through it all was a fluke. In a moment she’ll realize how boorish he’s become, perhaps how boorish he had always been, and she will finally be rid of the past.
As he came closer to where she was still standing, unmoving, Sera noticed without wanting to that Andrew had finally grown into his body. He was lean and muscled, his bare chest reddened by the sun. The way he moved showed no trace of the gangly boy he had been. No longer self-conscious of his height, he strode with an economy of grace. He wore old blue jeans with dried paint splatters and a tool belt slung low on his hips, his long torso rising above it, reminding her of Bernini’s David released. A marble statue come to life.
She saw all this in a moment for suddenly he was standing two feet in front of her. It was hard for her to breathe.