Anyway for those of you who are hopping over to my site for the first time via this little fun fest, my name is Miss Rosemary and I am an aspiring novelist/college/student/summer intern who is going to be late for work if she doesn’t get off this blog. For a more detailed About Me you can click HERE or check out my Who Am I? page at the top of my site (both links will take you to the same page I just figured I’d give you options).
And for my piece, my regular readers are in for a rare treat. I am going to post a (totally unedited and I don’t have time so bear with me if there are spelling errors and too many telling sentences) section from my novel Damn Brits. I know right? Two excerpts with in a week? Miss Rosemary, have you been taking drugs??? This is not like you.
Well, I’m just trying to be social. Enjoy!
Sample Part of Chapter Nineteen
Ass. Ass, ass, ass. Julian plus Dawson equals ass.
Even a week after he’d marooned her, heartbroken, in front of her hotel (even Doris had noticed something was troubling her) Rosella had still not recovered from The Spurn. Damn him. Damn that man. The audacity of it! To drop her cold turkey on the street right after she’s declared she cared for him. She’d hadn’t confessed undying love for crying out loud, she’d just said she’d cared about him. Friends cared about friends. Although she was not interested in him for friendly purposes.
Irrelevant. She had said nothing to scare him, therefore according to all the rules of logic, he should not have spooked. And even if she had filled his head with terrifying thoughts of her becoming and obsessed, clingy, stupid, lovesick woman (which she was not!) he could have at least had the decency to let her down lightly and said a proper goodbye.
He hadn’t even given her a proper explanation. Just bluntly told her they’d never work because of his past so stop caring … what the hell was that crap? So what if his past haunted him and prison might loom ominously ahead? Did it ever occur to him that she might be willing to take the risk? She knew there was a possibility of losing him and getting hurt if they decided to walk that path. She was no dunce, she understood. But she was also no coward. She hailed from the Bronx; you can’t be a coward and live in the Bronx! Sometimes taking a risk led to the best outcomes. She wanted to risk it with him.
But had he even paused to consider what she thought of the situation or taken her emotions and opinions into account? No. Like a typical man, he had brushed aside her thoughts on the matter, had not even bothered to discover what they were, and overruled them with his own. What was he a caveman? Strong man protect weak woman, she not know what good for her.
She looked at her computer screen and blinked in astonishment. She’d filled an entire page, single-spaced, with a rant against Julian. Hmm. It wasn’t half bad. It had the potential to develop into a feminist story. All it needed was a few touch ups here and there …
“Rosella! You’re not going to believe who’s here!”
Rosella looked up, brushing her hair out of her face as Erika bounced in, her cheeks red and eyes bright.
“Dominic,” Rosella guessed.
“No, but close.” Erika leaned her hip against Rosella’s desk and shot her a delightfully scandalized look. Oh, this was good. Did Erika have a man on the side who had dropped by when he knew Dom wouldn’t be around? Or the notorious brother Rosella had met the other day who expressed an interest in “auburn-haired beauties”? Either would be extremely exciting.
“I must admit, I had taken a disliking to him from the first because of how positively rude he was to you …”
No. Not possible. It couldn’t be. He wanted nothing more to do with her.
“ … but I do believe he has successfully changed my mind. I mean, with a winning smile such as his combined with him showing up here with a dozen roses …”
Really? A dozen? Irrelevant! The would be a dozen roses to decorate her trash receptacle.
“ … which are wrapped in paper printed with Shakespeare’s sonnets …”
Shakespeare? How had he known she loved Shakespeare? Had she told him? No. The only time they’d spoken of the Bard was that time in the library when they’d used Hamlet to goad each other. They’d never discussed her love of the sonnets. Irrelevant!
“ … how could I not be persuaded to like him? Felon or no, the man is disarming.”
“He’s also an ass.”
“Yes, but perhaps in this particular case, that unfortunate fact could be overlooked.”
“Erika, The Convict is Julian.”
Erika’s face remained expressionless, though Rosella knew her mind reeled. She had previously neglected to divulge to Erika the fact that her mysterious Julian and “The Convict” were one in the same for fear of a lecture on “getting involved with criminals.” Now, however, the truth seemed unavoidable.
“Sexy Julian who abandoned you on the street?”
“Is the same man who demanded you remove your top?”
“Would you like me to slap him again?”
Rosella smiled, recollecting that crucial turning point when Erika had come to her defense, sealing their friendship for good.
“No thanks, hon. I’d like the pleasure of it this time.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, Rosella.”
Julian’s deep voice sliced through the air, causing both women to jump. He stood casually leaning against the door frame, wearing dark jeans, a navy t-shirt, and a leather jacket with the most beautiful bouquet of roses clutched in his hand. A vibrant mixture of red, yellow, and white, a delicate ring of baby’s breath circled them. Paper resembling parchment with elegant, swooping handwriting adorning it encased them all. Don’t melt, Rosella told herself. Don’t soften. Ass, remember? Ass!
“Listen, I know I acted like an ass,” he began.
“You can say that again.” Damn it! Why did he have to use the same terminology she’d attached to him? That made it like they were thinking the same thoughts. “Stop caring? And then just walking away? Honestly, Julian, that goes beyond assdom.”
“I know, but -”
“I can’t just turn feelings on an off like a lightswitch. Maybe you can, but I can’t. God help me, I can’t stop … caring,” she finished lamely.
Were those tears welling in her eyes? Please, not tears! And where had that miniature rant come from? It was supposed to stay safely locked in her head, not burst forth like a dam overflowing. She had her pride after all. She’d wanted to make him believe what he’d done had angered her, not wounded her.
“Erika, may I speak to Rosella alone?” Julian turned to Erika and flashed her a dazzling smile. “Please? I need to apologize.”
Erika sniffed and flounced out with her nose in the air muttering something about “the unfairness of all the bad ones being the only good looking ones.” When she had gone, Julian shut the door and approached Rosella’s desk. She straightened her spine and plastered a haughty look on her face. He would not break her down!
He shut her laptop, eliminating the barrier between them, and laid the roses on top of it. This close, she could read the particular sonnet. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s say? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate …” Do not get sentimental, Rosella. He did not know that was your favorite sonnet. Lucky guess. It’s everyone’s favorite sonnet. Be haughty. Not weepy. Besides it’s corny. Corny!
“I was wrong. I can’t stop caring either. I don’t have the strength to keep away from you. So I’m going to quit distancing myself.”
“Pretty words will not endear you to me, despite what you may think. And I for one am – I’m sorry, what did you say?”
She’d heard him incorrectly. That had to be it. A man, no matter how chivalrous, would never admit he was wrong so quickly.
“I was wrong to push you away. I mistakenly thought severing all ties with you would keep you safe from my past and get you out of my mind. The truth is, you’re on my mind so often I can barely see straight, and being without you turned out to be just as torturous as being in prison. Any time I find something disappointing from all my snooping around, I want to immediately tell you so you can encourage me to keep going. When something good happens, I want to tell you so you can celebrate with me.”
He paused to take a breath and propped both his fists on her desk, leaning in only a few inches from her face. He pulse quickened. “I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but I’m asking you to give me a second chance. Well, we’re actually on my third chance, now aren’t we?” His voice dropped to a husky whisper.
His quiet plea did her in. Matching the desperation in his eyes so perfectly, it washed away all thoughts of adopting haughty airs. After all, he hadn’t really done anything too terrible if she looked at it through rational eyes. He’d been rude, undoubtedly, but not unbearably so. It had only sprung from his concern for her safely, hadn’t it? What was so wrong with a man being concerned for her?
Besides, he probably hadn’t expected a relationship with anyone after his prison stay; their growing attraction had most likely really freaked him out. Hearing her confess her affection surely only confused her more.
How could she gaze into those pleading, intense eyes and not forgive him? She didn’t want to be the cause of anymore if his suffering. If she could alleviate some of it, she would.
“I’m sorry, Rosella.”
“It’s all right. Just don’t do that again.”
He grinned, relief dispelling the anxiety from his creased brow. “Excellent. Then we can get going.”
“Get going? To where?”
“Don’t you know a surprise when it’s staring you in the face?”
“I’m working, I can’t just leave.”
“You’re the co-editor-in-chief. Take the rest of the day off. It’s Friday anyway.”
“Come on, you’ll love it.”
“If you don’t hurry we’re going to be late.”
Feigning exasperation, she got to her feet. Inside, her excitement bubbled like water near the boiling point. What did he have in store? Better hurry.