I once thought the reality couldn't be as fascinating as the fantasy, but I was wrong. So very wrong. It might be the case for other people, but they don't know Ignazio Vitale. They haven't met him. They haven't seen what I see in his eyes.
He's my other half.
Maybe the stories got it wrong, I think.
Maybe Cinderella didn't live happily ever after.
Maybe, come midnight, she wanted to run away.
Maybe her prince wouldn't let her.
Mine didn't.
Vitale.
No sooner I figure out what he's writing along my back, his hand leaves my flesh, the bed shifting as he rolls over, finally turning away from me. I breathe a deep sigh of relief, but it doesn't last long.
The moment he pulls away, I start to miss his touch.
For as much as I hate him, I also love him.
I love him.
I love him.
And I fucking hate that, too.
He's a monster, wrapped up in a pretty package.
But I find myself wondering at times like this, when I feel the distance between us, if maybe in his eyes, the real monster is me.
Acknowledgments
To Sarah Anderson, the only person who knew I was writing this book as it was happening. You endured my rants and supported the story since day one, somehow managing to not strangle me when I flounced the manuscript for like two weeks, declaring I was never looking at the damn thing again. You have the patience of a saint.
To my family, for their endless support and acceptance that some days, when the characters were talking, the dishes just weren't going to be done (or the laundry … or the cooking … or really anything). To my spawn, for occasionally surviving off of nothing but pizza for the same reason as above. I owe you a nice dinner (that someone else cooks). To my brother, the first person I ever signed a book for, and to his wife and kids … I couldn't ask for a better support system with you guys. My entire family rocks. Love you all.
To my mother, who would've probably read this book and then gave me "the look" that mothers give their children. I miss you. And to my father … if you read this book, let's never talk about it, okay?
To my best friend, Nicki Bullard, who keeps me sane through the insanity. I honestly couldn't ask for a better friend. You're the best "assistant" around. Here's to many more road trips and book signings and crazy memories in the future. Love you to pieces, bitch.
I want to give a special thank you the bloggers out there, who dedicate so much time to books out of love for reading. You all are phenomenal, and I wish I could name you all, but trust me when I say authors appreciate you more than you'll ever know.
(Special shout out to my wonderful street team, and to Heather Maven, for working tirelessly for the books she loves. Much love also goes to Author 101 on Facebook … you ladies are wonderful.)