C11, PT. 4

Even as that warmed her from the inside out, she had the dangerous urge to blurt out the terms of their marriage of convenience and the fact that her father blackmailed him. But Sarai already knew too much about the inner workings of their relationship. She wasn’t sure how much of her real life would end up in book five, but she could always chalk up certain plot points as fiction. Sarai would be none the wiser as long as she kept the details of their personal agreement to herself.

Although comforted by the fact that Sarai hadn’t seen Roth with a woman, she refused to believe he had gone years without sex. He had the strongest sex drive of any man she’d ever met. He was a borderline addict. Maybe he’d been extra discreet? The fact that Sarai speculated he was asexual was nuts. As she felt her mind beginning to spiral, she distracted herself with, “Do you attend most of his meetings?”

“Not all, but most.”

“Does he do anything illegal?”

Sarai’s open expression didn’t alter as she said, “I think that’s something you should discuss with him.”

She expected a diplomatic, evasive answer and wasn’t disappointed. “I see.”

Sarai squeezed her hand. “Regardless of what comes, he’ll take care of you. Just trust him.” As Sarai’s phone trilled, she pulled it out of her pocket and downed the last of her drink. “I have to head back.”

“You want a ride?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

They returned their plates and dumped their trash. Impulsively, she swung by the counter. When Sarai eyed her bag with raised brows, she shook it.

“Warm cookies for Roth.”

Sarai grinned and linked arms with her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him eat a cookie.”

She hadn’t either, but, “How could he resist these?”

Sarai playfully bumped her with her hip. “If you give them to him, I’m sure he’ll eat it. You should come by and say hi. And, by the way, you still haven’t told me which designer you want to hire for your office.”

“No,” she said as they left the warm, dimly lit coffee shop for the noisy, freezing outdoors.

“No, what? You didn’t like any of their portfolios?”

“I don’t need an interior designer. I’m just going to order a desk and chair. That’s all I need.”

“Roth wants you to have an office.”

“Roth doesn’t always get what he wants,” she said, raising her voice as Sarai rounded the car to get in on the opposite side of the Bentley.

“Do you not know your husband?” Sarai asked as she strapped herself in.

“He can’t force me to get an office designed.”

Sarai gave her a long look before she shook her head and pulled out her phone. “You make a fuss about the strangest things.”

She glared at the front seats, where either Mo or Johan snickered. “Really, guys?”

“Your post is trending,” Sarai announced.

“What post?” she asked before she remembered her book recommendation for Ballad of Deception. “Trending in a good or bad way?”

“Good.”

She pulled out her phone to see for herself and was shocked at how many comments there were. As expected, there were more than a few who ignored the point of her post and were demanding a release date for her next book. There were also quite a few haters. Those, she blocked without hesitation. People were entitled to their opinion of her and her work and were free to leave a review or discuss her to death in groups or message boards. But she drew the line at someone spewing insulting comments in her group to cause discourse or because they wanted attention.

She replied to comments and was thrilled to see many of her readers had already read Ballad of Deception. There were quite a few interesting theories about the direction of the second book.

“Did you hear about this?” she asked Sarai, who didn’t look up from her phone screen.

“Of course. I’m in every discussion forum there is.”

“How the hell do you have the time when Roth has you working fourteen-hour days?”

“It’s down to almost twelve with actual days off, thanks to you.” Sarai reached over the console to pat her shoulder. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to us.”

“I agree,” Johan said from the passenger seat.

For the second time in an hour, she blushed. The same sense of belonging she felt when she was with Johnny and Aleixo engulfed her. These people accepted her as she was and saw her as a person, not just a client. Her father’s security treated her like a parcel they wanted to deliver and be rid of as quickly as possible. None of them tried to get to know her. Mo and Johan filled the role of concerned uncles, even though they couldn’t be much older than Roth. She didn’t feel stifled by them at all, even though they shadowed her every step when she wasn’t locked up in one of Roth’s residences. The urge to lean forward and wrap her arms around Johan was strong, but she resisted. She would enjoy their companionship while it lasted. Hopefully, after the year was up, they would remain friends… When her spirits dipped, she tried to shake away the looming melancholy that threatened and switched to another social media platform. She scanned her notifications before releasing a scream.

The car swerved as Mo looked around for the threat. Johan wheeled around with a gun in his hand.

“What is it?” Mo rapped out.

“Johanna Ledger responded to my message,” she breathed.

“What?” Sarai shrieked, making both men clap a hand over their ears. She undid her seatbelt and propped herself on the console so she could see Jasmine’s screen.

Thank you, Thalia, for recommending my book to your audience and for your sweet message. I’ve been watching your come up since you published your first book, Breaking Tradition. I can’t remember how many times I’ve been told to read it. Maybe before I start the sequel to BoD, I’ll pick it up. Thank you for your support, and if anything can be done about the censorship of BoD on certain retailers, I’ll let you know. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you as well. Nice to finally connect with you. — JL

She stared uncomprehending at the message as Sarai gave her a little shake. “She knows who I am?”

“Of course she does! You’re famous!”

Johan, who was still turned in his seat with his pistol in hand, abruptly faced forward and muttered, “She’s crying.”

“I’m not,” she said as she swiped at a tear. “Oh my God, I’m going to freak out.”

“You want to tell us what’s going on?” Mo asked.

“The author of the best book I’ve ever read just messaged me.”

Sarai plopped back in her seat. “This is turning out to be a wonderful day. Gah, I wish I could tell the discussion boards what just happened. Two of the greatest authors in the game finally collided. If you two collaborate on something, I might die.”

Her freaking idol just said her name. Well, her pen name, but a part of her still thought Thalia was the best version of herself—self-assured, positive, steadfast, kind, forgiving. In real life, she overanalyzed, wavered too much, and doubted herself more than she cared to admit. She wanted to believe in the good in others and herself. Roth following through on his promise to change helped her loosen up enough to start dreaming again.

She re-read Johanna’s message again and felt like her heart might burst. It was one thing to be acknowledged by readers and quite another to be recognized by another author, especially one of Johanna’s caliber. Till this day, she hadn’t met another writer in real life. She chatted casually with authors in her genre on social media, but hadn’t developed any friendships because she didn’t attend conferences that would take her beyond a name on a cover to a real human being. She declined invitations to book conferences because she couldn’t chance her pen name being connected to her family. She hadn’t regretted that decision until now. She wished she could do more than make polite chit-chat with her favorite author. She wanted to ask Johanna about her inspiration, writing, and advice for longevity in this industry.

“We’re here.”

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Confessions. Please do not share or distribute.

Copyright © 2024 Mia Knight. All Rights Reserved.