“Not a soul in sight,” I say.
I carry her to the shore and underneath the trees. We’re close enough to still hear the baby monitor if Hazel wakes up.
I arrange the beach towels, marveling at how lucky I am to have her, to hold my darling under the sun as it dapples the palm fronds above.
“I love you,” I say, my voice barely audible over the lapping of the waves.
“Same,” she breathes as we surrender to the moment, to the passion that still burns between us like a wildfire.
The world fades as we make love, as I experience the life I was always meant to have.
The end
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear reader, Called “one of the best romances of 2020” by Southern Living, Dear Ava is one of those powerful books that sticks with you and doesn’t let go. I’m happy to share a small excerpt with you after My Darling Bride. Please see my website for a list of content warnings.
With over eighteen thousand reviews, it has a rating of 4.5 on Amazon. If you enjoy enemies-to-lovers, he falls first, zany friends, and a strong female heroine, this might be your next read.
Best,
Ilsa Madden-Mills
WSJ BESTSELLING AUTHOR ILSA MADDEN-MILLS DELIVERS A GRIPPING, ENEMIES-TO-LOVERS, SECRET-ADMIRER ROMANCE
The rich and popular Sharks rule at prestigious, ivy-covered Camden Prep. Once upon a time, I wanted to be part of their world—until they destroyed me.
The last thing I expected was an anonymous love letter from one of them.
Please. I hate every one of those rich jerks for what they did to me.
The question is, which Shark is my secret admirer?
Knox, the scarred quarterback. Dane, his twin brother. Or Chance, the ex who dumped me . . .
Dear Ava, Your eyes are the color of the Caribbean Sea. Wait. That’s stupid.
What I really mean is, you look at me and I feel something REAL.
It’s been ten months since you were here, but I can’t forget you.
I’ve missed seeing you walk down the hall.
I’ve missed you cheering at my football games.
I’ve missed the smell of your hair.
And then everything fell apart the night of the kegger.
Don’t hate me because I’m a Shark.
I just want to make you mine.
Still.
“A gut punch right in the feels. These characters wreck you. It’s a deep storyline, with such tender, beautiful, unbelievably perfect romance. Gah. I. Am. Wowed. Five stars!”
—Angie’s Dreamy Reads
DEAR AVA
EXCERPT
Ilsa Madden-Mills
Copyright © 2020
The sun beats down on me as I get out of my older-model Jeep Wrangler, Louise, and give her a little pat. There’s a dent on the driver’s side—came that way—and the paint is rusted at the edges of the hood and over the wheels. I worked three summers waiting tables at a dingy all-night diner in downtown Nashville to buy her, and it’s my sole possession in the world. I paid for it with carefully scraped together money from every tip I got, and I got plenty because I was the best waitress there, pasting a broad, welcoming smile on my face for every truck driver, blue-collar worker, and late-night drunk person. Sometimes if the waitstaff was full, I cleaned the kitchen, took out trash, or mopped the floor. Lou would text me any time one of his servers didn’t show up or called in sick, and I’d drag myself up out of my bed at the group home and jog the two blocks to the diner, half-asleep but ready to put the time in for the dollars.
Louise isn’t pretty, but she’s mine.
Parked next to me is a sleek black Porsche, and on the other side is a red Maserati. I sigh. Almost a year since I’ve been a student here, yet nothing has changed.
I sweep my eyes over the grounds ahead of me. Welcome to Camden Prep, otherwise known as my own personal hell, a prestigious private school in the middle of Sugarwood, Tennessee, which happens to be one of the richest small towns in the US, home to senators, country music stars, and professional athletes.
Bah. Whatever. I hate this place.
Slinging my backpack over my arm, I sprint through the parking lot, carefully evading the cars, recalling a freshman guy who accidentally scratched another car once, and one of the Shark’s, no less. Later, they cornered him in the bathroom and made him lick their shoes. The best advice for anyone who isn’t a Shark is to stay away from them. Don’t look. Don’t touch. Pretend they don’t exist. Those guidelines got me through my freshman and sophomore years. Junior year—well, we won’t even go there, but now that it’s my last year, I’ll be living by those rules again.
Tension and apprehension make my heart race more and more the closer I get to the double doors of that ivy-covered main entrance bookended by two castle-style gray turrets. The final bell for classes hasn’t rung yet, and I have exactly five minutes to get to my locker and get to class. Arriving late was my plan because a girl like me has to have a fucking plan.