Novels by RealDreams

The TSA agent at LAX looked at Harper's ID, then at her face, then at her ID again."Huh," he said, and waved her through.She didn't ask. She had a feeling she'd find out.She'd slept maybe four hours at the hotel. Twice she'd jolted awake around two a.m., listening for the front door, for uneven footsteps, for someone shouting that he was starving. Both times there was only the hum of the minibar. Both times she lay back down and, for the first time in years, didn't get up for anyone.Her bank app had greeted her this morning with a number she had to read twice. Her friend on Melrose had worked fast: the Birkin, the Chanel, the pearls, the bracelet, all of it gone by nine p.m. and turned into a wire transfer. The ring went last. Harper watched it disappear into a velvet tray and waited to feel something.Nothing came. She thanked the clerk who boxed it up, and that was that.The other bag had gone into the dumpster behind the hotel. The Florence lovers hit the bottom with a crunch t

Chapter 13: Five Minutes"Myles." Serena's voice cracked on the name, thick with tears, the wounded princess right on cue. "Baby, I need you. Some psycho just attacked me. I'm at Maison Rose. Please, please hurry."She hung up and rounded on Harper, chest heaving, her cheek still glowing red. "You're going to regret this.""Probably not," Harper said.Valentina perched on the edge of the table and crossed her legs. "Make yourself comfortable. We'll wait."So they waited.Harper sipped her sparkling water. Chloe whimpered into a napkin. Madison and Tatum hovered like bridesmaids at a funeral, glancing from the phones still pointed their way to the terrace entrance and back again.Five minutes. Harper counted.Then a black Rolls-Royce slid up to the curb outside the ivy wall, long and sleek as a yacht, and Myles Crawford stepped out in a charcoal suit. His jaw was tight. His eyes were blazing. He came through the rose arch like a man walking onto a stage.Harper waited for her stomach t

It came from the terrace entrance, high and bright and sharp, like a spoon tapped against crystal. Harper knew that laugh. She'd heard it on a hundred red carpets, and once, last night, through a pane of smoked glass.Serena Calloway swept in under the rose arch in a cream silk dress that probably cost more than Harper's first car, golden waves bouncing with every step. Three women trailed behind her like ladies-in-waiting: Madison, Tatum, and Chloe. Matching blowouts, matching iced lattes, matching smirks.Serena scanned the terrace. Her eyes landed on Harper, and she stopped dead.Then she smiled, slow and delighted, like a cat spotting an open birdcage."Oh my God. Girls." She didn't lower her voice. She didn't need to. "Look who crawled out of the laundry room."Valentina didn't even turn around. "Don't," she murmured. "Whatever she says, don't.""I wasn't going to.""I was talking to myself."The four of them drifted over and fanned out around the table, blocking the sun."Harper

Harper zipped the suitcase and sat on the lid to force it shut. It was barely eleven, and she'd already done more this morning than in the last three months. The suitcase waited by the bedroom door. Two garbage bags sat in the hall, one bound for the curb, the other for Melrose. The house was so quiet she could hear the fridge humming downstairs.She'd expected to feel sad. Mostly, she wanted coffee.Her phone buzzed with a text from Valentina. "Lunch. Noon. Maison Rose. We're talking Keaton, Myles, and Austin, in that order, and you're not allowed to say no."Harper thumbed back, "Do I get a say in anything?"The reply came in seconds. "You get a say in dessert."Harper laughed out loud in the empty bedroom. She didn't change out of her jeans and white tee, and she didn't check the mirror twice. She grabbed her keys and drove out through the gates.Maison Rose hid behind an ivy-covered wall off Canon Drive, a little French bistro that lived up to its name. Roses were everywhere. Clim

I stayed there a few minutes, just breathing.It wasn't heartbreak. Heartbreak needs something left to break. It felt more like standing at the edge of a pool, staring at still water, and realizing I'd been waiting three years for permission to jump.I finished my sandwich. Washed the plate. Then I went looking through the house.There was more of him than she'd realized.She started downstairs, in the rooms she walked through every day without really seeing.A silver frame on the hallway console. Turks and Caicos. A stranger had snapped the photo, squinting into the sun, while she and Myles stood barefoot on powder-white sand, foreheads pressed together, sunburned and laughing. His arm circled her waist like he was afraid she'd float away. She remembered the joke. She couldn't remember why it had been funny.On the shelf above the breakfast nook sat a lopsided blue bowl and a chipped mug: WORLD'S OKAYEST DIVER. Both came from their first apartment, a cramped one-bedroom in Silver Lake

Harper woke to sunlight. Not the pale gray light of five-thirty, when she used to creep out of bed to start the coffee, but full, warm, golden morning, slanting through the guest room curtains and landing across her face like a hand. She checked her phone. 8:47. She hadn't slept this late in years. Her whole body felt loose and heavy and strangely light at the same time, like she'd finally set down something she'd been carrying since the Olympics.From somewhere down the hall, a door slammed."HARPER!"She stretched slowly, arms over her head, and smiled at the ceiling."Harper! Where the hell are my clothes?"Myles stood in the middle of the walk-in closet, half-dressed, hair sticking up, a pair of charcoal pants in his fist. They were wrinkled down the front like an accordion, and his face was blotchy and swollen from last night's whiskey. "I'm late for my meeting! You didn't wake me up! There's no breakfast, there's nothing ironed, and look at these pants!" He threw them on the flo