He doesn’t just ask this sharply, but he also faces me all of a sudden, and I nearly jump back at the way he’s glaring at me.
Um.
Okay.
Maybe he’s all about stories being authentic and there’s something in my query letter that ticks him off? Maybe he thinks the way I describe Luc is unrealistic—
“Answer me, Mira.”
This time, Idojump back...because every time I hear him say my name makes me feel I’m in danger. Of what, however...I don’t want to know.
“Is he based on someone real?”
I shake my head.
“So he’s entirely...made up.”
I nod.
He doesn’t say anything else, but a muscle has started ticking in his jaw, and that makes me feel worse for some reason. I’ve been living under his roof for four days now, and I...I still feel like a burden to him.
“This agent...you know her?”
“She’s legit.”
“And you emailed her just yesterday.”
I wish I could do more than nod.
But I can’t.
You see, I thought long and hard about my future once my head stopped hurting, and my rescuer, at my request, gave me undeniable documentary and photographic evidence of Trina’s betrayal.
She reallydidhave me drugged. Kidnapped. And sold for $50,000.
And because of that, my rescuer was right when he told me there’s no going back to my old life.
But as to how I plan to move forward...that wasn’t as easy to figure out.
The one thing I was certain of was that I didn’t want to marry someone just for my safety. I didn’t want to be passed along like a package, handed from one man’s protection to another’s. I wanted to move forward on my own terms.
And that was what pushed me to face my fears.
I queried every literary agent I thought might be a perfect fit for the kind of stories I write and draw. I polished my sample pages until my eyes burned. I crafted query letters and deleted them and rewrote them and deleted them again.
All while convincing myself that no one would ever want my work.
Until now.
“Congratulations, Mira.”
It wasn’t just the words that startle me into looking at him, but thewayhe said it. His voice has changed. It’s no longer cold and hard. It’s gentle now. And dare I say warm—
Stop right there, Mirabella de los Reyes!
Don’t forget he thinks you’re ugly!
So just stop thinking him being nice changes things.
