Cover

Also by Cindy Cipriano

The Fading Series

Fading, book 1

Searching, book 2

Pretending, book 3

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Dedication

For Stephanie

Quote

There is no love without consequence.

Good or bad.

Prologue

Last year, my mother bought my favorite cake for my sweet sixteen. Three tiers of strawberry sponge with decadent cream-cheese filling. Each layer was moist and light and trimmed with a ribbon of piped pink frosting. I remember thinking I tasted the sugar before it touched my lips.

When I took a bite, I closed my eyes, allowing the sweetness to move through me in a wave. I shuddered with each sensation as the icing skimmed over my taste buds. In that moment, all I knew was the rush of a sugar high.

The way James kissed me made those sensations pale in comparison. I finally understood the term madly in love, because when his lips melted onto mine, I thought I’d go out of my mind with desire.

I’d often wondered what my life would have been like had I not gone to Judaculla, searching for James. It seemed unlikely at the time, but I supposed someone else might have come along and made me forget all about him.

In the end, my decision to go came down to just one thing.

I’d never get past the fact that I hadn’t tried.

1

Judaculla

I held my breath as I approached the small garden where clusters of rose bushes gently swayed in the breeze. The brightness of the full moon cast a silver brilliance on the ground like beams pouring out of God’s flashlight. Every rose bush was filled with golden pink blooms on long green stems. I was mesmerized, held frozen on the spot by the fragrance coming from the flowers. As I touched the velvety petal of one, I smiled, thinking of the many times James had brought me a single rose like the ones on this bush.

My house has a rose garden.

As with many things James Turner had told me, that was almost the truth.

I barely noticed when my finger snagged on a thorn, causing the tiniest scratch that gave up a single drop of blood. Rubbing my fingers together, I wiped away the blood until it was a rust-colored stripe on my thumb.

Since there wasn’t a house in sight, I knew this rose garden didn’t belong to James. I was equally certain he didn’t even have a rose garden in his yard. When he’d said, “his house,” he’d meant this place. His world. He’d meant Judaculla.