Prologue

I hate romance novels.

My head lay on his chest as we waited for the others to pass. I was in a closet, pressed against a tall, handsome man– my literal nightmare. My heart rammed against my ribs. I was sure he could hear it. He looked down at me.
Our eyes met.
His eyes were dark blue, the same shade as my favorite flowers.
Forget-me-nots.
He watched me as if mesmerized by the unnatural cyan in my eyes.
“Faye…” he whispered.
Then he slipped through the crack of the door– leaving me alone.
Alone again.

My eyes snapped open.
Afternoon light filled my room, warming the empty space beside me. A romance novel lay beside my hand, spine cracked, pages fanned open. I picked it up on a whim, but I couldn’t get past a few chapters. It was predictable and unrealistic– the typical romantic drama.
I grabbed it and tossed it aside.
The same thought slid in– like it always did whenever love crossed my mind.

It’s better to be alone than to lose yourself to another person.