Special Thanks
One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and
the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast
library at my father’s home and collected thousands
of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all
people through the millennium. And the more I read
the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered
that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually
become part of them.
I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher
and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I
would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off
with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to
see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar
(Persian: شهريار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then
sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written
and I had read that by the time he met Scheherazade,
the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand
women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived
in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged
places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had
never occurred before and that still to this day, I
cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have
taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can
protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to
protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a
point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that
he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before
you now.
Playlist
There are infinite ways to tell someone you love them. Some of the most powerful don’t require words at all. This was the truth rolling through my head when I first conceived of this series, writing about a love so complete that mere letters strung together to make sentences weren’t an adequate communicator of those feelings. Instead, for this series, music was my go-to choice.
I love music. I’m always immersed in it and spend hours a day with my ear buds plugged in. I write to music. I think to music. I even sleep to music. I was thrilled to incorporate songs into the story I felt were meaningful to the journey. I think of it this way: a movie has a soundtrack. Why shouldn’t a book?
So I created one.
Some of the songs I’ve selected will be familiar. Some are old. Some are newer. Some popular. Some obscure. They all just fit (in my opinion) and came straight from the heart. I listened to many of these songs as I wrote the book.
For maximum understanding (and feels), I seriously recommend becoming familiar with these songs and either playing them or rolling them around in your head as you read. I’ve also made it simple for you to give these songs a listen by creating a Spotify playlist. Click HERE for all the enjoyment.
Hugs and happy reading!
1000 Times - Sara Bareilles
I Like It - Cardi B and J Balvin
Hot In Here - Nelly
Walking on Sunshine - Katrina & the Waves
Watermelon Sugar - Harry Styles
Chapter One
Los Angeles
Sunday, May 6
Hayes
“Hey, shortcake.” I wink at my best friend as she opens the door to her stamp-size studio apartment, wearing a white, gauzy, hippy-dippy-trippy halter top and matching shorts with hanging tassels and crocheted lace. Whoa. I’ve never seen her bare that much skin—shoulders, midriff, and thighs—but the style is definitely her vibe. The outfit, like the light brown waves she’s swept from her face in a casual tangle of braids, must be how she’s coping with the strong, hot spring suddenly gripping LA.
But I shouldn’t be surprised by anything Echo Hope says or does. I learned long ago to expect the unexpected from my bestie.
“Hey, string bean.” She steps back to let me in, the strains of some chick ballad playing from the speaker on her counter. It sounds like Sara Bareilles singing something maudlin about “1000 Times.”
Echo likes offbeat music.
“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” I glare at her. She nicknamed me that at fifteen when I shot straight up, and it stuck. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve filled out since then.”
I’ve spent a lot of time in the gym and playing sports to make sure of that.
“Yeah, but you’ll always be my string bean…” She sends me a cheesy smile as I follow her inside. The scents of coffee, sugar, cinnamon, and something else delicious I can’t put my finger on go straight to my nose and make my mouth water as she lifts a champagne bottle from the nearby counter. “Mimosa? Juice? Beer? Hair of the dog?”
I wince. “No hair of the dog. Jayci and I opened a bottle of gin last night. It was a bad idea. She left this morning hung over as hell. I wasn’t much better off before coffee.” Then I flash Echo a grin. “It was crazy, though. We drunk-fucked on my front porch. I’m pretty sure the neighbors heard.”
Pressing her lips in a flat line, she turns for the sink. No snort? No eye roll? No quip? That’s not like Echo.
I follow, frowning. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water, shoving it against my chest. “Here.”
I take it. “You’re not fine. What did I say?”
Echo is quiet for a long moment. “Jayci is nice, but she isn’t right for you.”
“So? We’re just having fun.”
Though lately, I’ve been wondering whether I should try doing something more with my love life than fucking my way through it. It’s feeling…stale. But what else is there besides sex?
“Sure. Okay. FYI, it will just be the two of us today.”
Our group has been doing Sunday movies and munchies since our early days of high school. Not everyone makes it every weekend, but it’s unusual for two-thirds of the group to no-show. “Seriously? I know Kella said last Sunday that she wouldn’t be able to make it, but…”
“Graham had to pull a last-minute shift. Maryam texted to say she has the flu and feels like death warmed over. I DoorDashed her some soup. And Xavian…” Echo tucks a stray curl behind her ear and…is she blushing? “Um, he called a bit ago. He’s got a paper to finish.”
“Professor Akbar’s financial theories project, right?” At her nod, I shudder. “I scrambled to finish that sucker last year before graduation. That essay is no joke. And everyone knows what an asshole he is when it comes to grading.” Then Echo’s words hit me… “Wait. X called you?” Not texted. “Like, he dialed your digits and—”