Dear Book Lovers,
I’m thrilled to share a preview of my brand-new Christmas rom-com, This Is Not a Holiday Romance.
I don’t know about you, but I’m so ready for the hot weather to be over and for sweaters season to arrive. If you’d like to enjoy a little second-hand chill (albeit with sizzle) from the pages of a book, please enjoy chapter one of this snowed-in rom-com, happy reading!
Chapter One
Nina
I’m about to drop a bag of popcorn in the microwave ready for a rom-com marathon with my roommates when my phone pings with a message from my brother.
Dylanosaur:
My dearest sister
Oof. With that opening, he’s sure about to ask for something I’d rather clean my entire house with a toothbrush than agree to. Nuh-uh. I’m already wearing my pajamas ready for 90s Hugh Grant and bed, nothing more.
Nina:
Whatever you’re about to ask, the answer’s no
Dylanosaur:
Please. I’m stuck with one hand down the garbage disposal and I need you to come rescue me
I try to picture all the scenarios of how Dylan might’ve gotten into that predicament, but give up just as quickly. I don’t want to know.
Nina:
Can’t your angelic roommate save you?
And by angelic, I mean spawn of Satan devil incarnate.
Dylanosaur:
Tristan is away on a business trip
Pretty please?
I stare longingly at the freeze-screen of the classic holiday movie I was about to watch with my roommates and sigh.
Nina:
On my way
Dylanosaur:
I knew you were my favorite sister
Nina:
I’m your only sister
P.S. Lucky you had your phone on you before you got stuck
Dylanosaur:
Actually, I’m dictating. My phone is in the living room
Nina:
Is your phone’s virtual assistant reading my answers aloud to you?
Dylanosaur:
Yes
Nina:
Alexa, please play Justin Bieber’s latest album at top volume
I smirk, imagining my brother shouting a counter order to be heard over the music. With a sigh, I drop the still-closed bag of popcorn back into the box and prepare to tell my roommates movie night is over for me.
“How long is that popcorn taking?” Hunter asks, as if on cue.
I exit the kitchen and find her kneeling on the couch, her hands on the backrest, straining her neck to check what I’m doing. Her wavy dark hair frames her face as she balances at a weird angle.
“Roomies,” I announce, stepping fully into the living room. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to call a raincheck on rom-com night.”
“No, why?” Rowena asks. The light catches on her glasses as she looks up from her phone, her chestnut braid swaying with the movement.
“I have to go save my idiot brother from himself.”
Hunter’s eyes get a little brighter at the mention of Dylan. “What happened?” she probes, her curiosity thinly masked.
“He’s trapped himself in the garbage disposal,” I explain, putting away my phone and pulling on a puffer jacket.
“Can’t the Prince of Darkness save him?”
I chuckle at Rowena’s use of our favorite nickname for my brother’s evil roommate. “On a business trip, the useless prick.” I ready myself to brave the cold, pulling on my Uggs over my pajamas. “If I hurry, I can be back in time to watch the movie.”
“You’re going in your PJs?” Rowena questions, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“Yep, it’s only a couple of blocks. I’m not getting dressed again.”
“We should go with you,” Hunter suggests eagerly.
I frown. “Why would you want to go out in the freezing cold?”
“Your brother and the Prince of Darkness have a huge TV,” Hunter explains, blushing slightly.
“And they have premium cable,” Rowena interjects. “We could watch something new, instead of rewatching Love Actually for the millionth time. It’s only a couple of blocks, as you said.”
“Plus, you shouldn’t walk around the city alone at night,” Hunter insists.
“It’s decided,” Rowena declares “We’re moving the pajama party to your brother’s place.”
Dylan will be grumpy about the home invasion, but he’s the one who needs rescuing. I shrug. “Let’s go.”
I use my spare set of keys—the fact that I have them irks the Prince of Darkness to no end and is also why I’ll never give them back—to let myself into my brother’s building.
I know I’m in trouble when we step out of the elevator and hear the distant notes of a Justin Bieber song. The volume intensifies as we reach the corner unit—because my brother, the investment banker, and the Prince of Darkness, CEO of an evil tech corporation (I don’t really understand what his fintech company does but it must be something wicked if he runs it) live in the most expensive apartment on the top floor. Which, with New York’s real estate prices, would still have been impossible even with their fancy jobs. But Tristan’s father, probably Satan himself, gifted the place to his little mini demon as a graduation present. Dylan pays him a lowball rent, and they split expenses.
As I unlock the door and step into the apartment, the decibel level of the song becomes unbearable. I dash into the wide-open space, all modern furniture and wall-wide windows, trying to locate a shutoff button. From his half-reclining position over the sink, my brother stares murder at me but still points with his free hand to the smart speaker assistant on the shiny crystal coffee table.
When I pulled the prank on Dylan, I hadn’t expected him not to be able to shut off the album. But I didn’t consider that the sound system in Satan’s lair is concert-level loud. Dylan’s bad for his poor taste in roommates.
To make the music stop, I have to physically grab the speaker, bring the AI out in the hall, and impart the instructions where she can hear me. When I come back, Dylan is being interrogated by Rowena on the dynamics of his accident while Hunter just stares at him, lost in some sort of trance.
“I dropped my ring,” Dylan explains.
I roll my eyes as I remove my outer layers and pull my natural dark blonde hair up in a topknot. I hate that stupid ring. When my brother and the Prince of Darkness won the basketball national championship in their senior year at Duke, it was all anyone could talk about—for months. Over and over, I had to listen to how many blocks Dylan pulled off, how many shots from three Tristan sunk, and what a glorious game it was. One that I was forced to witness in person, to show my sisterly supportiveness. I wouldn’t have minded if it were only Dylan playing. But having to stomach number 666 swagger through the entire two halves, making acrobatic dunks, and sending more than one cheerleader to the emergency room with fainting spells was just too much—666 definitely wasn’t Tristan’s number, but that’s how I like to remember it.
I roll up the sleeves of my pajama top and step into the kitchen, beaming at my brother. “So, what do you want me to do?”
Dylan glares at me. “You left me in Bieber hell for half an hour. I’m going to strangle you the second I get free.”
Keeping a safe distance, I hop onto the black marble counter—black souls must come with black fixtures. “I’m glad you brought that up in advance, dearest brother, so we can negotiate the terms of your release.”
“Nina, I swear—”
“Hush, hush… here are my terms.” I count off my fingers. “I get an immediate pardon for the Bieber incident—I’m sorry, by the way, I didn’t know your speakers could produce a sonic boom.”
Dylan stares daggers at me but nods.
“I’m going to need verbal confirmation.”
“Apology accepted,” he grits out. Not like he has a choice. “And what else?”
“Me and the girls get to watch a movie of our choosing on your superior appliances and cable service.”
“Yeah, why did you bring the entire cheer squad?” He pushes his fringe of blond hair—unfairly lighter than mine—out of his face.
“We’re here for protection,” Hunter squeals a bit too loud. “Couldn’t let your sister walk alone in the middle of the night.”
“It’s not the eighties,” Dylan protests.
“They’re here for the premium streaming, mostly. Do you accept our terms?”
My brother’s eyes gleam with playful spite. “Next time one of your toilets clogs and you don’t know what to do, I’m going to have so much fun telling you to call a plumber.”
I cock my head. “Do you wish me to add unlimited plumbing support as a provision?”
“No. I take the deal.”
“Perfect.” I hop off the counter. “You gals pick a movie while I solve this.”
“Do you have popcorn?” Hunter asks my brother.
“Second cabinet to the left.”
She finds the snacks and pops them into the microwave—also black. “Thanks.”
“How do I free you?” I ask Dylan.
“There’s a toolbox under the sink in the laundry room. You’re going to need to unscrew the disposal from underneath.”
That’s how, ten minutes later, I end up with a deluge of triturated, decomposing, wet refuse on my chest. “Ew.” I emerge from under the sink. “You owe me big time for this brother, big time.”
“The Bieber thing makes us even,” Dylan says, massaging his wrist.
“I’m going to need a shower.”
“Be quick,” Hunter calls from where they’re nestled on the gigantic sectional couch. “We want to watch the movie.”
“Trust me, no one wants to be rid of this garbage faster than me.”
I step out of the kitchen, wiping my dirty hands on my already ruined flannel PJ top, and freeze when I hear a key turn in the front door’s lock.
I’m still frozen in place when the Prince of Darkness enters the apartment and finds me standing in his living room with sewage running down my chest and smelling like the aftermath of a skunk convention.
Two sworn enemies, snowed in over Christmas with chemistry that will melt the ice!
Out September 4 at all book shops!
All other e-book and audiobook retailers
Camilla Isley 