Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 30148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
My dad is protective. Scratch that. He’s like the person who would grab a chair, place it on the lawn, and watch me walk across the street just to deliver an apple. So, when a bet between the rude, good-looking guy across the way becomes a full-on battle, it turns into absolute chaos.
He says my degree is useless and that I’m a rich, spoiled princess.
I say he’s an idiot who only knows how to fix motorcycles and is incapable of having a clean-shaven face.
He gives me a tiara. Thanks.
I buy him a razor. Perfect.
He follows that up with a book… Like. I. Can’t. Read.
I then give him soap—explanation easy there.
The following day, I receive a pink princess blanket that I may or may not have burned and tossed on his front doorstep, not realizing his dad is a cop. Now, both dads want the war to stop between us, forcing us to go on a camping trip to bury the hatchet—which I’m convinced he actually brought.
He’s a hazard to my health.
But it’s only a weekend. I honestly don’t know if we’ll make it out alive, but the dads are tired of it all. Regardless, I’ll come out, and prove I'm not the princess he thinks I am. Maybe he’ll end up lost in the woods—one can only hope.
One thing’s for sure. I will never, ever fall for him.
Ever.
A bet with the boy next door? Challenge accepted. I’ll be waiting for my trophy at the finish line.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
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.
Prologue
“If it ends with sushi, it starts with sushi.”—August Wellington
Hazel
Summer 2016
I peered around my favorite tree, smack-dab in the middle of our front yard. We’d inherited the house from my great-grandma Nadine. She had been a force to be reckoned with when she was alive and told my dad—her eldest grandson—that she’d had a premonition I would need my own place of solace. Somewhere to read and hide. She then told him she’d disown him if he didn’t build a little rope ladder leading to the top.
He tried to call her bluff.
It didn’t work.
She stood her ground, which was almost always followed by her tapping a red or leopard-print heel until he gave in—which he always did.
Now that I was seventeen, he wanted me to help out with the family businesses during the summer, but how many chores could a person do?
Each of our vineyards, the farm, and even corporate, had an insane number of staff members, and I still had to wake up at seven to help my mom with the garden. It was midsummer. I was supposed to have some semblance of freedom before my senior year.
The midafternoon was hot, and I just wanted a break. Dad always said my life wasn’t stressful, but he knew nothing about the drama in high school, especially living with the awkward, gangly body I still hadn’t grown into: weird, stringy blond hair that refused to grow past my boobs; and oh, boobs that also refused to grow.