Happily Ever Never

By Andrea Nourse

Janna Hargrove’s life wasn’t a fairy tale, not even close. She’d never imagined her life would have it’s happily ever after moment. Until she met Ryan. The moment their eyes met, everything changed. She knew he was the one - he was her happily ever after.

Five years into their two-year plan, Ryan finally popped the question. The moment was everything Janna had dreamed of. She had the man, the ring, the wedding date, the house, the career and the plan for 2.5 kids living in suburbia bliss. Everything was just as she’d always dreamed, designer dress and all.

Everything she’d ever wanted was within reach.

Until it wasn’t.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrea Nourse
• Release date: Oct 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463009321

Andrea Nourse

As a child, Andrea found her creative outlet through rewriting the lyrics to the songs she heard blaring through the speakers of her mom’s 1980-something Dodge Charger. In her teens, she found herself drawn to pop and country music and started penning lyrics filled with the pining of teenage dreams. She continued writing songs well into her twenties, but eventually found her way to college where she studied marketing and public relations.It was in her final semester at Middle Tennessee State University that she finally put pen to paper and decided to write a full-length novel. Her first novel, Bittersweet, never made it past the hands of her friends. In November of 2013, Andrea made the commitment to write 50K words in30 days as part of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). That novel, Life is But a Dream, was released in 2014.Andrea's follow-up novel, Happily Ever Never, is set for release in the fall of 2018.Andrea currently lives in Nashville with her husband, Jeff, and their two children, Jackson and Annabeth. She has a B.S. in Mass Communication from MTSU and an MBA from the University of Memphis.

Book preview

Preface

The Dress was perfect. Pearl white with a sheen that sparkled like diamonds under the romantic glow of candlelight. The bodice was fitted with a classy neckline that showed the perfect amount of cleavage. The low-cut back showed off my shoulders, which he always loved to admire. The skirt fell perfectly and hit the floor at the exact right length to showcase the glittery Jimmy Choo pumps I'd spent two months saving to buy. My silhouette was pure bridal perfection, and I felt like a princess the moment I slipped it on.

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The hanger it was now sentenced to spend eternity hanging on didn't do it justice. It would never see the glow of romantic candlelight. It would never glide across a dance floor or saunter down an aisle. No, the dress, my dress, was forever doomed to a dark corner of the closet.

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It had taken me six months to track down my dream dress. I'd known precisely what I was looking for—sleeveless, white, fitted, but flowy—the first time I saw it was in a Vera Wang ad in Brides Magazine. For weeks I'd just stared at the page knowing I'd found my soulmate dress. I was destined to wear that dress. My mother and maid of honor drove me from shop to shop in search of this elusive dress because it was last season and only a few remained on the racks. For months they endured my refusal to try on any other dresses. No, I'd insist, this is my dress and I will not just try on another one. My nose would wrinkle in disgust.

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When we finally found it in a boutique in Atlanta, a five-hour car ride away, I dragged them along on what I promised to be another fun road trip. The sales clerk had assured me they had my size in the store and they would hold it for me for a deposit. The week leading up to the trip, I’d bit my nails raw from nerves, I was beyond terrified of another disappointment. But, when we arrived at the shop, there she was, waiting for me.

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As the sales clerk helped me into the dress, I closed my eyes and held my breath. This was the moment I'd been looking dreaming of. As soon as I felt the cool, smooth fabric on my skin, I knew she was the one. With my eyes still closed, the clerk led me out to my waiting entourage. I heard them gasp, and they confirmed my assumptions. This was my dress. Gradually, I opened my eyes and I could see their faces. The tears in their eyes glistened and told me all I needed to know.

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When I finally looked up, the reflection in the mirror matched every dream I’d ever had of this moment. They had crafted this gown just for me. To prepare for this exact moment, I'd spent extra time getting ready that morning. I wanted to see a bride when I looked in the mirror for the first time. I didn’t overlook a single detail. My blonde hair cascaded down my bare shoulders in big, loose curls. A deep brown smoky eyeshadow perfectly complimented my green eyes, and I'd selected the most gorgeous shimmery highlighter for my cheekbones to match the iridescent sheen of the dress. The clerk handed me a delicate pearl and diamond tiara, well out of my budget, and helped me place it on my head.

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Everything was perfect—the dress, my hair, the tiara. I never wanted to take it off, but I did. As I slid it down my body, chills ran up my spine.

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I should have paid closer attention to that feeling and tattooed it in my memory.

Chapter One

Janna we are going to be late! Ryan called from the living room. I rolled my eyes as I deliberately applied my jet-black Mac eyeliner and ignored him. Babe! Seriously, we have to leave now.

I shrugged and shouted back. Five more minutes!

You said that an hour ago! His voice softened as he walked into the bedroom. I heard his feet walking towards me in the bathroom and I felt the heat from his body as he moved closer. He stopped just inches from me. I glanced behind me in the mirror. When our eyes met, he smiled.

Do you want to bring a hideous troll to your fifteen-year reunion? Or, would you prefer to have the hottest girl in the room on your arm? I teased. Because if you keep rushing me, it will be the former.

"The hottest girl in the world doesn't need to spend three hours on hair and makeup. You don’t need to spend three hours on hair and makeup. You could roll out of bed and knock them all dead," he whispered into my ear as he wrapped his arms around my waist and nuzzled my neck.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of his Armani cologne. My skin danced when his lips brushed my neck.

Careful, I whispered back. We may never make it to the reunion.

Tempting, he teased and smacked my ass before turning to walk out the door. You have ten minutes. Not that you need it, you already look amazing.

I giggled and leaned in closer to the mirror to put the finishing touches on my eyeliner. The half-carat diamond sparkled on my ring finger and drew my attention away from my reflection. The platinum band was snug, but not too tight, on my finger, I'd had it sized just right. It's never coming off, I'd said when he slipped it on my finger less than a week ago. When we’d first dated, I’d expected the ring much sooner, but life had other plans and after five years of dating, he’d finally made it official.

Ryan and I met five years ago at my college graduation. His baby sister, Rachel, was my roommate during my sophomore year at Middle Tennessee State University just outside Nashville and we ended up pledging the same sorority. They accepted neither of us and we became instant friends. By the time Ryan and I met, Rachel, and I were already practically family, having spent almost every waking moment together since the day we met. She used to tell me stories about her big brother—how he'd joined the Air Force straight out of high school to help pay for dental school and how he'd always been her protector, even when he was a million miles away. I knew Ryan was special long before I met him, and I'd be lying if I said the photos she showed me hadn’t caught my attention. At graduation when he shook my hand, my heart stopped, and fireworks raced my body when our skin connected. When our eyes met, I knew he'd felt the same spark. It sounds horribly cliché, but that’s precisely how it felt—straight out of a romance novel or a Hollywood script.

Rachel used to laugh and say she should've known I'd be the one to steal her brother from her. I wasn't at all his type—tall, slender and blonde with light green eyes that could sometimes pass for blue depending on what I was wearing. Rachel once joked that he typically preferred petite brunettes with dark eyes. He was a pediatric dentist with an Ivy League education and I barely earned my bachelor’s in mass communication (hey, Cs get degrees, right?). He didn't drink, and I'd spent the better part of college stumbling out of frat parties. I could still down a bottle of wine with the best of them. He was a vegan, and I'd been a lifelong omnivore that had no trouble taking on a double bacon burger. He was a Ronald Reagan fanatic, and I still believed Bill Clinton was the greatest president in history. But, as Rachel said, opposites attract, and we were drawn together like the two poles of a magnet.

Our relationship moved at the speed of light in the beginning despite my eagerness to dive headfirst into my career. Upon my graduation, Rachel and I had always planned to move to Nashville and begin our rise to fame in the marketing world. But, life and love had other plans. Our first date was dinner on the night of graduation. We slipped out of the graduation party he had planned for his sister. Once we were free of our families, he drove us to a local Italian restaurant and we gorged on pasta, bread and dessert. I indulged in a bottle, or two, of Moscato. Sitting at dinner, overindulging in the carbs I frequently avoided, something solidified our fate. I’d never met a man I would eat in front of, let alone stuff my face.

We consummated our relationship that night. I may have had my share of fun in college (though, not as much as one might expect given my penchant for wine and frat parties), but sex on the first date was never something I did. He asked me to come back to his place after dinner. We made our way back to the condo he owned downtown and fell into bed where we stayed until noon the next day. We awoke to frantic texts from our families but ignored them and continued getting to know each other. That night, he asked where I was going after graduation. I mentioned Rachel and I were trying to decide whether to rent an apartment in Green Hills or try our luck on finding a tiny condo downtown.

Don’t, he’d replied and pulled me into a deep kiss. There’s just enough room for the two of us here. Rachel will be happier on her own. Move in with me?

A week later, Rachel was helping me move out of our apartment and into her brother’s condo in downtown Nashville. If our whirlwind relationship shocked or disappointed her, she never let on. Rachel was always the more reserved and calm of the two of us. When I would panic over a test or a grade, she’d bring me back to reality. When I got fired from my first internship for showing up with a hangover on the first day, she’d dried my tears, handed me a bottle of water and two Tylenol and insisted we update my resume. The next day, she encouraged me to call and apply for my dream internship with a local event planner. She coached me through the interview process and helped ensure I did not arrive hungover for my first day.

She was the yin to my yang, the Zen to my insane and the peace in my chaos. Perhaps that’s how Ryan and I became so close, so fast. He and his sister were virtually carbon copies of each other, at least personality-wise. In the looks department, they held little similarities. Where Rachel was fair-skinned, blue-eyed and red-headed, Ryan had olive skin, brown eyes and dark hair. He was tall; she was short. He worked out and read Scientific American and she preferred reality TV and Oreos. But, the two of them balanced me out perfectly.

After our speedy cohabitation, Ryan and I settled into a comfortable routine, but we kept up the spontaneous nature that sparked our relationship. We’d talk about the future—he’d one day open his own practice, I’d be a marketing goddess. We'd settle in the suburbs in Williamson County, have a few kids and live a stereotypical suburban white-collar life.

But, life has a funny way of looking at your plans, laughing and throwing huge curve balls that derailed everything. Within the first six months of our relationship, the dentist that owned the practice Ryan worked at died unexpectedly of a heart attack and his dream of having his own practice came to fruition much sooner than he’d imagined or prepared for. Work didn’t come as easily for me and I bounced between agencies and eventually landed at a small boutique retail clothing chain where I worked on local marketing efforts. My job had me traveling what felt like every week, and he was busy running an established dental practice with little experience in managing staff or hiring help. Our one-year plan became two years and then five.

While those five years seemed to fly by, we often got caught up in the day-to-day mundaneness of life, but we still remained as committed to each other as we could with two busy careers. We didn’t plan or force date nights, but they occurred weekly. Ryan still brought me flowers or a random tiramisu from the little Italian restaurant where we’d had our first date, driving thirty miles out of his way to get it. We often would make Rachel gag with our PDA and we still held hands anytime we walked alongside each other. Our parents would roll their eyes at how we never evolved from the puppy love stage. It even surprised me that the spark remained. I never grew tired of his kisses or his snoring.

On our fifth anniversary, he’d handed me a blindfold, and we drove for what felt like hours, but in reality, it was less than forty-five minutes. Time does not fly when you’re blindfolded in a fast-moving car. When he stopped the car, I asked a million questions, my mouth running like an out of control freight train as usual. He unbuckled my seat belt and led me out of the car. We walked for a hundred feet; he helped me up a few steep steps and then opened a door. I could hear the old hinges creaking as the door swung open, but other than the door, it was eerily silent. He deliberately untied the blindfold and let it fall away from my face, my eyes struggled to adjust, but it was too dark to see anything or make out details. The tangy aroma of tomato sauce and garlic filled the room. It was familiar and welcoming. I knew where we were just seconds before the lights came on to reveal the restaurant where we’d had our first date filled with our family and friends. Rachel stood front and center with a smile and the hint of tears. His plan was perfect, I thought as I realized what was going on.

The sounds of a piano and acoustic guitar playing my favorite song, True Companion by Marc Cohn, replaced the silence. The day I moved into his apartment, I commandeered his stereo and played the song on repeat as I forced him to listen as I serenaded him, and we slow danced across the living room. Those few intro notes solidified my suspicions that our five-year plan was finally coming to fruition. By the time I noticed him on one knee in front of me, I had the venue selected and knew the exact dish that we’d serve our guests for dinner. My brain made a mental note of the caterer and to call first thing Monday morning—she booked fast and the New Year’s Eve wedding I’d been planning since I was ten was only seven months away. I imagined the Vera Wang dress I’d seen in a magazine just the week before—I’d been helping my co-worker Carlie find ideas for her own wedding. For a fleeting moment, I remembered that her wedding wasn’t until March and I’d be a bride before her. She’d likely move her wedding up to December 30 just to beat me down the aisle.

Babe, he’d finally whispered, his voice shaking with emotion. Janna Renee Hargrove, five years ago you sent my life down a path I never even dreamed of. Your smile and laughter drew me in and have held me captive for the past five years. I cannot imagine a future or a life without you.

He paused and reached into his pocket. The tiny pale blue box shook in his hand as he held it. Marry me?

Despite my anticipation and knowledge that the question and the box were definitely making an appearance that night, I threw my hands over my mouth and gasped—full-on beauty queen style.

Yes! I’d squealed. Yes, yes, yes!

He popped open the box to reveal the gorgeous half carat princess cut diamond on a platinum band that I’d drooled over months ago when we went to pick up his mother’s band from Tiffany’s. I should have known his favor for his mother was his way of finding out what I wanted and my ring size.

As I stared down at the ring now, every memory of us flooded back. It was like a time capsule on my hand.

Ready? He called up the stairs, breaking me from my daydream.

I snapped out of my thoughts and dusted highlighter over my cheeks. Giving myself one last look, I nodded and smiled. Ready!

He was waiting for me in the living room. His charcoal gray suit had taken him all of four minutes to choose and put on. I’d taken nearly an hour to select the silver, pink and black striped tie he wore. The man had more ties than I had shoes, but unlike my shoes, he only wore them a few times a year. And, yet, I was the one with the shopping problem.

When I reached his side, I did a little spin so he could see the skirt of my little black dress twirl. The skirt fluttered around my thighs and the fabric tickled my skin. He smiled and took my hand. He nodded his approval at the dress and looked down at the glittery silver and pink Jimmy Choo heels I’d picked up yesterday—they perfectly matched his tie and my new clutch.

New? he asked. I ignored the question knowing my answer would lead to a long drawn out conversation on budgets, spending habits and our plans to buy a house before the wedding, which by the way, would also be expensive. We both did well financially, and my fun money more than covered my shopping indulgences (especially with my discount), but it was still a touchy subject in our relationship. So, I ignored or avoided those questions altogether.

I hope you’re ready to dance! I giggled knowing full well that he would not be, and I’d have to drag him from the corner. His audible groan reaffirmed my assumptions. Ryan didn’t love to dance even half as much as I did, but I think he secretly enjoyed my constant demands for spontaneous dance parties.

So, I asked as I buckled my seatbelt and pulled the visor down to check my lipstick one more time. Who are you most excited to see?

He sighed and paused for a moment before responding. Probably my old Math & Science Club friends. His voice didn’t sound confident.

Science Club? I asked, holding back my laughter. That’s a thing?

I couldn’t see his face, but I could sense the eye roll he always responded with when I reminded him he was a nerd and I was most definitely not. Yes, Janna.

I muttered a quiet apology for questioning the existence of his precious Science Club and asked, Any names I should keep in mind?

Peter and Tony were my two closest friends, but I am not sure if they will be there, he answered. His tone suggested he wasn't in the mood for questions. The warmth of his smile had cooled and the playful flirting from earlier was nowhere in sight. His mood shift wasn’t completely out of character, but it seemed more dramatic than normal. I should have offered a sincerer apology, but the moment passed, and I didn't want to dig it back up.

I nodded, resisting the urge to remind him he could just pop onto the Facebook event to see who was coming, but Ryan wasn’t keen on social media and only had a Facebook account because I signed him up for one. No way was I entering a serious relationship Mark Zuckerberg couldn’t confirm. Not in the 21st century.

The car hummed along in silence. Normally, I’d turn the radio on and sing along, but tonight, the tension in the car killed my mood. Something from our discussion of names and the Science Club definitely triggered him. He wasn’t his playful self, and he hadn’t rested his hand on my thigh, his typical driving position. I reached over and laid my hand on his leg; he shifted slightly but didn’t completely brush me off. I let it rest there, reassuring him I was there and with him. My way of apologizing for whatever I’d done that had upset him.

For a moment, I studied his face and wondered if he was just nervous about seeing his old classmates. He wasn't thrilled when I suggested we go after seeing the invitation in the trash by his nightstand. He’d shrugged a whatever and moved on with his life. Once I planned coordinating outfits, he went along with everything, so I assumed he’d accepted its inevitability. I was now rethinking that assumption.

Ryan never talked about his life before joining the Air Force and going off to college in Boston. I’d met most of his friends from his unit and a few of his friends from dental school, but high school never came up and I never asked. When I mentioned his reaction to Rachel, she’d just shrugged and said she wasn’t too thrilled about her impending ten-year reunion. Who wants to go back to high school? she’d asked. I’d responded that reunions weren’t going back to high school, they were about catching up with old friends. She’d reminded me that was the very purpose of Facebook. I couldn’t argue so I dropped it and forgot all about the conversation.

Are you okay? I asked and looked over at him. I stroked his leg. His jaw clenched. We don’t have to go. We can go back home, put on PJs and eat popcorn on the couch.

He smiled slightly and shook his head. No, I want to go. Thank you for dragging me out. He shifted in his seat and glanced over at me. You look too good not to show off.

I know, right? I joked and tried to read his face again. What’s up?

Just nervous, he said and tried to assure me. I was in a class of overachievers and I am not looking forward to a night of bragging and going tit for tat on accomplishments.

This time his smile seemed more genuine. He reached down and placed his hand over mine and returned his attention to the road.

Overthinking it. I was definitely overthinking this. It was just a high school reunion, and he was nervous. Who wouldn’t be?

Chapter Two

At least I could kiss you to shut you up, he teased as he opened the door for me. Traffic just keeps nagging no matter what I do. We’d have been here in half the time if we’d just walked, even with you whining every ten feet that your heels were not made for walking. Hell, I could have carried you.

You love the sound of my whiney voice, I said in my best whiney voice. But, I’m all for kisses. He obliged and pulled me into his arms. I nuzzled my cheek into his shoulder, thankful that his mood had shifted back to normal. He stepped back, and I could feel his eyes admiring my dress and if he'd known I’d gotten it on sale, I imagined he would have had it off me before we left the house. It was a tiered, black halter dress from Ann Taylor that hit an inch or two above my knees and showed just enough skin to be both sexy and classy. Ryan always loved my shoulders, so every special dress was either strapless or a halter to showcase my shoulders. I loved that he loved my shoulders because they were the product of hard work and a shit ton of push-ups.

Any other night and we could be home on the couch with Netflix and wine. Well, wine for me, water for him. As I felt his palm rest on the small of my back, it reminded me why this was a better option. For starters, I loved getting dressed up. Besides getting dressed up, I’d get to drink someone else’s wine. Lastly, wine plus me in a little black dress always led to a fun night when we got home.

Any time we went out, I would always make a bet with myself on the time it would take Ryan to unzip my dress when we got home. His record was just under a minute from the time we walked in the door to the second he reaches for my zipper, just enough time to pull his wallet and keys out of his pocket and for me to kick my shoes into some random corner of the living room. That was the night we got engaged, and I was ready to beat that time tonight. Thirty seconds I decided. I bet my right shoe doesn’t even hit the floor before he’s got the dress unzipped.

We walked into the restaurant, my hand in his, with me a half step behind. I always let him lead us in because he had such an imposing stature that people had to stop and look. His shoulders were wide enough to lead one to believe he played football though he’d likely never even touched a football. He was a thinker and a mental beast more than a physical force, but his presence in a room would suggest otherwise.

Ryan joined the Air Force just after graduating high school in 2002, post-September 11 but before the Iraq war, intending to stay in long enough to take advantage of the GI Bill. He’d entered the Air Force at six foot two and just over 170 pounds. A few years later, he left at just over 200 pounds and was solid as a brick. His chiseled jaw matched the rest of his body and I loved watching men and women stop and watch him walk into a room and then look at me, disappointed and knowing they didn’t stand a chance with him. Or me. We were the definition of a power couple and I made sure we looked the part.

The hostess led us to the rooftop where the rest of his classmates had already gathered. Thanks to my primping, we were a little more than an hour late and the room divided into the typical cliques. I took a quick scan of the room to see if I could identify the guys that might have been his friends in high school but came up empty. I hadn’t known him back then and couldn’t imagine him as a thin, bookish, acne-ridden teenager, I smiled a little at the image.

Ryan caught my smile and squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back to reassure him. He still carried just a hint of the tension and nervousness from earlier. His shoulders were square and tight as he tried to maintain posture. Despite his physique, he tended to slouch, which drove me