La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink}
Read La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} Online
Authors: Lydia Michaels
Tags: #breast cancer, #survivor, #new adult, #New York, #friends to lovers
Lydia Michaels
Romance | Women’s Fiction
LA VIE EN ROSE: Life in Pink
Copyright © 2015 Lydia Michaels
First E-book Publication: © Lydia Michaels 2016
Editor: Elise Hepner | Copy Editor: Rene Flowers
All Art & Cover Design © 2015 by Lydia Michaels
ASIN:
B01B6KXZO0
ISBN-13
: 2940152786477
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer. WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
LA VIE EN ROSE | LIFE IN PINK | L Y D I AÂ M I C H A E L S
Other Titles By | Lydia Michaels
L
ydia and I met more then twenty years ago and became instant best friends. We have grown up together and watched the world change together. We've been there for each other through so many things and my life is better because she’s in it. I may be a little biased, but I absolutely adore Lydia's writing. She takes you with her when she writes, transports you to a world she’s created where you feel for the characters and fall in love with them.
Last February [2015], Lydia gave me a copy of a new manuscript she’d written titled,
La Vie en Rose
. Once I started reading it, I could not put it down! It consumed me, took my breath away, the storyline so unlike anything she’d written before. I was honored to be among the first to read it. I loved it for the story it told and I loved the characters she brought to life. I was intrigued by the underlying message and believed that it deserved attention. I applauded Lydia's ability to take such serious subject matter and make it approachable, enjoyable even, though parts of La Vie en Rose absolutely gutted me.
Life often imitates art and that would be true for me in my life. A year has passed since I first read La Vie en Rose and I’ve often thought back on the many messages written between the lines. My life relates to this book more, now, than I ever expected. The beauty of La Vie en Rose is in the peaceful acceptance it teaches, wrapped up in an unforgettable romance. The story you are about to read is poignant, it is informative, it is written from the heart and it is a subject that deserves our attention, because it’s about all of us and this precious thing we call life.
~Regina Failla Hunter
Living life in orange and gold since August 2015
This book is dedicated to the unshakable Yvonne Gattelli
whom I reserve the right to hug whenever the mood strikes.
Yvonne, you always have a smile—
even in a classroom full of eight-year-old maniacs. Thank you for being such a beautiful person. You inspire me.
Love,
Lydia
LIFE IN PINK
L Y D I A M I C H A E L S
Women’s Fiction | Romance
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www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
Pretty little ribbons...
True beauty, for all its enchantment, fades.
It is not timeless in appearance,
but in experience.
Recognize life’s beauty and those memories will never die.
––––––––
R
iley’s lips twitched as soft ebony curls ghosted over his bare stomach, lower and lower, tickling his hips and teasing that tight strip of flesh just below his bellybutton. A deep, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest like distant thunder as anticipation teetered on impatience—but it was a good, burning sort of anticipation. Holy fuck, was it good. Stretching, he gave Curls the access she needed and—
“So I’m thinking we’re going to settle on coral with deep navy blue accents for the main theme. That should complement the nautical look Becket wants.”
Why was his roommate’s voice in his dream?
Shaking off the distraction, his palm lowered, fingers gently knotting in the satin ringlets to better direct the ebony waves going down on him. His body hardened as soft kisses teased his happy trail and she got to work.
Yes...
Rolling his shoulders, he stretched his hips and drew in a slow breath. Heaven. The first true sensation of tongue-to-tip had his toes pointing as the heat of her pouty lips—
“Whatever you want, toots. It’s your day.”
Oh God, no!
What the hell was his sister doing in his dream?
Get out, Rarity! Get out!
The ethereal weight of the dark haired woman’s touch faded. No, no,
no!
There was a soft girlie sigh. “I can’t believe it’s actually happening. I’m going to be Mrs. Becket Grayson.”
Emma, his roommate, was definitely there too. Damn it! They were ruining everything. This was his time. Not their time. Dream blowjob time! The anticipation of sin and sex paled, as Emma’s voice carried on about champagne toasts and processionals. His roommate’s incessant wedding planning was officially intruding on
everything
.
The loft used to be a sanctuary. The day Emma got engaged their living situation took a turn for the worse as girlie crap slowly corroded every square inch of his life—even his fantasies. Passing out on the couch was a dangerous gamble, leaving him widely susceptible to wedding babble bullshit when he could’ve been enjoying some nice fantasy head.
“Will I be wearing coral or navy?” his sister asked then mumbled, “Say navy. Say navy.”
Emma did that tiny chirp she claimed was a laugh. “You can wear navy, but there’s nothing wrong with coral.”
“You know how I feel about pink,” Rarity reminded.
“Coral’s not pink.”
“It’s in the family.”
“Fine. You’ll wear navy, but you’re wearing a dress.”
Rarity groaned with resignation. She’d always be the brother he never had. “Fine, but Lexi’s wearing a tux.”
“Look at these carnation balls I found in this issue of
I Do
. My florist can make them in the coral.”
It was as if he were invisible. They just kept yapping and yapping.
“They look pink to me,” Rarity said.
He growled obnoxiously. “That’s it! Do you two mind? I’m trying to sleep!”
And I lost fantasy girl!
A throw pillow smacked him in the face. “Then don’t use the couch as your bed, dumbass. It’s noon. Go to your own room if you want quiet,” his sister snapped.
“Sorry, Riley. We’ll be more quiet,” Emma apologized then whispered, “We could use navy ribbons to hang the balls off the white chairs we’re renting for the ceremony.”
Their loft was spacious. Did they have to stage these womanly talks right on top of him? They could have at least moved to the kitchen ten feet away—or better yet, parked this prenuptial symposium all the way down the hall in Emma’s freaking room.
The wedding plans carried on ceaselessly, as they had since Becket proposed to Emma six months ago, and Riley once again considered how much happier he’d be renting his own place. Sharing a loft with two girls, one being his sister, hadn’t been a bad setup until that damn ring and all those girlie magazines came along. Before the dawn of the bridal apocalypse everything was kosher.
They lived in the hipster section on the posh Upper West Side of New York. He liked his home, loved the industrial feel and the exposed brick walls. The raw space, exposed ductwork and battered moldings were just aged enough to qualify as vintage. Splitting the rent three ways afforded them some square footage, but things were getting a little cramped lately, with Emma’s new obsessions.
His sister, Rarity, exhibited a tolerance for girlie crap that surprised him. Rarity was seriously chill, like a pretty guy that peed sitting down. She didn’t cry or squeal like a valley girl or do that needy drama shit girls tended to do. She was easily the coolest chick he’d ever met. And being that she was a lesbian, they had plenty of shared interests.
Never giving a damn about clothes or purses, Rarity appreciated the finer things in life, like good beer, decent music, a nice set of tits, and red meat. Her unarguable beauty and confidence pulled men in from miles away. And for years he enjoyed watching his little sister turn every last one down. She was his best friend and Emma was hers.
The only girlie thing Rarity couldn’t live without, apparently, was Emma.
Rarity was uniquely striking, with dark shorn hair and high arched brows, but it was her dry wit and endless sarcasm that could make any man second-guess his worth—a neat parlor trick to watch. Emma, on the other hand, was compassionate with soft blonde curls, dimpled cheeks, and eyes that pathologically betrayed her, eyes too full of innocence to hide her inexperience.
Emma was the quiet, sweet type that never got in the way. But lately she’d really cranked up the fem-meter and was driving him insane—which made him a horrible person, because he was going to shoot her if she didn’t shut the hell up.
All this wedding talk
had
to be getting to his sister. Riley was ready to duct tape Emma’s mouth shut. How in depth could a discussion about linen be? The texture, the hues in natural light versus candlelight, the thread count—bullshit conversations like that went on for days. He was amazed Rarity hadn’t reached her limit and freaked yet.