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Crazy for Him

A Novella

Sofia Tate

New York   Boston

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Table of Contents

An Excerpt from Breathless for Him

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Copyright Page

In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

For Megha Parekh

Because you are my rock star editor extraordinaire.

Because you get me.

Because of your boundless support, patience, and guidance.

Because you are also my friend.

CHAPTER ONE

Northern Italy

Present day

Give it to me!”

“I’m playing with it now!”

“You had your turn!”

“MOMMY!”

I look over at Tomas at the wheel of our jet-black Volvo station wagon. “Remember what I said during my C-section about being excited to have more babies?”

“Yes,” he replies with a warm smile.

“Yeah, I think I’m good.”

Tomas laughs to himself as I turn around to reprimand my five-year-old daughters. “Mimi, you had your time with the iPad. It’s Marika’s turn now.”

“You know, Mommy, it would be much easier if you bought us another iPad so we wouldn’t have to share this one,” Mimi remarks in exasperation.

“Yes, it would.”

I turn back around with a smug grin. “Yay! She’s getting us another iPad!” I hear Mimi exclaim.

Marika sighs in reply. “Oh, dear, you don’t know anything, do you?”

“Be nice, Marika,” Tomas admonishes her from the driver’s seat.

God, I love my girls. They may be twins with matching blonde hair, but they’re so different. Mimi is named for her godmother Allegra’s signature role from La Bohème. She’s a dreamer who worships Disney princesses. Marika, a realist whose nose is always in a book, is named after Tomas’s mother.

We’re on the autostrada on our way back home to Geneva, where we’ll spend a week before flying to the Czech Republic to enjoy the last of our summer vacation with Tomas’s family. Then he’ll fly to London to start rehearsals for his lead role in Aïda at Covent Garden, and we’ll join him for opening night as we always do for all his performances.

“They’re fighting because it’s late,” Tomas points out.

I check on the girls. The iPad is now with Marika, and Mimi is pouting as she watches the Italian countryside rush by. Peace is restored for the moment. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. The girls wanted more time in the pool with Serena. I didn’t want to put an end to their fun. They only see Serena in the summer when we visit Allegra and Davison.”

“Well, it’s getting dark and we have another three-hour drive ahead of us. I say we find a motel and just start fresh in the morning.”

I let out a long yawn. “I agree, baby. Let’s keep an eye out.”

Tomas quickly glances over at me, mindful of the road. “I have an idea to keep us awake until we find something.”

“Tell me, Prague Boy. I’ll try anything at this point.”

“You’ve told me before how much you love my accent.”

I give him a quizzical look. “Hmm, I don’t recall ever saying that.”

He raises his eyebrow at me. “Yes, it must’ve been my imagination,” he teases me. “Maybe we could tell each other our story. You know… how we met, how we fell in love.”

I take a deep breath. “Hmm, that might be kind of nice.”

He nods with a smile. “Shall we start with the day we first met?”

I grin widely and nod. “The day I met The Wall.”

*  *  * Lucy

The Gotham Conservatory

New York, NY

Six years ago

“Will you hurry up, Lucy? You know how Waltz hates it when we’re late!”

I’m rushing with Alli down the hallway to our Wagner seminar at our grad school, the Gotham Conservatory near Gramercy Park, trying to juggle my coffee travel mug in one hand while checking my phone with the other. I frown at the email that just popped up, shoving the phone into my coat pocket. “Correction. He hates it when I’m late. Everyone loves Allegra. And by the way, you still haven’t told me what happened with Money Boy after I left you in front of Lincoln Center.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re such a drama queen. He only picks on you because your German is flawless and he’s trying to challenge you. And we’ll talk about Davison later.”

I turn to look at her with a knowing grin. “Bet your ass we will. And yes, this is true. My German is—”

Oof!

Without looking where I was going, which I could’ve sworn was down an open hallway, I bump into a wall. But a wall doesn’t grab you by your upper arms, holding them with a vise-like grip.

And a wall doesn’t have a broad chest, solid with muscle.

And a wall really doesn’t have a face with brilliant sapphire eyes, an aquiline nose, full lips that smile back at you wickedly, and a mop of dark blond hair falling across its forehead.

Then The Wall speaks to me in a deep European accent. “Are you all right?”

And that’s when I lose all train of thought.

Alli clears her throat to snap me out of my trance. “Oh, hi, Tomas. We’re just on our way to Waltz’s class.”

Hallo, Allegra,” The Wall replies to my best friend without taking his eyes from mine, still grinning like a damn fox about to dive into its catch of the day. “Do you speak?” he directs to me.

What an asshole.

That’s it.

“Yeah, I bloody do speak. And you were in my fucking way, so how about you step aside so I can get to class?”

“Are you British?”

I shake my head in confusion. “What?”

“You said ‘bloody.’ When I learned English back in the Czech Republic, we were taught using British textbooks.”

Oh my God.

Disarmed.

That’s what I am right now. Disarmed. I can’t think, and I’ve lost my ability to speak. And I’ve never been disarmed in my life. I’ve always been in control of myself, my environment, what’s going on around me. I have to be because of my size. At the first slightest sense of discomfort, of any type of mocking or insult, my defenses go up and I wield my shield of armor like the fierce warrior maiden Brünnhilde in Wagner’s Die Walküre, my favorite role to sing.

But with this guy, the steel inside me that I usually arm myself with has melted. It pours like molten lava out of my brain, leaving me without the ability to speak. The absence of the armor causes me to turn inwardly with my shoulders instead of ramrod straight with my back as it usually does to prepare myself for battle. My brain has turned to mush. Words escape me. And it’s all because of him. This Tomas guy, whose blue eyes appear to have softened as they roam over my body, a slight grin forming at the corner of his mouth. And that accent….I’ve always had a thing for guys with accents, but this one…it doesn’t hint at a man who considers himself a Lothario or ladies’ man, but someone who knows himself, is confident, and doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not, someone who doesn’t spew bullshit just to get a woman to like him, and, God help me, someone who is genuinely a nice guy.