Riley and Me and Love Me

I moved from Las Vegas to the South with my husband (then, boyfriend) several years ago. We had been dating for a few years, but the relationship was still relatively new at that point. So, as you can imagine, I was a nervous fucking wreck as we settled into our new home, worried that something bad would happen and freaked out that I was so far away from everything familiar. It took a while for me to fall in love with the South, but as for my husband, the strength of our relationship continued to increase, and I realized I had had nothing to worry about. Then, about a year and a half after we had settled into our new home, we got pregnant, and then I had a whole new slew of things to worry about, like whether or not we were ready for a baby, and how the hell were we going to take care of it or pay for it or whatever else you worry about when you find out you're pregnant. Now, almost another two years later, here we are. I'm a homemaking southerner, writing erotic dark romances during my daughter's nap time, making a life with my dream man.

Which is to say that I feel for Riley in Love Me. She's going through a lot of crap in book three. I've been there. Drafting these scenes reminds me of those times. The nerves. The vomiting. The ache. The hope. The trust.