Butterfly in Amber
Publication date: May 12th 2017
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Romance
He’s waiting for you…
Under a blanket of snow, surrounded by dark woods and a frozen sea, lies an ogre’s castle. There lives a little princess, trapped in the maze of her own mind.
On a battlefield where the past meets the present stand a fairy godmother and a pirate, an old ice cream man and a knight in shining clean armor…
The clock is ticking fast, and to pierce the ogre’s secrets and defeat him, Island Chaptal will have to fight to remember…and stay alive.
Can the Lions and the Roomba cats be stopped before it’s too late?
“You . . . well . . . unless someone—no, that’s not what I meant . . . ” He clears his throat. “I believe you’re still a virgin.”
“I-I’m sorry, what?”
“You’re a virgin,” he repeats, his voice a little unsteady.
I sit up. Surely there’s a misunderstanding. “But, um . . . you said you were my boyfriend.”
“Hopefully I still am.”
An excellent question, which I’d rather sort out later. No, what I need to hear is how? “Were we, like, really religious or something?” Even as I say this, I realize it makes no sense. March has killed at least ten people over the past forty-eight hours and admitted to having tortured a guy in Rio. Unless he pledged allegiance to ISIS, I’m pretty sure religion isn’t his cup of tea.
His mouth twitches in the semblance of a wince. “How do I put this . . . our spirits were willing, but our flesh encountered . . . a number of obstacles.”
I listen, in a state of stupefaction as March goes over the many setbacks we’ve faced since the beginning of our journey. From that time he tried to kiss me in a car in Paris but a drunk bum threw himself onto our windshield—at least that one didn’t pee on it—to a long series of ill-timed or otherwise interrupted attempts. People kept calling at the worst times, then he didn’t have condoms, then his house exploded, then Dries barged into our room, then we were in an elevator and it wasn’t the best time, especially since dolphins attacked us right afterward . . .
And I’m twenty-six. Still a virgin.
Camilla Monk is a French native who grew up in a Franco-American family. After finishing her studies, she taught English and French in Tokyo before returning to France to work in advertising. Today, she builds rickety websites for financial companies and lives in Montreal, where she keeps a close watch on the squirrels and complains on a daily basis about the egregious number of Tim Hortons.
Her writing credits include the English resumes and cover letters of a great many French friends, and some essays as well. She’s also the critically acclaimed author of a few passive-aggressive notes pasted in her building’s elevator.
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