Advance praise for Hard to Fall
“Marquita Valentine strikes gold with relatable and quirky characters in Hard to Fall. She will have you fanning yourself and then reaching for the tissues as you cry from laughter. Hard to Fall is a fun read, full of steam and drool-worthy moments. How can you not fall in love with an alpha male who fights fires? Yum!”—Meghan Quinn, author of Stroked
“Five sweet and steamy stars! With quirky yet relatable characters, a sexy love story, and a compelling plot that keeps you entertained the entire way through, Marquita Valentine has done it again!”—Stacey Lynn, author of the Fireside series
“Sweet and quirky heroine and a steamy hero tangled together in a complicated romance readers will root for!”—Caisey Quinn, author of the Neon Dreams series
Some might call me a lonely, little rich girl with first world problems. I disagree with that descriptor, well, the lonely part, anyway.
My heart pinches, just like it always does when it comes to the man who has no use for me.
Anywho, you’d think I’d be miserable around families who love one another, especially ones as big as my best friend, Evangeline’s. I think she has eleventy billion relatives attending her wedding today.
It’s a huge family.
The groom, Hunter—his is no different on his mother’s side. I think they brought all of Tijuana with them. Except, we’re all supposed to travel to Mexico for a second reception tomorrow.
So you’d totally think I would hate weddings joining said families together.
But you’d be wrong. I’m a total sucker, romantic… or masochist. Take your pick.
In any case, I’m overjoyed for Eva. She deserves someone like Hunter mooning over her, sexing her up all the time, and being completely, utterly in love with her.
“Smile wider, please,” the photographer orders and I pull my lips back from my teeth like a beaver about to get her wood on.
“Not that wide,” he mutters.
With a little sigh, I slump and almost dump my boobs out of the top of my dress. Tugging the material up, I ask, “Better?”
“No,” the groomsman beside me whispers in my ear and I stiffen. Here come the comments about my breasts. “I like the one before he made us look like deranged antelopes.”
Delighted at his comparison, I glance up at him. “You have experience with them?”
He smiles, making my stomach flip, just like he’s done since I first laid eyes on him while walking down the aisle. “I was joking.”
“I wasn’t. The animal shelter needs to be prepared for anything.”
“People around here bring antelopes back from Africa a lot?”
I’m not sure if he’s teasing me, so I just go with it. “No, but they do adopt animals that they don’t keep longer than two weeks, and then we’re responsible for them.”
“Hey, Chatty Cathies. We’re trying to take a wedding picture here,” a guy calls out.
“Shut it, Rollins,” the groomsman growls, then turns his sexy blue eyes on me again. “Ignore him. You talk for as long as you want.”
“That could be a really long time,” I admit. “I live by myself and Empress Padme is exceptionally good at the quiet game.”
His eyes widen a little. “Really?”
The sound of a camera whirring as it takes our pictures doesn’t stop me from looking at him. Something that is a feat in of itself since I’m a teensy bit vain when it comes to how I look in photographs.
“I’m Saylor by the way.”
“You’re Anakin.” I practically breathe his name. Wincing, I attempt to correct myself. “I meant that you have the same name as the guy who played him and Darth Vader.”
“My acting chops are far, far worse.”
“Doubtful.” Only a smidgen of guilt pokes me in the gut for being so disloyal. “Have you seen the latest one?”
Before Hayden can answer, Hunter grabs his arm, giving me a smile and Hayden a pointed look. “Mind if I borrow him?”
“It’s your wedding.”
I watch as the two of them walk away, Hunter talking intently to Hayden.
Evangeline, looking radiant in her wedding gown, joins in on the picture, which is now only of bridesmaids and flower girls.
There are twenty-five of us.
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Eva has a lot of nieces, a sister, and four sisters-in-law. They’re all beautiful, happily married—the sisters, not the nieces—, and kind… I want to hate them, but I can’t. They’re undeserving of that kind of emotion from me.
Plus, they did my makeup and hair—the nieces, not the sisters. The oldest one, all of twelve, wielded an eyeliner pencil better than Rey with a light saber.
“Was Hayden bothering you,” Evangeline asks as we take a break from smiling.
I like him bothering me. “We were just talking.”
Her blue eyes flicker over me. “He didn’t want to just talk.”