Read an extract from Before Ever After by Samantha Sotto Yambao
Discover the stunning, sweeping time travel story from Sunday Times bestselling author of Water Moon, perfect for fans of The Time Traveller's Wife.
London
Now
Shelley closed the book. It didn’t end with “happily ever after.” And now, after three years of crying herself to sleep and one night curled on her foyer floor, she knew why: The story went on.
She took a deep breath. It was time to try to write the rest of it. She had said good-bye to Max the night before, but as she closed her eyes and felt his kiss on her neck, something told her that he wasn’t far away. He was there, holding her hand, steadying her fingers as she turned the pages. She would start small, she decided. A paragraph—she bit her lip—or perhaps something smaller. Shorter. A list. She rummaged through a drawer for a pen. She pressed its tip to paper. Milk. Bread. The pen shook. She gripped it tighter. Eggs.
The rubbery yellow mess in front of her would have made a less determined person give up on the idea of re-creating Max’s Sunday breakfast staple, but Shelley was made of sterner stuff. She pinched her nose and shovelled in a mouthful of what used to be eggs. Waste not, want not.
Strictly speaking, she would have to waste an inconceivable amount of eggs before she would ever want for anything again, at least moneywise. Max had seen to that. Shelley had gotten the second biggest surprise of her life when she found out how much Max had left her in his will. The biggest surprise was going to come three years later — today, in fact, in exactly three minutes and thirty-two seconds.
Max had willed to Shelley an obscene amount of money and a diverse investment portfolio ranging from office blocks in Stockholm to a private island in the Venetian lagoon. The only explanation Shelley had ever gotten from the solicitor was that Max had inherited his estate years before and that she was one of the two beneficiaries stated in his will. The other was an orphanage in Cambodia.
Shelley struggled to understand why Max would keep such a secret—not that there was anything to complain about in the life they had shared. He had operated a small tour company and spent his weekends at his small free-range chicken farm. When she wasn’t in their 1970s Volkswagen van traveling around Europe with Max or helping him run after chickens, Shelley worked on her mosaic commissions. It was an art Max had introduced her to on their first trip together and it had instantly become a passion. Working with the chaos of pebbles and broken tile reminded her that almost everything made sense after one took a few steps back.
She considered what had gone wrong with this batch. Definitely more edible than last week’s, but perhaps it could have done with a bit less cream and a little more tarragon—or perhaps a dash of cayenne?
The doorbell rang.
She swallowed the mouthful she was chewing, belted Max’s plaid blue bathrobe around her, and padded to the foyer in her furry purple slippers.
If Shelley had known what would be standing on her doorstep that Sunday morning, she might not have laughed off Brad’s constant prodding to hire a butler. He had never given up trying to persuade her to live the whole lady-of-the-manor lifestyle he had dreamed up for her. She ignored him, but she promised to rent the same Scottish castle Madonna had used for her last wedding reception when he kissed the right frog someday. Brad had found a couple of promising ones hanging around his watering holes lately.
Shelley was still preoccupied with planning next week’s baked eggs and cheese attempt when she opened the door.
There, waiting patiently behind it, was the surprise—or rather the shock—that would change all that she knew.
Max.
Shelley blinked.
And blinked again. She tried to speak, but the stars swirling around her whisked her away.