Lucian Divine

  “Swear on This Life is Renée Carlino at her finest. Raw, real, and gripping; I read it in one sitting.” —Colleen Hoover, #1 New York Times bestselling author of It Ends With Us

  “Carlino fans will love this one, and so will readers who have not yet made her acquaintance. The tale is engaging and paced to keep the pages turning long after the lights should be out.” —Kirkus Reviews

  “Mysterious and compelling, Swear on this Life is the epic love story your summer needs.” —Bustle.com 11 New Romance Books Perfect for Summer Beach Reading

  “Romance fans will find this heartfelt story of resilience and first love hard to put down.” —The Library Journal

  “Readers… will find themselves simply smitten by both the novel in front of them and the story within the story. Romance readers and women’s fiction fans should snap up this charming love story.” —Booklist

  LIVING MAGAZINE “NEW ROMANCE CLASSIC” PICK

  LATINA MAGAZINE PICK

  “Before We Were Strangers is as steamy as it is sweet. With two characters who are meant to be but just can’t get the timing right, Renée Carlino has mastered the missed connection. I found myself rooting for Matt and Grace at every turn and aching to crawl into the book to go back to the 90s to join them. Evocative, tender, and satisfying, Carlino has outdone herself.” —Taylor Jenkins Reid, author of Maybe in Another Life, After I Do, and Forever Interrupted

  “Powerful and poignant, Before We Were Strangers captures the magic and heartache of first love. I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough.” —Tracey Garvis-Graves, New York Times bestselling author of On the Island and Covet

  “This is one of the most romantic, heartfelt, and consuming books I’ve ever read. To say that I’m in love with it would feel like the biggest understatement ever… I’m blessed, so insanely lucky, to have found a story that I finished reading with tears in my eyes and a more beautiful outlook on life, love, and believing in second chances.” —Book Baristas

  “Exquisitely written… I highly recommend this if you’re in the mood for a really great, heartfelt journey loaded with angst and healing, all in the name of true love.” —Maryse’s Book Blog

  “Renée Carlino’s writing is deeply emotional and full of quiet power. You won’t be disappointed.” —Joanna Wylde, New York Times bestselling author

  “After the Rain tore me up in the best way possible. Sexy, sweet, and sad, all woven together with an overwhelming undercurrent of hope, Nate and Avelina’s story is one that goes straight to my list of all-time favorites.” —Amy Jackson, New York Times bestselling author

  “There is a certain ‘magic’ or ‘spark’ or whatever you want to call it that really makes a book come to life as you read it. As a reader, I’m on a constant search for that special spark, and I absolutely found it here. Nowhere but Here was a unique and beautifully written love story. I laughed, I swooned, I wiped happy tears away, and I fell in love. This book warmed my heart and left me with the most wonderful feeling. I highly recommend it for all fans of romance!” —Aestas Book Blog

  “The kind of romance that gives you butterflies in your stomach, that tingly feeling all over, and a huge smile on your face… If you are looking for something emotional, where you can truly experience what the characters are feeling through the beautifully written words of an amazing author, complete with a wonderful epilogue that will give you a sense of completeness, then look no further.” —Shh Mom’s Reading

  “Sassy and sweet, Sweet Thing melts in your mouth and goes straight to your heart!” —Katy Evans, New York Times bestselling author of Real

  “Surprisingly, this is Renée’s debut novel because she writes like a pro with words flowing effortlessly and beautifully, totally hooking me from the beginning. There was something intangibly real and special about this book, which kept me reading until I finished it… one of my favorite stories of the year.” —Vilma’s Book Blog

  Lucian Divine

  Copyright © 2017 by Renée Carlino

  Cover design: Brianna Harden

  Interior Design: Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the publisher.

  PREFACE

  1. BIBLE

  2. TRUTH

  3. LIES

  4. PRAYERS

  5. DREAMS

  6. REGRETS

  7. OBLIVION

  8. CHOICES

  9. LOVE

  10. FEAR

  11. TIME

  12. LIFE

  13. HOLY MATRIMONY

  14. SOUL THAT SINNETH

  15. HOLY WAR

  16. POOF

  17. TWO STEPS FORWARD

  18. THREE STEPS BACK

  19. CONSEQUENCES

  20. LAST CALL

  21. CAREER, LOFT, RELATIONSHIP

  0. BACK TO ZERO

  1. JUST THE BEGINNING

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ALSO BY RENÉE CARLINO

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  For my parents, whose faith is as strong as their sense of humor

  WHEN I WAS about four years old, my sister and I made up this rule that we couldn’t lie if we said, “Promise and lying is a sin.” I would say, “I didn’t take your cupcake off the counter,” and she would say, “Promise and lying is a sin?” And I would confirm, “I promise and lying is a sin.” It was our version of, “You Swear to God?” Of course we weren’t allowed to swear to God—we were Catholic. It was a weird phrase that we made up to mean the same thing, and before long, the phrase blended together to sound like one word—promisinlyinsasin.

  After a while, we stopped thinking about the meaning of each word. What is a sin? What is a promise? What is a lie? It became a truce between sisters more than a truce with God. At first, it was a reminder not to lie because you’d go to hell for sinning, but it became a reminder not to lie because, plain and simple, when we lie, there are consequences here on Earth with the humans we love.

  During my first holy communion when I was six, a little boy in my Catholic school was chosen to carry the wine to the altar during the special mass. You know, the blood and body of Christ? He tripped and fell in the aisle, subsequently tossing the wine into the air before it went crashing onto the stone floor, splattering the blood of Christ on three little girls wearing their white communion dresses. It was impossible, even at the age of six, for me not to laugh at the irony. The nuns were furious, the boy was mortified, and the three girls were in tears because they didn’t look pretty anymore… not with Carlo Rossi staining their satin and lace.

  When I was growing up, my parents watched and loved a few movies that portrayed holiness or God or heaven in some way. Honestly, it confused me that my mother would say some jokes were sacrilegious, and then she would laugh at movies like Oh God! with George Burns and John Denver. Michael, with John Travolta, was another one I remember. Also, Defending Your Life, with Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep.

  I love the romantic quality of the movie City of Angels, with Meg Ryan and Nicolas Cage, which my husband constantly reminds me is a remake of the Wim Wenders film, Wings of Desire. I always thought it was insanely romantic to be chosen the way Meg Ryan was in that film. No one else could possess what she had. It was something so prevalent and unique that even an angel would give it all up.

  I mention movies bec
ause I always see my books as movies. That’s how I imagine them, so in writing this book, I thought about a lot of movies that gave me inspiration. Like Beetlejuice, where the afterlife is portrayed with such unrestrained creativity. I imagined the writers bouncing hilarious ideas off one another, letting their imaginations fly. I laughed to tears at Silent Bob and Chris Rock being prophets, while Ben Affleck and Matt Damon were fallen angels without a clue in Dogma. And not to be forgotten is Alanis Morissette playing God.

  It’s all profoundly hilarious to me that no matter what you believe in, no one actually knows anything for sure. But if you have an imagination that surpasses what you’ve been taught about God, then there are endless possibilities for what might exist above us, below us… beyond us. It’s fodder and faith and all that is unknown, and it still amazes me that faith alone holds the key to religion everywhere, all over the world. Faith is strong enough to die, to kill, and to sacrifice for. Faith alone.

  Whether you’re religious, spiritual, agnostic, or atheist, there are some absolute truths about life in this book that have nothing to do with religion at all. I knew that I might offend some people with this content—they might even call it sacrilegious—but I assure you, I wrote every single word with the sense of humor that God gave me. This book is not about God or angels. This book is about faith, love, the unknown, and not taking ourselves so damn seriously all the time.

  BROOKLYN USED TO talk incessantly about the rules of dating. She had so many that she couldn’t remember them all, but the first few were the most important. Rule number one: never seem overly eager. Don’t act interested!

  “You have some kind of tech job, right?” I asked. “We talked about it last time. Where do you work again? And what is it that you do?”

  “I work in Internet security, in San Jose,” Beckett said.

  My nerves were swirling furiously in my stomach and bubbling up in my throat. I liked this guy. I thought he liked me. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time. “Internet security, what is that exactly?”

  “I write programs that people download to protect their PCs from viruses and stuff,” he said, smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  Does he feel sorry for me that I don’t know what Internet security is?

  It was my third date with Beckett, the first guy I had been out with more than once since graduating from fashion school. Actually, the first guy I had been out with more than once… ever. Our two prior meetings had been casual double dates with my roommate, Brooklyn, and randoms Josh and Swayze—yes, like Patrick. His mom had a thing for the movie Dirty Dancing.

  Double dates with Brooklyn and whoever usually involved a lot of eating, drinking, semi-existential conversation, some pot smoking, hooking up, passing out, and everyone happily going to Bloody Mary brunch the next day… then never talking again.

  “It’s the only way,” she would say. That brought me to her second rule: never go out with the same person twice.

  I didn’t understand the point of dating if you weren’t trying to get to know someone, but Brooklyn seemed happy and I never had any luck with guys, so I had begun taking her (not always helpful) advice. Brooklyn came from a progressive family. Her parents had an open marriage. Monogamy was never really valued in their household, so to Brooklyn, dating was like a game. A game she wanted to win. My best friend since childhood equated marriage to an agreement involving taxes and sometimes children. Her third rule—never entertain marriage unless he has a trust fund—was probably the worst, but it didn’t matter because how could you even get to entertaining marriage if you were following rules one and two?

  After living with her for few years, her rules started making more and more sense to me. She was happy and free and life seemed uncomplicated for her. Once I started following her rules, we had the time of our lives. But then I met Beckett. Something about him kept me responding to his texts and saying yes to hanging out. He showed promise. When I was with him, I thought about my future more than Brooklyn’s rules.

  “So this is officially our third date?” Beckett asked as he reached across the table to take my hand.

  It was our third date… technically. But it was the first without friends tagging along. We were at Blackbirds, which is mostly cocktails in a dark room. Beckett was sipping a fancy Scotch thing, and I had an eight-dollar, four-ounce jalapeno margarita.

  “I like how cheap the drinks are here,” I said, ignoring his comment and pulling my hand back. Eight dollars was in fact cheap for a margarita. In the Bay Area, everything is expensive, especially being young.

  Beckett and I hadn’t slept together. We had done other things back at my apartment, but nothing serious; he had been a true gentleman. I often caught myself batting my eyelashes at him like a fucking idiot, but I was smitten and that feeling was all new and shiny to me.

  He had the head-to-toe look that made Brooklyn go crazy, complete with a forearm tattoo of a random pinup girl sitting next to a bottle of ketchup. She had been into him first, but he hadn’t shown interest in her, which for some reason made me like him even more. Brooklyn was hard to look past. She had that confidence thing going for her.

  “I like that,” I said, pointing at the ketchup bottle tattoo.

  “Kind of a Warhol homage,” he said.

  “Yeah, I figured.” I smiled and batted my stupid eyelashes again.

  He was into me and not Brooklyn, and I wondered if that was driving my attraction toward him. I wouldn’t say I was ever second fiddle, but I let Brooklyn believe that. Being a novelty was a turn-on to her. She was easygoing, intelligent, pretty, and she got a lot of attention, which she needed all the time. Brooklyn would get naked with almost any guy who had a beard and a Mohawk and showed interest in her. If he wore suspenders, he was an automatic shoo-in. Beckett had all of those things, but I was the one he’d set his sights on the night we met him.

  We had been hanging out at an old-school dive bar on Market that was usually swarming with hipsters. Brooklyn was the kind of girl who knew showing off her legs in San Francisco was sexier and more exotic than hiding a tiny bit of cellulite. The night we met Beckett, Brooklyn was wearing high-waisted cutoffs rolled up to her ass, boots, and a maroon fedora. I’d had on some variation of black on black because, while I could design high fashion, I never cared to wear it. Brooklyn said I was going all Vera Wang on her, but I just found clothing shallow beyond the art of design.

  The truth was that I was insecure for no reason. I didn’t like attention the way Brooklyn did. But my black on black and wanting to blend in with whatever wall I was standing against didn’t bode well for my love life.

  That first night when Beckett approached me at the bar, I thought he’d ask about Brooklyn—I was used to that—but he didn’t. He asked about me instead, and now we were on our third date, talking each other’s ears off.

  “I’ve been working for this woman, Tracey. She’s a headache. She wants to do a denim line, and I want to cut off my ears every time she brings it up. She’s been on the circuit with these T-shirts—they’re basically like fifty-fifties, and she acts like she invented the damn shit.” I rambled on while Beckett looked totally enthralled. “She’s always trying to get in on stuff after it’s already been done. It’s one thing to know what’s trendy, but it’s real talent to know what’s going to be trendy… I think.”

  “Yeah, I get that. It’s the same in my job,” he said. “You have to be creative with these programs, stay five steps ahead of the shitheads writing viruses. If you don’t like Tracey, why don’t you do your own thing?”

  “I am. I mean, I’m always sketching. I just need the money right now. I have to stick it out with her for a while until I can get my own studio. She got some Japanese denim in last week and came up to me saying we needed to do a high-waisted bell-bottom. I said, ‘You mean like the jeans that are in every single store right now?’ She’s seriously stifling my creativity. She’s sucking the life out of me.”

  “That’s a bummer. Don’t let it di
scourage you. I saw some of your designs last weekend, and they’re totally deck.”

  “Deck?”

  “Yeah, like fresh.”

  “Uh-huh. Thanks.” I nodded, wondering how I’d missed the memo. Damn hipsters. “Do they have food here?”

  “I don’t think so. You hungry? Want to go to 4505?”

  “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  4505 Burgers & BBQ on Divisadero was a casual meat-fest. I had a root beer float, and Beckett and I shared a half a platter of ribs. There was meat and BBQ sauce in his beard through our entire meal, and it didn’t bother me one bit. I found it charming. Again, all new and shiny feelings. I had only slept with two guys in my entire life and neither was memorable at all, so at twenty-four, I felt inexperienced. But Beckett was sweet and easy to be around.

  Afterward, walking toward my apartment, we popped into a local hole-in-the-wall bar to grab one last drink before I invited him up, though he didn’t know yet that I had planned to finally have him over. It was only eleven, and I knew Brooklyn would be out until two in the morning at least.

  The bar—which by the way had no name—was a cool little place to get in one last drink. The bartenders dressed up in Star Wars costumes… always. It was just their thing. Tonight the bartender was Han Solo. When Brooklyn or I referred to the bar, which only had a neon sign with bright yellow letters reading Cocktails, we called it the Star Wars bar.

  Beckett and I sat at a table across from the bar top. I ordered a glass of wine.

  He, of course, ordered the hoppiest IPA then said, “Hoppy makes me happy.”

  I laughed as the bartender walked away.

  “Bad joke?” he said.