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Title: These Things About Us
Author: Laura Beege
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Age Group: New Adult
Publication Date: August 4th 2013
Antonia is leaving the last shards of her life in Tucson behind to find her mother and start over. Turns out that's easier said than done. London is a pretty big city, a hundred bucks don't get you far and you can't just make your past disappear.
When sweet and caring uni student Wesley gets her a job and a room in his father's pub, Tony is unprepared for his older brother Trace who despises her at first sight. She's unprepared for someone whose secrets might be darker than her own.
Following a path of breadcrumbs and tangling up in Trace's past, Tony slips back into a world she thought she'd escaped the day her father went to prison.
Laura's Dream Cast for These Things About Us...
Alex (Wesley’s and Trace’s Dad) would be played by Colin Farrell, because he’s got that edgy look down, tough enough to play someone who owns a hard rock pub. Plus, he’s from Ireland. Sexy Accent? Check.
Vincent would be played by Jordan Gavaris. Jordan does an amazing job on Orphan Black portraying a feminine man, and I’d love to see how he’d pull off high heels and a dress – although we don’t actually get to see this side of Vince in TTAU. Sorry, I cut that scene.
Sierra would be portrayed by Kandyse McClure. I always imagined Sierra to be pretty but to have distinct gritty looks. You’d have to see at first sight that she doesn’t come from money and that she’s realistic – not a dreamer, not someone with big hopes, just a young woman. To me, Kandyse fits the bill.
The moment Wesley popped up in my writing, I pictured Douglas Booth portraying him. He’s got the side-swept, light brown hair and the square jaw. He’s handsome in an effortless way, but still manages to look young-ish/boyish. Douglas wouldn’t even have to fake an accent, because he’s naturally sporting that sexy English accent.
The actor I chose for Trace is way too old by now, but this is my dream cast and in my dreams I can make Mr. Damn-How-Are-You-This-Pretty aka Mike Vogel a couple of years younger, right? I can make him look like he did in Open Graves and add a few tattoos to his skin, right? Because that’s pretty much what I picture Trace to look like. Specifically in this picture.
My actress of choice for Tony would have to be shortened by a few inches, because Katie Findlay is a bit (read: a lot) too tall. But that’s okay, because I’m still dream-casting, and I can change her eye color to blue in my dreams. Other than those two details, Katie looks so much like Tony to me. She has those big, dreamy eyes and those curly lips and her dark curls that make her as close to perfect as one could be for this role.
An excerpt from These Things About Us...
**Warning: This scene contains some slight spoilers!
Read at your own risk ;-)**
I usually didn’t mind pushing her buttons. In a sick and twisted way, I even enjoyed lurking her less-than-perfect side out of the polished shell. But right then, something had snapped.
I hadn’t just annoyed the fuck out of her. Her eyes widened in horror and she pressed her hands against her stomach as if my questions had stabbed her. Multiple times.
Apparently, the tattoo was completely off limits.
“Can’t you just let it go?” she cried out, tears glazing over her eyes, then pushed past me and bolted up the stairs.
Bloody hell, my stomach twisted and knotted. Because I’d made her cry. I shouldn’t feel bad about that. She was no one. She was merely passing through, not realizing how she screwed up everything I’d worked for in the past months. When had I allowed myself to care this damn much about that girl?
“Is anyone else wondering what this was about?” Sierra tossed a CD on the counter and I almost winced as the fragile disc hit a glass.
“Actually. No,” I replied. Because I didn’t wonder. I didn’t know why the tattoo was a topic better left avoided, but she’d allowed me glimpses at her bruises before, and no matter how badly I wanted to hate her for ripping open old wounds, I couldn’t inflict the same kind of pain on her and walk away. Nobody deserved that kind of desertion. Not even her.
I slipped out of the pub and followed Kitty upstairs. The door to her room was wide open and she was tearing through her clothes. For a second, I’d almost let myself marvel at the curve of her waist, but then I reminded myself that she was so fucking off-limits, it hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I said and shoved my hands into my pockets.
She turned around, facing me with bright red cheeks and trembling lips. I really had to be sick, because the first thing I thought at this view of her, fuming and angry, was that she looked freaking hot like this.
Thank God she opened her bitchy mouth before other parts of my body could react to the images my mind had produced. “Just leave me alone!”
“I just apologized.”
“That’s not helping. I don’t want you to apologize. I don’t want anyone to see the tattoo, or ask about the tattoo or talk about the tattoo. I just want my big blue sweater but I can’t find it. So, just leave me alone!” She whirled around, hiding her face from me, but I could see her shoulders quaking. Worse than that: I could see a broken girl. Maybe just as broken as I was. And I wanted to help fix things. I’d fucked up before, but this time, I still had the chance to amend my wrongs.
I left her alone again and went to rummage through my own clothes. I tore my dresser open and dumped all the shirts that were tight or small on me and all the shirts that weren’t blue on the floor. Which left the drawer empty. Shit. I dug through the next drawer, but I didn’t have a bloody blue shirt. Shoving the drawers shut, I hoped she didn’t insist on the color. Hell, she could cover up the tattoo with any other shirt, right? Except, she’d precisely said big blue sweater.
I raked my hands through my hair. I felt time slipping through my fingers. My opportunity to help would be gone in a minute. I’d be branded a useless prick. “Fuck,” I growled and grabbed the first shirt that was still neatly folded.
At least I hadn’t missed my chance. When I went back over to Kitty’s room, she was still throwing clothes in and out of her suitcase. Her breath hitched in her throat. If she started crying, I’d be lost, so I crossed the distance between us and carefully placed the shirt under her trembling hands.
“It should be big on you, but I couldn’t find a blue one.” Was that another apology? Two in the same hour. I was definitely losing my shit.
“What are you doing?”
Messing this up. “Trying to right a wrong. Just trying to…” I looked at her and I tried to look past Kitty, trying to find a person long gone, but she was barely there. This wasn’t good. Poppy had left an empty space behind, but I couldn’t fill it with this… American.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything.” I wouldn’t let it. I couldn’t. It would betray her. It would make me the biggest traitor – possibly worse than Judas. “Can’t you just take the bloody shirt and shut up?”
I couldn’t look at that girl anymore. Her clear blue eyes were razor blades to my scars. I fled the bloody room and jogged down the stairs, all to get away from her. I needed something to drink. Something strong.
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About the Author:
Laura likes to call herself an international girl. She grew up in an Asian/European family in Germany, spent some time as an exchange student in France, moved to England after graduation and eventually landed back in Germany, where she’s currently working on her degree in Theater & Film. No matter where she will be next year (Manhattan?) or the years after that (Italy?), she intends to keep on writing.
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