The Hundred Loves of Juliet BONUS CONTENT: Alternate Ending

Postcards and brunch with me! (really!)

Hi lovelies,

I have a super secret deleted scene to share with you today— the original ending of The Hundred Loves of Juliet.

My editor kinda hated it (lol), and honestly, I think she was right to have me write a different final chapter.

But if you’re curious about the way I originally wrapped up Sebastien and Helene’s story, scroll down…

Autographed copies of The Hundred Loves of Juliet are available from Books Inc!

Get your holiday shopping done early…

(put a note in the Comments of your order that you’d like an autographed book)

Would you like a postcard from me?

I’m going on a writing retreat later this month to Solvang, a suuuuper adorable Danish village in California, and I would love to send you a postcard!

Why? Just because I love you.

If you want a postcard from me, just reply to this email with your name and mailing address (or email info to evelynskyebooks@gmail.com) before October 20th. I will send postcards anywhere in the world!

(I promise I will delete the emails with your addresses as soon as I send the postcards. I will NOT sell your addresses or share them with anyone.)

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Upcoming Events

BOOZY BOOK BRUNCH

Sunday, October 22, 10:30am – 12:30pm

Dana V. Wines 1588 Mission Dr., Solvang, CA 93463

Join some of your favorite romance authors for a Boozy Book Brunch at the fabulous Dana V. Wines in picturesque Solvang, CA! This two-hour event will consist of one hour to mingle and chat with the authors and your fellow readers, and one hour of book signings. There will be books sold onsite through The Book Loft if you want to indulge in a little book buying, too!

Your ticket includes:

• one glass of wine;

• assorted non-alcoholic beverages,

• assorted breakfast pastries,

• one 10% off coupon for the Book Loft bookstore,

• goody bag,

• meet and greet hour,

• signing hour,

• raffle giveaways

Confirmed Authors: Myah Ariel, SL Astor, Falon Ballard, Alexandria Bellefleur, Rebekah Faubion, Carlyn Greenwald, Sonia Hartl, Holly James, Courtney Kae, Erin LaRosa, Evelyn Skye, Kate Spencer, Lacie Waldon

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YouTube Interview with the Literary Hype Woman

I had a blast chatting with Stephanie (a.k.a. the Literary Hype Woman) over on YouTube about the writing of The Hundred Loves of Juliet, as well as a little bit about the process of working with Netflix on Damsel. Check it out!

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Spanish translation is now Available!

I’m thrilled to announce that you can now get The Hundred Loves of Juliet in Spanish! As some of you know, I’ve been studying Spanish for over 2 1/2 years now, so I am super excited to read my own book but in Spanish!

My wonderful publishers in Spain created a stunning, totally different cover for the book. I love the emphasis on the turning of time! (If you haven’t seen the animated video of the cover art, check it out here. It’s really beautiful.)

So if you—or anyone you know—would like to read Los Cien Amores de Julieta, you can get it from your favorite Spanish book retailer!

VIRTUAL EVENT EN ESPAÑOL:

I will be doing an Instagram Live with Spanish influencer Fran Targaryen on Saturday, October 28th at 8am ET/ 11am PT in Spanish!

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DELETED SCENE: The Original Ending to The Hundred Loves of Juliet

**WARNING: SPOILER ALERT**

**DO NOT READ THIS UNLESS YOU HAVE ALREADY FINISHED THE BOOK!**

(also note: this has not been copyedited, since it never made it to that stage of the publishing process)

** ready? **

No wait, I need to get you up to speed:

Okay, so the way I originally wrote the book, Helene died during childbirth and Sebastien became a single parent to a newborn baby.

Then this was the epilogue…

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Central Argentina - 30 years later

SEBASTIEN

It’s been a long day on the plains, and I am covered with dirt and sweat. To some, the harsh summer sun of the Pampas is wicked and unforgiving, but for me, the hard labor of cattle ranching is precisely the kind of work I love. The physicality required for riding all day is immensely satisfying, and the camaraderie among the vaqueros—the cowboys—reminds me of my old crew on the Alacrity.

After we water and feed our horses, the vaqueros and I drive out from the ranch to a local dive bar. By nature, the remote towns here in the middle of the grasslands are small, and I like it that way. If, however, I needed to get to a big city—for example, if Hope needed me to fly somewhere—Buenos Aires is only a few hours away.

I smile at the thought of her. For the last three decades, we’ve taken care of each other. When she was a child, her love and companionship was as much a gift to me as my parenting was to her. And now that she’s grown, my daughter is my best friend. Even if she is thousands of miles away, pursuing her career as a travel journalist. Her mother would be so proud.

The dusty road deposits me and the guys in the heart of town, and I pull into the parking lot of La Vaca Gorda, The Fat Cow. The guys pile out of the truck before I even shift into park. We’re always thirsty at the end of a long, hot workday.

On the way in, we rub the head of the cartoonish, fat cow statue at the entrance to the bar—tradition claims that every once in a while, la vaca gorda grants a wish to a hard-working cowboy. Because of that, no one ever misses a chance to give the statue a good rub; its gleaming, polished bald spot is evidence of that.

As we push through the front doors into the dimly lit bar, a cheer greets us.

“I don’t know why you’re all so happy to see me,” I jest in Spanish.

Everyone laughs. This is our routine.

“All right, all right,” I say. “A round of Quilmes for everyone, on me.”

The room erupts in wolf whistles at the promise of free drinks.

I join my men in our usual booth beneath a kitschy art print of cows dancing the tango. The cushioned seats are a welcome respite after hours on hard saddles, and I’m looking forward to an ice cold beer.

Pedro, my head vaquero, points toward the bar. “Looks like we got a new waitress here.”

The guys all crane their necks. Her back is to us, though, so all we can see is long, black, wavy hair over the standard Vaca Gorda uniform of white blouse and tan-colored skirt.

“How can you tell she’s new?” Juan, another of the guys, asks.

“Easy,” Pedro says. “I never forget a woman’s curves. I have a photographic memory for those types of things.” He taps his head for emphasis.

Juan scoffs. “You’re full of crap.”

Pedro points at the waitress again, this time outlining her body. “I’m telling you. I’ve never seen those hips before. That’s how I know she’s new.”

The other guys groan and join Juan in ribbing Pedro. But I stop listening, because the waitress turns around.

Pert nose. Rosebud mouth. Dark green eyes that sparkle like emeralds.

My heart forgets to beat.

It’s her.

With hands shaking, I fumble in my jeans pocket for my phone. I call a number I could dial in my sleep.

It rings only once before there’s an answer. I slide out of the booth and step into a corner to have my conversation in private.

“Hi, Dad. You’re calling earlier than usual today.”

I swallow the dry spot in the back of my throat.

“Dad?”

“Get on the next plane to Argentina,” I say, my voice scratchy.

“Why? Is everything okay?”

I nod, even though Hope can’t see me. Everything is more than okay.

“Hello? Dad? What’s going on?”

A solitary tear trickles down my cheek. But I smile.

“I found her, Hope,” I say. “Do you want to come meet your mother?”

HELENE

I’m about to pick up a tray loaded with beer when he approaches me at the bar. I’m new to this town and this is my first day on the job, but there’s something inexplicably familiar about him.

Striking eyes, like glaciers, cool yet bright at the same time. Dark, tousled hair. A slightly crooked nose. And scars that tell the story of a life well lived.

When he’s close enough to me, he speaks.

“It’s you,” he says. His voice husky and low.

I frown. “I beg your pardon?”

“I know you.”

I shake my head. “You’re confusing me for someone else.”

“No, I’m not. But let’s start at the beginning.” He extends his hand. “Hola. My name is Romeo.”

I’m not sure how to react. This is uncharted territory.

Or is it? I have the strangest sense of déjà vu.

I shake his hand, and a jolt of electricity flashes between us, vibrating thrillingly through my bones. I don’t know him, but I don’t want to let go.

“Hola,” I say. “I’m Julieta.”

Romeo smiles and keeps holding on to me. “I know.”