Addicted to You - Suzanne Jenkins

Prologue

In her junior year of college, Sofia Saint met Jake Hartford. With a larger-than-life personality and a hot surfer bod, wild and intense Jake Hartford contrasted beautifully to Sofia Saint’s quiet elegance. Previously, only two things meant anything to Jake: surfing and the ocean. All the local environmental agencies competed to get Jake on their teams because of his passion for causes like plastic pollution, keeping the beaches clean and open to the public, and water quality. Then he saw Sofia.

“How is it possible I’ve survived this long without you in my life?” Jake had asked her.

Being with Jake was just easy. He made no demands on her at all. They slid into position in each other’s lives, and the movement was effortless. Jake did his thing, and Sofia was just there, doing hers.

When their engagement announcement was made, women friends of his were baffled. Why did Jake choose the demure Sofia to settle down with over his usual sexy babes?

“She’s a little brainy for Jake,” his ex said, her nose in the air when she heard the news.

“Yeah, but he really digs her,” someone else observed. “Watch how he acts when she’s around. The old intense Jake is history.”

Observers noted that Jake did seem more relaxed with Sofia there, and happier.

“It was love at first sight,” Jake had said, pulling Sofia into a public hug.

“Aw,” their college friends sighed, witnessing the couple grow inseparable.

Sofia and Jake were always together. Senior year, they even took a few of the same classes, sitting side by side, sharing notes and whispering.

“Face it, babe, I’m addicted to you,” he said repeatedly.

The relationship just worked. He was solicitous to her, and she was patient with him. Never seeming bored, Sofia would sit on the beach reading for hours while he surfed, never passing up an opportunity to be with him. She went on all the beach-cleaning expeditions he organized, and carried a picket sign when his group protested something unhealthy for the sea. Although she’d deny that she worshiped Jake, Sofia held him and everything he did in reverence.

“Watching them is magical,” Sofia’s sister, Isabella, sighed. “He can’t take his eyes off her, and she adores him.”

Always surrounded by a bevy of bikini-clad beauties vying for his attention, he only wanted Sofia. They were slated to wed in late June, but then a week before, on the first day of summer, with a storm out to sea when the beaches were closed due to dangerous surf, he ignored the warnings, choosing the beach right outside the townhouse he and Sofia had recently purchased. Risking the danger to catch the waves, he hit his head on the pilings at the pier. His body washed up on the beach the next day.

Over the past year since it had happened, she experienced the cycle of grief that started the day she was told he was dead. She didn’t even know he had gone out to surf. Isabella had arranged a bachelorette party for Sofia for that weekend. They were leaving Saturday morning via limousine to, where else, Las Vegas. At the same time, Jake’s friends were taking him out Saturday night for his bachelor party.

She remembered how the nightmare had unfolded, step by step. She had been standing in her underpants and bra, wet hair dripping down her back. Her mom and dad arrived at her bedroom door next, an oddity.

“Can we come in, sweetheart?” her father had said in a soft voice.

Steven Saint never spoke in a soft voice.

“I’m naked, but come in,” she said, the worry not quite on board yet. “Why so morose? What? Did Jake cancel the wedding?”

Watching her family as they stood in her bedroom door, a premonition came over Sofia.

It’s okay. Don’t be afraid.

It was Jake’s voice; she was sure of it, but different, coming from within her head.

Isabella squeezed through their parents’ bodies, crying. She grabbed Sofia to hug, wet hair and all. “Sofia, Jake’s body washed up on the beach. He’s dead.”

“Jesus, Isabella, would you use some tact?” their mother, Karen, snapped.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Sofia said, looking at the yawning, empty suitcase open on the bed.

The first thought that came to her mind was that she didn’t have to go to Las Vegas after all, not her favorite place at the best of times.

“He’s dead?”

Steven reached for her robe, thrown over a desk chair, and covered her shoulders with it. “Put this on, dear, and I’ll tell you what happened.”

“How do you know?” she asked, her hands out, as if