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The Untouchables. That’s what everyone called us. The nickname had followed us around since we were kids. I wasn’t sure who started it, but the premise behind it was simple. My friends and I could get away with murder. Literally. That’s what happens when your parents own the two biggest companies in Manhattan.
We were untouchable. And I was…sick of it. I was sick of the lies and the secrets. I was sick of the pedestal we had to stand on. And I was sick of the girls throwing themselves at my feet like I was some sort of god. I was tired of being untouchable. Especially when all I wanted was someone who would never belong in my world…
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A Note From Ivy
This was not how book 5 was supposed to go. I expected to write a very small amount about Brooklyn’s life during the past 16 years. Just to catch everyone up. But when I started writing it…I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t cut Miller’s time with her short. Because to me, their life was happiness in this amazing little bubble. My husband Ryan and I live in a little bubble just like Miller and Brooklyn did. And I think I saw us in them. And I didn’t want it to end. I actually couldn’t write the words The End. Because I knew they’d break me.
This book means everything to me. Probably more than any other I’ve ever written.
I found myself again in this book. It was the most selfish book I’ve ever written. Because I wrote it for myself. Because I needed it. I wrote this story right from my heart.
I’ve always loved Miller. And I had this idea in my head that in another lifetime, he and Brooklyn would have wound up together forever. Happy and in love in each other’s arms forever and always. I needed to tell Miller’s story. Because he deserved it. He deserved a lifetime of happiness, and it kills me that I could only give him 16 years. Because 16 years will never be enough.
I wish I could say I was numb writing this book. But I felt all those emotions too. This book devastated me.
And if you’re feeling that right now too…know you’re not alone. I want to climb back into the middle of this book and just stay there with this happy little family of three.
I’m crying writing this note, just remembering this feeling of panic in my throat as Miller’s story came to an end. I hate writing that word. End. But Miller will live forever in this book. And I’m going to go read the middle again as he and Brooklyn danced around the kitchen in bliss, never knowing that their time would be cut short.
But as hard as it is for me to keep going…Brooklyn’s story isn’t over yet. I don’t have to write The End for her. And things are about to get really messy.
Look out New York City. Brooklyn is back.
Ivy Smoak
Wilmington, DE
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