A Tale of Two Centuries
I’m thrilled to be participating in the cover reveal to the sequel of Rachel Harris’s fabulous My Super Sweet Sixteenth Century.
The cover is gorgeous and, judging my the excerpt below, the story is going to be a scream!
Alessandra D’Angeli is in need of an adventure. Tired of her sixteenth-century life in Italy and homesick for her time-traveling cousin, Cat, who visited her for a magical week and dazzled her with tales of the future, Alessandra is lost. Until the stars hear her plea.
One mystical spell later, Alessandra appears on Cat’s Beverly Hills doorstep five hundred years in the future. Surrounded by confusing gadgets, scary transportation, and scandalous clothing, Less is hesitant to live the life of a twenty-first century teen…until she meets the infuriating—and infuriatingly handsome—surfer Austin Michaels. Austin challenges everything she believes in…and introduces her to a world filled with possibility.
With the clock ticking, Less knows she must live every moment of her modern life while she still can. But how will she return to the drab life of her past when the future is what holds everything she’s come to love?
Contest deets:
The giveaway is for one print copy of A TALE OF TWO CENTURIES (US only) and an
e-copy of A TALE OF TWO CENTURIES (open international). We'll be sending them
out to the winners as soon as they're available. Click on the rafflecopter below to enter....
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As a teen, Rachel Harris threw raging parties that shook her parents’ walls and created embarrassing fodder for future YA novels. As an adult, she reads and writes obsessively, rehashes said embarrassing fodder, and dreams up characters who become her own grown up version of imaginary friends. When she’s not typing furiously or flipping pages in an enthralling romance, you can find her homeschooling her two beautiful princesses, hanging out with her amazing husband, or taking a hot bubble bath…next to a pile of chocolate. A Tale of Two Centuries is her second novel.
A Tale of Two Centuries excerpt:
“The string goes where?” I ask incredulously, dropping the garment from my fingers as if it holds the plague. My heart rate pounds in my ears, already heightened from my shocking meeting with Austin earlier and the crowd in this land of chaos my cousin calls a mall. It is Saturday, apparently the day teenagers descend upon this enormous building, and we are shopping for clothes that will somehow strike a balance between what she calls dorky and what I call common courtesan attire.
“You heard me,” Cat says with a wicked smile and points to the scrap of fabric, causing me to flush even more.
Heat creeps into my scalp and if it were possible for hair to defy all wisdom and burst into flame, mine would. Holding this conversation in public as people bustle past us is horribly and wholly improper.
“It’s called a thong,” she clarifies with glee, “and by putting the string up there, you avoid ugly panty lines. Trust me, no one wants to see that business.”
I clear my throat and take a hesitant step toward the overflowing bins, peering down at the perplexing items again. “But surely it is uncomfortable to be lodged…in such a…spot?”
Cat shrugs. “You learn to live with it.”
Ophelia London 