The 'Jane The Virgin' Romance Novel 'Snow Falling' Is Actually Being Published In Real Life — Read An Excerpt!
If you're a fan of Jane The Virgin, you already know that the titular character, Jane Villanueva, is an avid reader and writer who (finally!) landed a book deal last season with fictional imprint Lorden + Gregor. Well, the imprint, the character, and the show might be fictional, but the book is very, very real. Adams Media will publish Jane Gloriana Villanueva's debut novel Snow Falling in real life, under the banner of the fictional imprint Lorden + Gregor, under license by CBS Consumer Products.
Here are the steamy book details from the publisher:
A truly epic saga that captures the hope, the heartbreak, and the humor that has made Jane The Virgin so beloved, Snow Falling is a sweeping historical romance set in 1902 Miami — a time of railroad tycoons, hotel booms, and exciting expansion for The Magic City. This is the book that Jane has always dreamed of writing and Jane The Virgin fans have always dreamed of reading. Now everyone can have their happily ever after!
In a press release, show creator Jennie Snyder Urman said she was "thrilled" about the publication of the novel. "Prepare to get swept up in an epic love story," she teased.
The romance novel doesn't hit shelves until Nov. 14, 2017, but you can start reading right now. Bustle is proud to present an exclusive excerpt from Snow Falling, the debut novel from Jane Gloriana Villanueva, a literary star on the rise:
Snow Falling by Jane Gloriana Villanueva
Josephine Galena Valencia always did things the right way and in the right order. At the ripe old age of twenty-three Josephine had finalized her master plan, and nothing was going to keep her from accomplishing it: find a job as a tutor, finish a novel, and marry Martin. Or so she thought…
Passing through the Regal Sol Hotel’s luxurious lobby, Josephine smiled in satisfaction. The hotel had opened just three years earlier and had quickly become Miami’s premiere lodging for the nation’s rich and famous. Since she had secured a position as a concierge there, she’d hobnobbed with the likes of the Astors, Andrew Carnegie, various US senators and European royalty, and even the big man of Miami himself, Henry Flagler, the owner of the nearby Royal Palm Hotel and one of the city’s founders. That is, if you consider making sure that such luminaries had transportation from the rail station and choice spots for the nightly lounge show as “hobnobbing.”
Her long skirt and petticoat swayed around her legs as she pushed through the door into the immense dining room, where nearly two hundred guests were enjoying an extravagant four-course meal. The expensive fragrance of the ladies’ perfumes battled with the scents from the floral arrangements scattered along the edges of the space and on the tabletops. The murmur of conversation sounded almost like the susurrus of the nearby Miami River, broken only by the clatter and clank of cutlery against fine porcelain.
Silver centerpieces gleamed on tabletops, but paled in comparison to the glint of gold and sparkle of jewels draped on ears and necks, or gracing the wrists of the hotel patrons. Perfectly groomed ladies swathed in rich silks and brocades sat alongside dashing gentlemen in elegant evening dress.
Such amazing opulence, Josephine thought as she sashayed through the dining room, smiling at the various patrons and stopping to chat with one couple for whom she’d arranged a romantic yacht cruise along the Miami River. Before long her cheeks ached from the smile she kept firmly in place, and even with the breeze sweeping in from the open-air entrances around the room, a line of sweat trickled down her neck and beneath the high collar of her prim, white cotton shirt.
Josephine was counting the minutes until the end of dessert, when the guests would hurry out to the hotel’s lounge for the nightly entertainment. Once the dining service ended, she could slip away to spend some precious time with Martin before having to turn in for the night.
Martin. Even after two years of courting, her heart sped up a little at the thought of seeing him. Of maybe sneaking away with him to…
But she was getting ahead of herself again, which sometimes happened when she thought of Martin.
As a passing waiter placed the last dish of tutti-frutti ice cream in front of Mrs. Smith, of the Boston Smiths, Josephine hurried outside to one of the back paths to avoid the crush of guests that would shortly be heading to the rotunda that doubled as a lounge at night.
And there he was. Martin was waiting for her, leaning against a column at the edge of the passage. Unlike the guests dining in their evening wear, Martin still wore his daytime charcoal-gray sack suit over a pressed white shirt. Despite the slightly boxy cut of the suit, the single-breasted vest beneath hugged the lean lines of his body.
His gaze locked with hers for only a second until, with a gentlemanly dip of his head, he said, “Miss Valencia. So nice to see you. I trust that you are well.”
“I am, Detective Cadden. Thank you for asking. And you?” she asked and accepted the arm he gallantly offered.
He darted his gaze around and led her to a darkened spot beneath a poinciana tree just off the path. As he turned to her, crystal blue eyes dancing with humor and happiness, she smiled and leaned into him. Rising up, she whispered playfully into his ear, “Is it time for a proper welcome now, Martin?”
His hard, hot kiss was answer enough as he drew her deeper into the shadows for privacy.