Nell Iris Guest Post: It Rained All Night

Thank you so much, dear Ally, for allowing me back into your space to talk about my newest release It Rained All Night. (You are most welcome, Nell!)

This story features a trope I usually don’t write: class differences. I’ve written about it exactly once before, but that was in one of my rare fantasy stories, and it felt more natural in that situation. It Rained All Night is a contemporary story, and it doesn’t come naturally to me in this context. I’m aware that class differences are a real thing—both IRL and in books—but the poor MC meets billionaire MC isn’t something I read a lot, which means I don’t write it either.

But Henrik, the narrator in It Rained All Night, told me he was filthy rich, and I had to listen to his voice. He started as a regular gazillionaire (hah!) with a private plane at his disposal, but in the final edit, after I got my manuscript back from betas, he morphed into something more. He turned out to be nobility.

Sweden is a kingdom and has had noble, titled families for hundreds and hundreds of years, but in 1902 the last person became ennobled, and the nobility lost their official privileges, such as tax exemptions on July 1^st, 2003. They still enjoy some informal social privileges, and in 2022 there are still 657 noble families in Sweden.

And Henrik is one of them. His family still garners lots of attention from the press, and they’re very rich, not just from inherited money, but also from hard work. They’re always in the public eye, something Henrik doesn’t like, something that has kept him from trying to find a significant other because he doesn’t want to subject someone to a life of public scrutiny.

Then he meets Mikko, a regular middle-class, yoga-loving guy, and his life changes completely…

Excerpt

It’s late when I finally get home. I tear off my white bowtie as soon as the door closes behind me and toss it on the entryway table. The peacock-y tailcoat suffers the same fate, and as I march through the apartment to my bedroom, I remove the cufflinks and the studs from my suffocating shirt, flip open the button on my pants, toss them on the bed after shimmying out of them, and by the time I reach the shower, I’m naked. I quash the guilt about throwing my fanciest clothes around like I was a teenager in a snit, but I’ll take care of them in a moment. I need to wash off the day first. 
I turn the water to red-hot and step under the spray. I hate weddings. At least grand formal affairs that are mostly for show and less about celebrating love—the ones attracting the press like flies to a rotting corpse—the kind my family likes to put on. It’s not that I doubt that my cousin Emma loves her now-husband, but a white-tie wedding? Yes, we’re a rich, titled family, but we’re not the royal fucking family. 
The warm water beats down on my tense muscles as I scrub off the ostentation of the evening, and I feel a little better after drying off. I pull on some soft sweats, take care of my fancy suit, then slip out onto the balcony. It’s chilly; spring has just sprung, and the rain-heavy air doesn’t help with the temperature. Raindrops are splattering against the glass roof, and the scent…the scent is intoxicating. It’s earthy and fresh, it’s washing away the old and dead to make way for the new and the budding. 
I take a picture of the rivulets on the roof and send it to Mikko without a message. It’s late—a glimpse at the time tells me it’s close to one in the morning—and he’s probably already sleeping. He’s an early riser and never misses his yoga practice at five-thirty, so I don’t expect a reply. Instead, I sit on one of the chairs, dragging the other one closer so I can rest my feet on the seat, before reclining the back and closing my eyes, exhaling all the frantic energy of the day. 
If I ever get married, it’s going to be a small affair. Just him and me and the witnesses needed to make it legal. No napkins printed in gold with our names, no long-winded speeches, no band playing, no press photographers. Just him and me and the I do’s and a light drizzling rain in a remote place where no one can find us…
I sigh. If I ever get married. I need a man for that, and I won’t find a man if I’m not looking, and I’m not looking because…
A gust of wind sprays me with chilly raindrops. I shiver but don’t go inside. Instead, I sink deeper into the chair and let the steady dripping on the roof soothe me. 
I’m not looking because of Mikko. 
I don’t know when it happened. When my feelings for Mikko veered from being friendly to something else. Something more. Something deep.
We stayed in contact after the yoga retreat; even though we’d exchanged phone numbers, I didn’t expect much, but he’s an avid texter and kept me updated about his long train ride back home after we parted. He was funny and thoughtful, and it didn’t take long until texting him daily was a regular part of my routine. Until I started expecting “good morning” messages with a picture attached of him contorted in one of the harder, fancier yoga poses. Until I started needing to chat with him for a few moments at the end of the day to unwind. Until he was the one I wanted to confide in, until he was the one I started to turn to when something important was going on. 
Until he was the one I fell—
I push away the thought before I can complete it. It’s not possible to fall in love with someone you’ve only met once. It’s not. 
Still, as I sink deeper into the chair, as the pitter-patter of rain against the roof chases away the stress of the day, I allow myself a second to acknowledge that I’m fooling myself with those kinds of thoughts. 
But then my phone buzzes with an incoming call, I know it can only be one person. Only Mikko would call me at this hour.
 “What are you doing up this late?” I ask as a greeting, as the tense set of my shoulders bleed away, leaving me relaxed for the first time all day.
“I was waiting for you to report back from the wedding of the century.” His voice is hoarse, sleepy, but happy.

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