𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝒐𝒇 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐝𝐮𝐞𝐭.
A truly dark and unconventional romance that's still somehow saccharine at its rotten core.
❥ 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐀 is a 28-year-old wannabe ballerina with her head stuck in the clou...
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Ronan's POV
"You're a sick man, Ro. A sick, sick man!"
The belligerent, screeching noise that resembled a tea kettle long forgotten on the stovetop was none other than my mother's voice.
Love you, Ma.
I ducked, again, as yet another shoe was being hurled in my general direction. Thankfully still missing as it ricocheted off the wall behind me, before tumbling across the mahogany floors and settling not far from the first piece of footwear that had been weaponized against me.
I always thought I was a pretty charming fella.
Or at least, that's what I surmised from the constant stream of beautiful women I effortlessly seduced and spineless men who desperately sought my approval while also seething with envy. All I ever have to do is flash a crooked yet pearly white smile and make whoever I was fussing with forget why they were even upset in the first place.
What can I say? I'm just that suave.
Unless you're talking to my mother. As you can already tell, that song and dance doesn't work on her.
Trust me, I've tried.
Unfortunately for me, she knows what a scumbag I am. She did raise me, after all. And therein lies my predicament.
"Fuckin' hell, Ma! Would you stop for one goddamn min—*THWACK*!"
I made the terrible mistake in assuming that she had run out of footwear to throw at my now discombobulated head, since most people only wear two shoes... Right?
Oh, it seems she switched her ammunition from moccasins to a TV remote. Damn, she's fast.
"Nu se poate! And now you're using the Lord's name in vain? Oh, that's just wonderful! First, I walk in on you riding the town bicycle—now blasphemy?!"
(Translation: Unbelievable!/It can't be!)
I almost forgot about the exceptionally sexy, and now vastly offended, nude woman in my bed. Visibly mortified and clutching my duvet against her chest to conceal herself from the sudden intrusion that I call Ma.
I, myself, am still holding a pillow I snatched as soon as that door flung open, attempting to cover the best part of me as I now stand at the foot of my bed—naked as the day I was born. One hand protecting my manhood with said pillow and the other guarding my face from any further damage.
What a lovely impression I'm making in front of... Chelsea, was it? Or maybe it's Chloe? Not that it matters too much since I didn't really plan on seeing her again anyway.
