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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Louisa's POV
This man is quite possibly the most ill-mannered and capricious one I've ever met. Not that I've met a lot of men... but still! His emotions have the rebound rate of a yo-yo in the hands of a child.
One minute he's mocking me without a care in the world, and the next? Imploring me to stay, only to lose his composure as soon as I give him my name. My name, that he so desperately beseeched, might I remind.
First, he scares the daylights out of me by skulking around in the dark. And now, he's looking at me like I'm an alien. I know I'm, I don't know, kinda odd lookin'? But that's not an excuse to gape and gawk with his jaw on the floor. Even I know that's rude!
He's the one that looks like a wannabe member of the Rat Pack. Who is he to judge?
What a weirdo!
A very... handsome weirdo. Very handsome. With striking features all around.
Intense, caramel-colored eyes like pools of sticky toffee, with a rim of olive green that look like the first day of autumn. His skin reminds me of how I like my coffee after I've put just a dash of creamer in it. A prominent, wide nose with a sly divot on the bridge. Thick and angular eyebrows, with inner ends perpetually furrowed downward, like he was born feeling sullen and has been ever since. His lips, thick and pillowy, are surrounded by coarse black facial hair that's neatly trimmed.
Speaking of his hair, it's absolutely captivating, like spilled oil. Pure black, glossy, and oh-so-fluffy. He even has the cutest little curl in the front that's segregated from the rest, sticking right out of his very noticeable widow's peak.
Just like... Superman!
And just like Superman, he's tall. Very, very tall. I'm not sure how tall, but tall enough that I watched him bow his head 'neath the balcony entrance when he decided to chase after me.
But, no matter how undeniably interesting I think he is, he's still a stranger. And a very peculiar one, at that.
He looks lonely, though. Like me.
As soon as I uttered my name, all the color drained from his face, like he'd just been told devastating news.
"Wha-What's wrong, mister?" I ask while cautiously pulling back my hand from his.
Maybe he hit his head a lot harder than I thought. Oh no, please don't pass out on me. I don't know CPR.
"I, uh, just... I—" He runs both fingers through his bouncy ringlets and huffs, seemingly distraught by something as simple and harmless as my name.
Even with his stuttering and exasperations, there's a hint of an accent I don't recognize underneath that gruff voice of his.
