How To Love (Editing)
  • Reads 2,310
  • Votes 73
  • Parts 8
  • Time 54m
  • Reads 2,310
  • Votes 73
  • Parts 8
  • Time 54m
Ongoing, First published Jul 16, 2012
*A/N: Thanks to all who has read and is still reading this story! It means the world to me and I love you guys for it. However, recently I've changed the plot a bit and also a lot of my characters because I realized I simply can't portray Holley as a cold bitch. She has to have a bit of a sunny personality...Anyways! I just want to say, it's a really good idea nobody reads this story until "Editing" comes off because I don't want to confuse you guys, or make you go back and read again and again. It'd be boring, really.*

"Why do you even care about me so much?" I throw my hands up, tears stinging my eyes. He grabs both my wrists, bringing them back down, his eyes boring into mine with such intensity that I involuntarily turn away. "You want to know why? You want the real reason? I love you. And that's why."

Seventeen years old Holley doesn't believe true love exists due to various past mistakes, but she's forced to reconsider when she lands the lead role in SHF's end-of-the-year musical. It might seem trivial to change everything just for a lead, but it's not always good things that come in small packages.
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Something Borrowed

51 parts Complete

Caught up in the sins and glamour of high society life, Astoria became the girl no one could trust. In order to return to grace, she must do the unthinkable: find a husband before the end of the year... before her mother chooses for her. With only 3 months remaining in the year, she decided to return to the limelight and reengages of high society life. But with everything she needed to build a future, only one question rings in her mind as she faces her fate: was it worth the price? __ The lighting was dull, but I could still see the shadows of his strong jawline, and the broad, muscular build he hid under his suit jacket. I wished I could see more of him-I wished I could see his face. I was intrigued by him, by the man who couldn't seem to look away. I blinked a few times before turning my cheek, suddenly conscious of the way his hidden eyes bore into me; I could almost feel the intensity of his gaze burning holes into my skull. Maybe he knew who I was; maybe he was one of the people I had crossed, they all looked the same to me. I had too many skeletons in my closet to be able to keep track of who was an ally and who was an enemy. If he was the latter, God help me. It was just the two of us outside now on the once compact Parisian streets. We were completely alone. He could do or say whatever he wanted and no one would bare witness. And yet, neither of us moved, too afraid to disrupt the perfect serenity of the moment. I opened my mouth to speak, but I could not bring myself to utter a word. For the first time, I was scared to know what someone was thinking about me. I wanted to know the type of woman he saw staring back at him. I hoped he saw the woman I was pretending to be: the regal, glamorous, refined young lady I'd been bred to become. But somehow I knew he saw me differently. The man who could not look away could see everything, and I just hoped, for the both of us, that he saw how sorry I was.