Look Into My Eyes

Look Into My Eyes

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WpMetadataNoticeÚltima publicación mar, dic 29, 2015
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Ficción
Romance
"Look into my eyes Isabel and tell me why now? Why are you suddenly becoming a mother to Amelia?" His golden orbs were dark, probing for answers and ready to pounce if I uttered the wrong thing. My heart was beating at a rhythm I recognized, it was uncontrollable, just like the Rothschild that was glaring at me from his superior height. Blace was just as domineering as I remembered, this was the first time in three long years that we were this close and my autonomic system was not fully prepared. He brought my face closer to his, a part of his arm brushing past my chest. I knew he could feel my heart beating rapidly. He grinned wickedly, the humor not reaching his golden eyes. "The Sawyers will never again have a claim to a Rothschild heir, you will not conceive a son Isabel, not by me, " Blace let go of my face, not looking back, and left me flustered leaning on the hallway wall. I thought of Amelia, I thought of her sweet smile and mustered enough courage to speak loud enough before he could fully retreat. "We'll see Rothschild, we'll see, " I challenged, he turned around to face me again but I had already passed him. Before I could think about what I was about to do, I opened the mahogany doors that would lead to his bedchamber...
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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.

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