Story cover for Minor Details by thtsingergirl
Minor Details
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    LECTURAS 21
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    Votos 2
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    Partes 2
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    Hora 16m
  • WpView
    LECTURAS 21
  • WpVote
    Votos 2
  • WpPart
    Partes 2
  • WpHistory
    Hora 16m
Continúa, Has publicado ene 24, 2017
At the end of the period, as Alex waited for Genevieve to get her stuff together, the boy came up to her. His beautiful face stretched into a smirk, and Genevieve felt an unexplainable surge of annoyance when she saw it. 
"Hey, Baby," he cooed, a thick Spanish accent coating his words. 
She stared at him, both disgusted by him and drawn to him at the same time. She pulled her face into a similar smirk in imitation, and stared intimidatingly back at him. "My name's not Baby." 
He weighed what she said in his mind, and then responded matter of factly, "Minor detail." 
At this, Genevieve let out a snort. "Major asshole," she called, walking away. 
What she didn't see upon leaving was the genuine smile that spread across his face. He would have said the same thing. 

                                                                         ---------------------------------

When Genevieve transfers to a music school half way into the first semester of junior year, she is just  expecting to find a place where she can finally express herself. Instead, she finds that and so much more.
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Slide 1 of 10
Something Borrowed cover
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Something Borrowed

51 partes Concluida

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.