All Chapters of A Love Once Lost: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Anastasia Greene Johnson“You can’t be serious, ma’am?” I asked, half amused, half convinced I’d misheard her. She gave a soft chuckle.“Oh, I suppose it doesn’t exactly look as though someone that famous could be my nephew, does it?” I stiffened. That had come out rather insulting. Thankfully, Mrs. Stanfield didn’t seem offended—if anything, she looked entertained.“Um. . . that’s not what I meant, ma’am. I just. . . well. . .”“Oh, honey, no need to explain. I understand.” She waved it away. “Alex is my brother’s son. Though it’s been years since I last saw him in person. Probably when he was thirteen or so. As you already know, the boy is frightfully busy. I haven’t even watched many of his films, which he never lets me forget. But as you can see—” she smiled proudly, “I’m quite the proud aunt.” Mrs. Stanfield carried on chatting, leaving me speechless for a good while.“I—I see. But you’ve never bragged about it to anyone before.” She burst out laughing.“Well. . . what wo

Alexander Finnegan Robertson By seven in the evening, I arrived at the filming set at Rockefeller Center. The look Kevin Thomas, the director, gave me could have curdled milk. He didn’t say a word, but he hardly needed to. His expression made his opinion of me perfectly clear. Six months earlier, when I received the casting call and submitted my audition tape, I’d been chosen almost immediately. Despite my rather eye-watering charge, I’d landed the role over a sea of other actors. According to the casting director, he hadn’t even bothered watching the remaining tapes after seeing mine. The moment I appeared on screen, he apparently knew he’d found his Ryan Wilson—the male lead. The producer and screenwriter were equally pleased with my audition clips. Thomas, however, was another kettle of fish entirely. At the final table read, his permanent scowl had made it painfully obvious that he wasn’t singing from the same hymn sheet. I’d even overheard him arguing with the producer

Anastasia Greene Johnson‘Dear Señorita,Happy sixth wedding anniversary, mi amor. We’ve come a long way together, though the last three years without you have been nothing less than hell for me. I have to soothe my loneliness watching you from afar.I hope you’re doing well. I know you are, apart from that soul-sucking job of yours. Our Ruslan’s grown so much as well. I saw him outside his school yesterday. He’s become such a handsome boy. I wish you both missed me half as much as I miss you.Since you still refuse to see me or contact me, I thought I’d send you a little anniversary present this time—a reminder that you’re still mine.You always will be.And I promise you—one day, I’ll reclaim you. Probably sooner than you think.Love you more than anything and anyone in this entire world.Your Romeo and psychotic husband (as you love to call me),E.’ I stared at the card for what felt like an eternity, my eyes lingering on the final line. Especially the name.“Hello? Ma’am? Are you

Anastasia Greene Johnson My jaw practically hit the floor when the two people emerged from the stall. Lara. The flirtatious bartender from the lounge. But she wasn’t the reason my heart started hammering like a prisoner rattling the bars. It was the man beside her. No. No, no, no. There’s no way. . . I slapped a trembling hand over my mouth, strangling the gasp threatening to escape. Because it was none other than the rising young star—Alexander friggin’ Robertson. Holy mother of God. So it wasn’t enough for Lara to flirt with practically every customer and member of staff. Now she’s moonlighting as a paid escort for a celebrity? Absolutely ridiculous. As if the day hadn’t already served up enough nonsense, Lara reached for Alexander’s arm. He recoiled as though she’d touched him with a live wire and immediately shook her off.“Don’t be such a stranger,” she purred, flashing him a suggestive smile. “I’ve already washed my hands and brushed my teeth. Want a good

Alexander Finnegan Robertson  My heart stopped the moment I saw her wrist.  That birthmark. It was far too familiar.  No.  It was exactly the same mark Daisy had.  My throat tightened as my gaze travelled back to the girl’s face, and suddenly the doubt I’d been carrying doubled down.  She looked like Daisy.  Not the Daisy frozen in my memories, obviously. This girl was older, more mature, her features softened and sharpened by years she had supposedly never lived through. But if Daisy were still alive—if time had been allowed to leave its fingerprints on her face instead of taking her away from me—I couldn't help wondering if this was exactly what she would have looked like.  Those delicately arched brows. Those enormous brown eyes. The elegant slope of her nose. The tiny constellation of