How Does The Wine Press End?

Grace Anderson is a striking young lady with a no-nonsense and inimical attitude. She barely smiles or laughs, the feeling of pure happiness has been rare to her. She has acquired so many scars and life has thought her a very valuable lesson about trust. Dean Ryan is a good looking young man with a sanguine personality. He always has a smile on his face and never fails to spread his cheerful spirit. On Grace's first day of college, the two meet in an unusual way when Dean almost runs her over with his car in front of an ice cream stand. Although the two are opposites, a friendship forms between them and as time passes by and they begin to learn a lot about each other, Grace finds herself indeed trusting him. Dean was in love with her. He loved everything about her. Every. Single. Flaw. He loved the way she always bit her lip. He loved the way his name rolled out of her mouth. He loved the way her hand fit in his like they were made for each other. He loved how much she loved ice cream. He loved how passionate she was about poetry. One could say he was obsessed. But love has to have a little bit of obsession to it, right? It wasn't all smiles and roses with both of them but the love they had for one another was reason enough to see past anything. But as every love story has a beginning, so it does an ending.

“True love stories never have endings.” Dean said softly. “Richard Bach.” I nodded. “You taught me that quote the night I kissed you for the first time.” He continued, his fingers weaving through loose hair around my face. “And I held on to that every day since.”

"Eighteen point eight centimeters," I said, pushing my oversized tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of my nose. "According to your anatomical data, that is the estimated length of your private parts, Matteo. I can get results without entering a laboratory." The soaking wet, shirtless, and absolutely furious mafia boss standing before me was rendered utterly speechless for the first time in his life! Nova was a genius cybersecurity programmer who suffered from social anxiety, despised human touch, and perceived the world solely through mathematical formulas.Her only dream during her vacation in Crete was to lie down and sleep on the calm waters inside her pink strawberry inflatable tube. However, the sea surface currents had drafted a fatal algorithm for her. Drifted out into the open sea, Nova found herself aboard the luxury yacht of Matteo—a mafia boss notorious for his cruelty in international waters, possessing a V-taper physique that was illegally flawless. Was she to hold the hand of this ruthless man to avoid drowning, or become shark bait? This was exactly how one became the fake wife of a billionaire mafia leader!

After leaving a toxic relationship, Amelia has trouble trusting men. She becomes focused, goal driven and ambitious, not giving commitment or attention to any man. She starts her own chocolate pastry business and is doing pretty well. Then Stan, a well known successful Vintner comes along, and is convinced he would be the one to finally claim her. Would her love for chocolate and good wine make him succeed?

“Tell me Margaux, How will I know if I can trust you again? Do I even have to invite your man here and make him spill the tea?” I am very furious. I can’t even describe how many times do I want to punch him in the face. How eager my hands are when it comes to hearing your name. “I have told you a lot of times that I don’t want you mentioning his name” Seems like the silence break every single spot in the room. How am I going to tell everyone about that. I am not yet ready to let everyone know that I haven’t seen you for weeks now. I am doing the best. The very best. Everyone knows that. “What’s the matter? I smell something different in your aura.” “Since when did you become a psychic huh?” I sighed. I will sell everything that I had just to see you again. To let you hear me apologize one more time.

My family owned Belgard Estate, a historic wine property that had recently gone viral after serving as the backdrop for a series of advertisements and product livestreams. On one occasion, my butler and I could not even enter the grounds. Influencers crowded the entrance, phones raised, security overwhelmed. My fiancée apologized. "The mayor wanted to borrow the estate, dear. I couldn't tell him no," she said. "Just bear with it for a while, okay? Once the trend dies down, I'll have them all cleared out. Trust me." I trusted her. I never raised the issue again. Some time later, my grandfather prepared to celebrate his 90th birthday. I returned to the estate to retrieve our finest vintage for the occasion, only to find myself nearly crushed by a shrieking crowd packed outside the gates. I slipped away and made my way to the back entrance after someone in the crowd called me a "free-riding bum." Bewildered, I was ready to present proof of ownership when a woman shouted over the noise, "Didn't you hear? Miss LePenn has already announced that Belgard Estate has been given to Jacques Martin! I don't care how big a fan you are of him. You still have to buy a ticket to see him like the rest of us!" I stood there, stunned. Jacques? The first man I had ever allowed to use this estate for a product livestream? It belonged to him now? And since when had Sylvia become the mistress of this place? Since when did she even have a boyfriend? Enough was enough. It was time to bring these people's business with Belgard Estate to an end.