Dahlia Rossetti Novels & Stories

She even questioned why Cordelia insisted on tending to the extensive plot of land every week instead of enjoying her retirement. Dahlia expressed her desire to assist with fertilizing the garden, but once in the garden, she instructed the workers to wear multiple layers of masks and gloves for her. With the summer bringing numerous mosquitoes, Dahlia frowned, constantly swerving to avoid them while carrying a bucket of fertilizer. Progress was slow, and she only managed to fertilize a few plants. Cordelia observed this from a distance but chose to ignore Dahlia. Instead, she grabbed a pair of scissors and headed to the other side to pick some tomatoes.

These events were meant for people with peculiar tastes, and his seemed very peculiar. I clenched the sheets tightly. “Can I at least know your name?” I asked. If I was going to let him use all of those things on me, I deserved to know his name. “Can you tell me yours?” “Dahlia,” I answered simply. He hummed. “A pretty, delicate flower. Dahlia…” He rolled my name off his tongue as if it were the most exotic thing he had ever said. “Now that you know mine, can I know yours?”

I don't want to be a flower anymore". "What do you want to be, sister?" " A Dahlia..." NOTE: DAHLIA IN ARABIC IS NOT A FLOWER BUT A TERM TO DESCRIBE BIG RAISIN OF FIG TREES, THE ONES THAT ARE SO TANGLED? OLD? AND STRONG. A QUESTION? DO YOU LIKE THESE LONG CHAPTERS OR DO YOU PREFER THAT MAKE THEM SHORTER? THANK YOU FOR READING, PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT.

He continued. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I remarked. “Shut up, bastard!” He snarled. “What did he offer you? I’ll bring better offers” He said, desperately. “This.” Rosette smiled with dreamy eyes, pointing at Dimitri, “He offered me this fine specimen, that a thousand gold coins or anything can't afford.” She let out, and Dalton looked at her in disbelief. He let out a dry, loud laugh as his eyes were filled with a crazed look. The soldiers had paused, and were now staring at the scene taking place.

They were the same as someone who was close to my heart. My Angelica. When I looked at her properly I was taken aback by her appearance as she looked like a ditto copy of Angelica. Only her hair was black. My eyes weren't leaving her. “Rosaline Davenport, Alpha Enzo's only daughter. She's really rude and arrogant but I must say, a very talented designer.” Alpha Clyde spoke up beside me. “Why have I never heard of her?” My brows wrinkled as I never heard that Alpha Enzo had a daughter who exactly looked like my late wife.

Rosa said, trying not to match his tone, one of them had to be calm, and it looked like she had to be that person. “Look, I’m sorry I’m just… I’ve had a rough day.” He said this time meekly making Rosa smile in triumph. “It’s fine, I fully comprehend that. I’m Rosalina, Rosa for short.” She said, stretching her hands to him. “Hello, beautiful rose. I’m Damon.” He said, taking her hand in his, he brushed his lips against it. Rosa felt her insides melting at not just his voice, but the feel of his smooth, slightly calloused palm and the light tickle of his mustache against her skin.

someone greeted and standing there, radiant and confident as ever, was Dahlia Roskov. "Dahlia," I managed to say, my voice tinged with surprise and unease. "Parrish," she replied with a smile that could disarm anyone, dressed impeccably in a sleek black pantsuit that accentuated her slender figure. Her hair was styled in loose waves cascading over her shoulders, framing a face that held a hint of mischief carefully hidden behind those radiant eyes. “What are you doing here?” I asked her and she chuckled. “What kind of question is that? I’m here to see you silly, I knew you’d be getting in around this time”

Layla pulled my hand, trying to get me to stay with her. "Honey? What's going on? Are you not happy to see me? Who is she?" She questioned. I turned and looked at her. After seeing my mate, Layla is nothing compaired to her. Alexandria had long, brown hair with beautiful hazel eyes. Layla had short blonde hair and brown eyes. Her face was always caked in makeup. "She's-" I started, but Layla interuppted me.

❦ Rosalind ❦ I stared at the woman in the doorway and for a second my brain just stalled. Dahlia Renly. Of all people. Dahlia, my ex-bestfriend from university who’d slept with Orlov, dated him, then pathetically kept chasing him, was standing there with Viktor’s gun aimed at her frontal lobe. “Wait,” I called loudly. I padded down the stairs in my thin silk nightdress, my heart beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.