Novel & Cerita Dearest Gentle Reader Bridgerton

"She was disrespectful. To both of us. And her husband." "True," Alexander conceded. "But that's not what bothered you most." I hated how well he could read me. "Can we just drop it?" Instead of answering, Alexander wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, pulling me back against his chest. His chin rested on my shoulder as we both faced the river. "Look," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "See that bridge?" I followed his gaze to Tower Bridge, illuminated against the night sky. Its Victorian Gothic towers glowed white and blue, the walkways between them suspended high above the Thames.

He started to make calls to arrange all the necessary preparations. “Hey, this is too much. It’s just dinner.” I poked fun at him. “I want you to look good when you attend the dinner. You’re the one and only Elena Stance.” After a while, his assistant led a group of people here. They brought luxurious jewelry and haute couture dresses. Andrew gestured for me to go ahead. I chose a humble blue gown with a Paraiba necklace. Andrew was wearing a dark suit with a light blue tie. When we stood beside each other, we looked extremely good.

Chapter One: Author: The Mind Surgeon The dress was perfect. That was the only thought anchoring Zara Sterling’s mind as she stood before the full-length mirror in the bridal suite of the Elysian Grand Hotel. Her fingers trembled slightly, smoothing the ivory silk over her hips. Seven thousand dollars of hand-stitched lace and French satin. It featured a sweetheart neckline that had made her mother weep during the final fitting, and a cathedral train that pooled around her feet like spilled moonlight.

’ Pale, soft, and chubby… My mind conjured an image of a freshly baked Chelsea bun. The golf cart turned a bend on the path. A vast expanse of green opened up before us. In the distance were forests and a lake. Closer by stood two men in athletic wear, deep in conversation. The man in the dark blue top and tan trousers was Colin Bridgerton. Beside him, standing a good half-head taller in pristine white sportswear, was a figure of unmatched elegance. He had the broad shoulders and narrow waist of an athlete, and when he turned his head, the light carved out a profile so handsome it seemed airbrushed.

It never did. “I hope you’re not overworking yourself,” she said, stepping into my path with the soft precision of a lioness blocking a gazelle. “Brides can get… fragile before the big day.” I returned her smile with the same politeness. “I’m doing fine.” “I’m glad to hear it. You looked a bit pale in that Page Six photo yesterday.” I blinked. “You read Page Six now?” “Oh, darling.” She tilted her head. “Everyone reads Page Six when it’s about you.”

Emily St. Laurent, the Duchess of Essex, sat in the drawing room of Lord Denbruck's townhouse in Mayfair, sipping tea. Beside her, Horatia and Audrey were also holding teacups. Lord Denbruck, an older man who still bore the vestiges of his handsome features, had been delighting the ladies with tales of his youth.

"Little surprises around every corner, but nothing dangerous." -Gene Wilder- *** Clara woke up that day with a bouquet of flower at the end of her bed. Instead of the usual white floral, this time there was an arrangement of red carnations. She reached out to it, turned out there was an attachment around the base, it was a hard cover letter, embossed in gold lettering. What a silly thing to give informally. It was so Raphael. He was always a predictable romantic. She flipped open the letter, finding another attachment. It was a note of apology along with an invitation for breakfast at the balcony.

He gestured at the other chair. She came in. She sat down. She opened her book. He returned to his. The fire simulation on the east wall was running — it was a digital one, she had discovered, remarkably good, the warmth it provided entirely real even if the flames were not — and the room had that specific quality of late-night comfort that required no narration. They read in silence for perhaps forty minutes. It was the most natural forty minutes she had spent in the penthouse, which she found both surprising and telling.

I muttered, staring at the perky, oval shaped breasts in front of me. “What the fuck Dude?! My name is Jessica, Idiot!.” She landed a slap across my cheeks and left with her clothes in hand. Shit. That sly temptress! ********************* "Sir, there's an invitation for you, and I also have here a note I found in one of your clothes ." Bridget, my housekeeper, interrupts my breakfast. I gave a quick glance at it "What does the card say?" "It's from Mr. Alex Newman, a welcome party for his beloved daughter it says"

“You follwed me. Do you even realize how criminal that sounds?” He bows. Again. What is this? A remake of The Bridgerton series with a 21st century theme? Wonderful series by the way, but I digress. “Please accept the envelope, Miss Amani.” He even knows my name. Pushed by pure curiosity, I accept the envelope and flick it open. The moment I get the weird seal thingy off the flap, the scent of rosemary filters into my nostrils — one of my most favourite scents in the world.