Novelas y relatos de Eleanor Bonneville

It pains him, and he can’t help but sneer at himself. In the garden, Qillalon debriefs his pack and soon dismisses them. Meanwhile, Eleanor is on her way to him. She fixes her hair and her white silky sleeveless dress that accentuates her curves and chest area. She was excited to see Qillalon again, as the last time she saw him made her realize the feelings she had for him never left, and she knew she was still in his heart. Her excitement quickly turned to dismay when she saw him walk to the infirmary just to stand at the door and stare at someone inside the room.

“Did he ever tell you about the women in his life?” “I’m not interested-” “You should be.” She lifted her chin. “Your mother, for example.” My heart thudded painfully. “Leave my mother out of this.” “Oh, but she was never out of it,” Elise said softly. “Eleanor Jones. Pretty, sharp, and loyal to a fault. The perfect candidate.” “For what?” “An affair with a powerful man.” The air vanished from the room. I shook my head. “You’re lying, I know you are.”

a soft, fragile voice drifted from the edge of the dais. The crowd parted once more, their eyes shifting to Eleanor Vane. She stood tall, her simple grey silk gown draped over her thin shoulders, her silver-white hair catching the light. She looked pale, but her sapphire eyes held a quiet, terrifying clarity that seemed to freeze the room. She walked down the steps of the dais slowly, her soft slippers silent on the marble, stopping just behind Elena.

Then, softly, almost to herself: "You have his eyes, you know." I blinked. "Whose eyes?" "Never mind me." She waved it away too quickly, the warmth sliding back over her face like a curtain drawn shut. "Noah, darling, do bring her up to the estate soon. I'd like to know her properly. Not through a screen." "We will," Noah said, and something in his voice had gone carefully even, the way it did when he was working very hard not to react to something. Eleanor blew a kiss at the camera like she was forty years younger than she was, said her goodbyes, and the call ended, the screen going dark and returning us to the quiet of the penthouse.

Eleanor let out a breath and lowered her voice. "Thank you." "No need." Glancing at her, Alexander asked evenly, "Was that your husband?" "My ex-husband," Eleanor corrected. He nodded and didn't press the issue. Harrison's appearance didn't bring any real change to Eleanor's life. She simply poured all her time and energy into work, often staying busy until well past midnight, using exhaustion to avoid dealing with his attempts to contact her. "Eleanor, if you keep this up, your body's going to give out," Wren Dickins, a fellow journalist, said with concern.

“My goodness, you scared the life out of me!” Aunt Caroline was a short and plump woman in her mid-forties. Her hair was always dyed blonde because she took after her idol Madonna. She kept her face hidden with all the cosmetics she covered it. The only time she was seen without her make-up was when she applied facial mask. “Aunt Caroline? What’s got you all fired up?” Yet inside Ellaine’s head she was still thinking about the empty town and the huge tree. “You were having a bad dream!”