Eloise Bridgerton Novels & Stories

That Arlene was gone. Before Matilda could continue, the door burst open, and Olivia waltzed in with her usual exuberance. She was followed by two women pushing a cart overflowing with luxurious clothing. Olivia’s face lit up when she saw me, her smile as wide as the Nevada desert. “Darling, you look like death warmed over,” she teased, plopping onto the couch. “We need to fix that immediately.” I couldn’t help but smile. Olivia’s energy was infectious, and I’d missed her terribly. “You’re attending a wedding of lies; you need to look like you own the world.”

She wore a white haute couture dress, completely out of place in the dark, damp basement. The moment she entered, her gaze swept over the photo, and her expression shifted to near tears. "Gosh..." She covered her mouth, tears welling up instantly. "Is this Naomi?" She picked up the diary from the floor and flipped through a few pages. Her eyes darted around before she immediately said, "Naomi used to love writing novels. This must be a story she made up! She loves writing such heart-wrenching things to get attention!"

A little girl with long dark hair, standing in front of the Abram estate, a ribbon tied at her wrist. Isabella stared at it for so long I thought she had stopped breathing. Then she shoved it back across the table, her voice breaking. “Stop it! Stop trying to make me someone I’m not! I’m not her. I’m not Marisol Abram. I’m Isabella, and that’s all I can survive being.” Her shout echoed, shattering the fragile quiet. She pressed her hands to her temples, shaking her head as if she could erase the images, the words, the weight pressing down.

My hair was also a simple bun at the back of my head, with a jewelled clip to hold my veil in place. The bridal gown was pure white and simple. The skirt was flowing with a slight train and the sleeves were lace. Although my father had objected to the ‘unconventional dress’ at first…but he had changed his mind at the last minute when my groom’s father, and by father’s good friend, Mr. Davis, had reminded him that this was the twenty first century and women dressing in lace sleeves was appropriate enough. And yet…Mr. Davis hadn’t thought that arranged marriages should’ve been left behind in the nineteenth century either.

Mary sang as she tugged at the straps of her dress, eager to remove it. "Wait, should I leave?" I asked, my eyes widening. "No, help me with the zipper," she whined, rising from the bed and turning around, her hair cascading over her shoulder. I couldn't help but notice the curve of her waist, the dress hugging her figure perfectly as the enticing scent of her strawberry shampoo filled my senses.

'She must be a devil in sheep's clothing' I said Inwardly as a smirk erupted on my lips while I awaited her sweet looks which Vincent had talked about. The doors opened to the bride and her mom. At first glance, she was cute in her white wedding gown which had shiny stones all over and her hair styles in a bun. She had a forced smile on her face and I knew it because I have always been able to read a lady's feelings by just looking at her face. I took my eyes off her because I felt nothing for her, no love, no care , just disgust for being desperate. I was going to avoid making eye contact with her when suddenly, her face flashed through my head one more time.

Fisher staring at me. "You look stunning, Elaine," Mr. Fisher bellowed and the proud look on his face made me smile. He offered his arm to me and I took it. "Your parents would be so proud." "You're gorgeous!" Zoe exclaimed excitedly. She wore the same dress as Audrey except that she had high heels. "I can't wait to see everyone's reaction." "I definitely look extravagant," I agreed with a laugh. I looked way more expensive than I hoped, but after seeing how incredible the entire look was, I didn't mind.

All equality of alliance must rest with Elizabeth, for Mary had merely connected herself with an old country family of respectability and large fortune, and had therefore given all the honour and received none: Elizabeth would, one day or other, marry suitably. It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer at twenty-nine than she was ten years before; and, generally speaking, if there has been neither ill health nor anxiety, it is a time of life at which scarcely any charm is lost. It was so with Elizabeth, still the same handsome Miss Elliot that she had begun to be thirteen years ago, and Sir Walter might be excused, therefore, in forgetting her age, or, at least, be deemed only half a fo