Novel & Cerita Floral Unscramble

“I’m confused,” Jane said. “Actually I’m very confused.” Tristan gave her a bored look, “About what?” “What just happened upstairs? Did you forget that you just told your mother- I mean Your Highness that we are dating? Because the last time I checked, we spent one night together?! Are you crazy?” “It’s really not that complicated,” Tristan turned towards her, a determined look in his eyes. “We will date for a while. I mean fake date for a while so that my mother and the media can get off our back. No big deal. It’s not like you have a boyfriend or anything. Why are you worried?” Jane wanted to kill him and wipe that lazy smirk off his face. But he was royalty, and she would pretty much be hung for that. It was not worth it. *** Jane Rosetti is an exchange medical student in Walsh, new to almost everything. To pay off her student loans, she’s working as a bartender in a high-end club “Floral Liquor”, where she meets Tristan. At first, she’s incredibly taken by his good looks and thick accent. She has no idea about his real identity, which doesn’t matter as they end up in bed together. Prince Tristan of Walsh has finally returned to his hometown after two years. As he’s been very secretive, everyone wants exclusive about him. So when he’s exiting Jane’s apartment, he’s captured with her panties stuck on to his sleeve. Both of them are photographer together, and that’s when Jane’s troubles start. Right after her one night with the Prince. ***

Anathea Jacobson has had a crush on Gregory Sinclair for ten years. She thinks marrying him is a dream come true. Even if he's just a block of ice now, she'll surely be able to melt him over time. However, all she ever gets is his ice-cold treatment. He's gentle and tender to his true love, but he scorns and neglects her. He also mistreats and humiliates her… Anathea endures it all because they have a son. For his sake, she's willing to cling to her title of Mrs. Sinclair and cage herself in this loveless marriage for the rest of her life. This changes when she's abducted. Gregory spends the night with his true love, and even her beloved son abandons her—he wants to have Gregory's true love as his mother! That's when Anathea sees sense. Her husband will never love her, and her son will never appreciate her. If that's the case, she doesn't want them anymore. She wants to live for herself! … After the divorce, Anathea picks up floral art again. She sets up a company, makes big money, and wins various awards. She wants to give herself all the love she deserves so that she'll go back to being the lively, vivacious woman she once was. Gregory panics when he sees the men surrounding her and vying for her affections. He falls to his knees before her, his eyes rimmed with red as he pleads, "I love you, Nat. Please don't leave me." Anathea sneers. "Your love is too little, too late, Mr. Sinclair." Her son clings to her legs and wails. "Don't abandon me, Mom!" She pushes him away impassively. "Don't call me that. I'm not your mother."

After returning from a three-month business trip, I rushed to meet my fiancé and resolve our dispute over my best friend, Elena. Elena’s ex-husband left her penniless and broken. I offered her my apartment, helped her "find herself" and accompanied her through nights of tequila-soaked sobbing. My fiance, Julian, hated it. Or so he said. "She’s a leech, Clara," he’d snap, watching her try on my designer coats. "She doesn't even know how to make toast without calling for help. Are you her best friend or her maid? People like her don't want to heal; they just want a free ride." She's lost everything, Julian," I argued."Without her, I wouldn't have survived my mother’s death. Please, just be patient for me." I let myself in quietly. The house was still, the air smelling of expensive candles and something else—something sweet and floral that wasn't mine. I walked toward the master suite, expecting to find Julian asleep. Instead, the door was ajar. The wine bottle I had brought to surprise Julian slipped from my hand, leaving me paralyzed for a moment. Elena was draped across my silk sheets. Julian was hovering over her, expertly shucking oysters—my favorite—and feeding them to her with a look of doting, soft-eyed tenderness he hadn't shown me in months. "You're so much better at this than she is," Julian purred. "Because she’s cold, Julian," Elena whispered, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "She’s all business. She doesn't know how to satisfy men in bed." I stood in the doorway, my whole self trembling, not in cold but in pure rage and disgust. "I hope the oysters are fresh," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade.