London Fields Novel Mga Nobela at Kwento

Chapter 59:The Road Back London appeared slowly. First the roads got wider and busier. Then the fields disappeared and buildings started filling the gaps between them. Then the city was just there around them the way it always was. Loud and full and completely indifferent to everything that had happened in the last few days. Lily watched it all come back through the window.

"The city. You look at it like you are thinking about it rather than just seeing it." She looked at the Thames in the distance. At the bridges and the lights and the enormous indifferent life of London spread below the window. "I was thinking about Robert," she said. "About what he built. About the fact that somewhere down there is the first office he ever rented and all the distance between that and this window." Ethan looked at the city. "Borough Market is directly south from here," he said. "You can see the area if the light is right." She looked.

(Julian’s Point of View) The rain in London didn’t fall like the rain in New York. In Manhattan, it was a challenge, a percussive strike against the pavement. In London, it was a pervasive, lingering grey mist that seeped into the marrow of the buildings and the bones of its inhabitants.

He threw my boxers and pants, and I still caught it despite my incoherent and disorientation, not to mention my killer headache. I squeezed my eyes shut. I never sleep naked, and why was he in my room? My brain was still processing when he called his daughter again. “London, wake up, young woman!” My eyes flew wide. I turned to my side. There, I saw London—probably naked, if not from the blanket covering her body. She stirred and rubbed her eyes. Her hair was splayed all over the pillow. She looked fresh and well—she looked well-fucked. My heart jackhammered in my chest, and blood rushed into my face and head. I was like a deer caught in the headlight, and the headlight was my boss.

I'm just here to collect my things…Nothing more, which was a lie, but I clung to it anyway. I rolled my suitcase softly behind me as I stepped on the gravel path. I remembered the first time I came into the estate and how the estate seemed so tall with the windows reflecting the blue sky. I always felt small when standing before it. I always had a feeling like I was taking a risk each day I came here. But now I'm about to take the greatest risk of my life by going to London and dining with the enemy. Inside, the air was cool and faintly scented with polished wood and old books. It was the same smell that had once comforted me. But today, it made my chest ache.

**** I went to bed with that conversation still circling my thoughts. Lucian’s words. Blaze’s certainty. Raven’s absence. At some point, sleep found me. Not slowly. Not gently. It pulled me under without warning. **** The field returned. The yellow-green sky stretched overhead, heavy and wrong. But this time— I could see beyond it. At the edge of the field, something burned. A city. Not normal fire. The flames moved in colors that didn’t belong to heat. Blue threaded through orange. Green flickered at the edges.

I had been prepared to go through a romance book with raunchy scenes that were custom made for a female audience to giggle over. March Madness was about a housewife that resented her husband and marriage and was slowly finding herself again. It was well written. But it wasn’t what I would have ever imagined London wrote. Not even in a million years. It just felt like every other too serious work of fiction that were supposed to get reviews like, “outstanding masterpiece” “a thought inducing read”

“I sped down the stairs, leapt over two at a time and I ran to the chopping block and grabbed the hatchet. I crept back up to my room, my chest rising so high it nearly touched my chin. I was ready to swing through that dog’s expressionless face. But the pile of dirt was gone. I entered the room and checked every drawer, every crack, even the terrifying wardrobe, and then slammed the bedroom door shut. “I buried the hatchet under my pillow and opened the curtains to close the window in case the beast could leap through the narrow crack. I tried to avoid looking out onto the dark field, but one flash across the emptiness was enough. Far in the field, silhouetted against the darkness, the outl

Elise Carter had never been to Canary Wharf before. She had seen it from afar, of course — the forest of glass skyscrapers where London's real money lived. Bankers in £5,000 suits, Bentleys, and buildings that touched the clouds. It was a world that had nothing to do with a girl who owned a tiny flower and bookshop in Notting Hill.

And just before he hung up he said simply, "Good luck Sheila." I'd thought about those three words the entire flight over. The cab ride took nearly an hour. I watched London go past the window. It was nothing like Vegas. Where Vegas was wide and loud and spread out under a bright sky, London was dense, layered and old in a way that sat inside the buildings blocks themselves. Every street looked like it had stories it wanted to share. I liked it despite myself. We pulled up to a residential street in East London. Neat buildings. Small front steps. Frosty windows doing their best in January.