Make Me Yours Melanie Harlow Novels & Stories

1954. “Stand up straight,” My mother breathes the words to me under her breath and her fingers reach out and pinch me where others will not notice. I no longer whimper when she does it. “Do not forget to smile.” It is not a reassurance- it is a warning. A warning to be perfect. I practice at night, pulling my lips into the wide grin she favors. I practice the pitch and tone of my voice as I dutifully extend my hand and repeat over and over ‘Hello, it is nice to meet you’ and ‘I am Rosalie Anderson, it is nice to meet you.’ I practice until I am practically blue in the face and when I sleep I no longer know who I am. If I am Rosalie Anderson, the girl who does not like her mother. The girl wh

That doesn’t make sense. No one would lie about something like that, not with a child involved. And the little girl… she looks too much like Mr. Macaulay for it to be a coincidence. My hand moves before my brain gives it permission. I grab my phone, my fingers already typing, already searching, already desperate for an answer. I type the words into the search bar: Is Mr. Tristan Macaulay married? The results load. At the very top, like a blunt confirmation from the internet itself, it says: Yes, Mr. Tristan Macaulay is married to supermodel Vivienne Laurent.

The line felt slimy, but I was hoping that my black curls and jade eyes would be considered striking enough to make it work. She smiled, showing her white teeth - leaning closer and whispering, "Call me Melanie, Mr Ambrose." I placed my hand on her bare elbow, lightly brushing her skin with my fingertips, and replied, "Melanie.. It is my pleasure to meet you. Your views of our world are rather intriguing to me, and I find your intelligence fascinating. Your husband is a very lucky man."

Melanie declares. “I also don’t care how many women he has done this for, he did this for me and that is what I am going to focus on that,” Melanie concludes. Melanie is a sucker for surprises, and Caleb put together such a beautiful thing for her so she makes a conscious effort to decide not to allow the overthinker in her to rub the happiness that she is supposed to feel as a result of what Caleb spent about three hours putting together for her.

"What the hell is leaf boy and is she calling me that? she must be insane, such a beauty to be insane. who are you and what are you doing in my house naked I asked her again and she ignored me and tried touching me again and I moved back. "Who sent you here to seduce me you S**t" I said and she frowned. "why are you still calling me s**t again? you keep calling me s**t all the time, I have told you that my name is Melissa and not s**t, Perhaps I might look like your s**t girl but I am not her" she said and I find myself chuckling. "Are you insane? I asked her and she glared at me getting angry "I just told you now that I am not your insane and your s**t that my name is Melissa; can't you hea

That's five figures. "The watch on her wrist? Melanie worked and saved to buy it as Harvey's graduation gift. "As for the apartment—the rent, and every expense that made it possible for Harvey to study at Ashford…" Cathy lowered her phone and turned to Harvey, whose face had gone deathly pale, a sharp, mocking smile on her lips. "Sorry to say, it was all paid for by my friend Melanie alone. "So, Harvey, when you said she was 'selling herself for money to support you'… Seems like you got that backwards, didn't you? You're the one who's been comfortably living off a woman all along, aren't you?"

“I know.” A few minutes later, the door opened. Melanie entered the room confidently, holding her portfolio. “Good afternoon. I’m Melanie Jack—” Her voice cut off as her eyes met Anne’s. She froze. Shock hit her like a punch to the stomach. Anne leaned back in her chair, every movement deliberate, every breath measured. “Well,” Anne said, voice rich and syrupy. “You must be the last of our models.” Melanie blinked. “I… I didn’t know—”

“I know I shouldn’t stop you. You should go. But I needed you to know. I love you.” Melanie’s breath caught. These were the words she had been dying to hear. For months. For years. For forever. She dropped to her knees in front of him and held his face in her hands. “I will never leave you,” she whispered. “Never.” He kissed her before she could say anything else. Deep and hungry and desperate. Around them, people rushed past with umbrellas and briefcases. But neither of them noticed. They were lost in their own world. Emily Harlow stared at the TV screen as the credits rolled, her vision blurred with tears.