Memoir Amouage Novels & Stories

Carolyne asked while she immediately moved to the edge of her seat out of concern. “I… ahem…” Amore cleared her throat. “Can you do me a favor please?” “Yes…. Of course, what do you need?” “I… I need to get in touch with my mom, without Richard knowing … can you help me?” Carolyne looked surprised at Amore, out of everything, this was the last thing she expected Amore to ask her. ‘Time has always been the greatest ally of TRUTH, because TIME eventually relieves and reveals all.’ By Suzy Kassem

À peine arrivés, toute la famille se mettent debout pour le prendre dans leur bras pour lui souhaiter un bon anniversaire. -C'est l'heure, je veux être la première à t'offrir mon cadeau. lance Orianne en lui tendant son cadeau. -C'est quoi? s'enquit Hendrick curieux. -Ouvre le! Il se dépêche de défaire le nœud pour ouvrir son cadeau. Après avoir retirer l'emballage, il ouvre la boîte, ses yeux s'ecarquillent en voyant son cadeau. Une montre Aston Martin en agent, dont le cadran est entouré de petits cristaux.

My eyes scanned the bottle filled with peach liquid, perfectly designed with a black lid and an intricately crafted black tag that read the inscription, 'Jasmin Bonheur', a scented product of Guerlain. "It reminds me of your sensual scent. I just wanted to replicate it." He spoke up and a grin slowly formed on my face. "I love it." I professed, reaching for the last and smallest box. Something about this particular box made me overly nervous. I didn't know why. I could tell it was really special to him judging by the look on his face. It heightened my impatience to see what was in it.

~ Amara ~ The boutique smelled of lilies and expensive floor wax. It was a scent that usually made me feel like I was intruding on someone else’s life. Today, it felt like a cage. Selene had practically dragged me here, her hand firm on my elbow as she guided me through the glass doors of 'L’Étoile'. She claimed it was for the Moore Family Foundation Gala, an event where my appearance was apparently a matter of national security.

He stood up and walked toward the bookshelf, where Laurent Dubois had spent countless hours lost in the world of scents. “There are many rare oils here. Maybe one of them holds what you need,” he said, his fingers gliding over the worn labels. Suddenly, a small glass bottle caught his eye. Its silver cap had tarnished with time, engraved with the words “Miel de Tilleul - 1998.” As the days of working together passed, Camille continued to loosen up, rediscovering the joy and passion she once thought were lost. Antoine, alongside his youthful creativity, revealed a surprising depth of sensitivity. He learned to listen to Camille, not just with his ears but with his heart.

That’s the closest he’ll ever get to having something with me. I turned on the water to the shower and let it get nice and hot before getting in. The shampoos and soaps seemed luxurious, and the smells were to die for. I sighed as I scrubbed my hair with a citrusy smelling shampoo and following it with conditioner. There was an unopened bar of hand made soap that smelled like delicious vanilla, and I scrubbed my body down with it. After I rinsed off, I turned the water off and dried off in the shower. I looked down and saw a new tattoo. It said, “Luca and Natasha forever.”

Anne-Marie’s POV I had been awake since the small hours, long before the large bell struck 7AM . My laptop screen was the only real light, a cold blue square in the darkness of the living room, illuminating stacks of invoices, old contracts, and the half-finished rebranding proposals I could no longer bear to read. I was still trying to work on what was remaining of Duval scents. I would have long forgotten it but it carried my father's memories. It was his dream that Louis crashed in one night.

He cracked the door open and—wham—lavender just washed over him, silky and smooth, then roses, all sticky-sweet like honey, and, yeah, that one scent he seriously hadn’t missed. “Your Highness,” Amora breathed, her eyes dropping in that way that felt way too rehearsed to be real. Her gown clung to her waist like it was in love, and her hair—wild, pinned up, a mess of sparks and fire—looked like she’d just tumbled out of a storybook. Honestly, she was straight out of some twisted fairytale, if those even came with that much attitude. Alaric’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you want?”

They wanted to see what rare treasures Nochten kept hidden on its shelves, what knowledge we hoarded behind our palace walls. "Yes, I did." Amul says, sitting back with fluid grace. The click of his beaded necklaces punctuates the quiet, mingling with the steady crackle of the hearth in a rhythm that somehow feels both foreign and comforting. As he adjusts the fall of his robes—rich fabric that seems to shimmer between brown and gold depending on how the light strikes it—a wave of scent unfurls into the air. Layered spice fills my nostrils: cinnamon and clove that I recognize from our own kitchens, but also other notes stranger to me, exotic things that speak of distant markets and sea voyag

By Tamar writes (𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌) ••AURELIO'S SUITE•• Amour was busy sleeping peacefully as she snored softly. She extended her hand to the other side of bed and when she felt it empty, her eyes slowly opened.