Mexican Dream Fanart Novels & Stories

23 "Ok, ok, relax, '' Anamika picked up the boxes and kept them on the bed , and brought two glasses and a cold drink. Then once settled, they ate the cheese pizza followed by the spicy chicken wings. The tears were flowing from the eyes but still both the girls were enjoying the spicy chicken. They washed down everything with cold drinks.

Mr Spielberg asked, his brows creased in curiosity. “Yes, perhaps you have an idea of whom it might be because he looked exactly like Mr Montero, but what was the girl with red hair doing at his palace?” “It's a meaningless dream. Mr Montero has no daughter, and he stays in no palace,” Mrs Spielberg stated. Charles shrugged his shoulder. He dares not tell them that the red-headed girl has been appearing in his dreams for the past few months. “Is there something else you need to tell us about the dream? You know I can't interpret a real meaning to it if you don't remember most part of it,” Mr Hensworth uttered.

with a sigh I dragged my bag to the room. This is why I hate dreaming, sometimes is more better to see reality the way it is. I shouldn't have dared dreamt of a lifetime with Jason. (Sigh).

Alex teased, making me slap his chest. "I could be a single father you know. Who said you'll be a part of the equation?" I retort. "How can you get rid of this hot piece of ass." He said, gesturing to his body. I faked gagging noises to feign disgust. "I'd rather die alone," I replied. "I wonder if you'll make the same noises if I-" I quickly shit him up by slapping my hand over his mouth. "You're disgusting," I said.

It was the silliest picture of my cat. The pinned contact name at the top read, "Darling".

In Mafia business, there isn't any kindness left to show Just fight, cruelty and blood... . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. .... . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. .... . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. .... . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. .... . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. .... . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. .... . .. . .. . .. . .. .... . .. . .. . .. .... . .. . .. .... . .. . blood.

His eyes locked on my bare skin—smooth, unmarked, flawless. My lips curled in a cold smile. "Do you see now, Mr. Kinsey? There is no birthmark. I am not Arden." Wayne froze, disbelief etched on his face. "How… how could that be…" Vincent's patience snapped. "You have your answer, Wayne, and now, it's my turn to settle the score. You've harassed my cousin more than once, and now you even laid hands on her. You'll pay for this."