My Wife's Lovers Painting の小説・ストーリー

It didn't seem fair that she was privileged while being taught to remain ignorant of the problems which surrounded her, and at the same time people on the streets struggled to live to the next day. Fara stood and approached the painting on the far wall of the study. An attractive man with broad shoulders and dark hair looked out through brown eyes as he held his wife possessively against him. The woman bearing red hair and stunning blue eyes stared forward, but also a smile played on her full lips as if she carried a secret that only the two of them knew. It was obvious the way she settled against him that their love had always been true and perhaps intense. Fara almost felt that love emanat

“It’s… obscene. And beautiful. And insane. Lorenzo, this is too much.” “What?” he asked, unsure of what I’d just said. “Having a painting of my wife that I can worship every day is the barest minimum. This is only one of my wedding gifts to you. Happy wedding amore.”

he stated as he looked closely at the painting. I cocked my head so it wouldn't touch his jaws. "Put us here," he demanded, pointing the shore. "Uhm. We're not lovers, Delton. We're nothing." We are not really lovers. I said before that I don't even like him, and he said the feeling is mutual. So I have no reason to put us in the painting. He breathed deeply before speaking. "We're married, Baby. Put us here." He pointed again the wide space on the shore, but I shook my head.

“He disowned me because I chose a woman he didn’t approve of.” A woman!! Aaliyah!! The already married woman he paints. This entire tragedy began because of that woman. Before I could respond, a soft voice called from behind him. “Loius? Who is that?” A woman stepped out under the porch light. She was stunning, long dark curls, warm bright skin, Italian features mixed with something Latin, elegant posture. She was the beautiful woman in my fathers painting. The married woman he paints and was dying to get. It was all written in the file Uncle gave that she was once married and her husband died.

She laughed nervously. “I’m glad you like it.” The man was obviously proud of his wife’s works and did not hesitate to show it. Or even express it. The room they were in spoke for itself. The man adored his beautiful wife so much that he dedicated a ballroom to her paintings and photograph. One could see the love he had for her in his eyes and vice versa. The only other people she’d seen like this were her parents and her best friend. Maria was surrounded by people in love. She loved to see them happy and bask in the warmth of their partners. Deep down, she craved that feeling. But she would not admit it.

I really want to stay with you for the rest of my life, but the more I think about it, the more I feel locked in, restricted. And quite frankly, I don't want them to influence us like that. I want that any kind of commitment comes from us, and only us. That's why I asked you, do you really want to marry me? As in, do you feel like you want me to be your wife? Because I'm really having problems reconciling my picture of you with the term husband." My gut still clenches at her explanation, but now that I know where she's coming from, it all makes so

He took a deep breath, attempting to control the storm brewing within him. “I loved your mother more than words can convey, you don't know how much I missed her,” he said, his voice strained. “Don’t question my feelings or motives. You’re too young to grasp the complexities of adult relationships.” But before he could continue, his daughter’s grief-fueled defiance took over. “Did you really love my mom? Or did you only marry her because of her wealth!” Elissa shouted. ‘slap’ In a surge of frustration, Alfredo’s hand met her cheek with a sharp slap. The sound echoed through the room, leaving an eerie silence. His eyes widened, realizing the weight of his actions, while his daughter’s tear-str

I withdrew my hand as soon as I realised my actions. "Do you notice something in the background or you're too dumb, Col?" Brandon rolled his eyes. "What are you trying to say, Brandon? I am not getting a word you say. " A very Dad reprimanded him this time. "Mr. Parker, all I am saying to my dear cousin to pay attention on the painting on the wall. A lady with a green hat, a portrait of Lady Boldivaire painted by one of our ancestors in 1892. He was an artist who met a young woman and fell in love with her. He wanted to express his love for her but when she told him that she was already married, he was heartbroken. It was his last painting as he drowned himself in the ocean as he couldn't be

“I’m sorry. Carlson’s been a little paranoid these past few years. He’s afraid that I’ll leave him. “What happened to us in the past traumatized him. Please don’t blame him.” Her first instinct was to apologize, and her second was to justify his behavior. I felt an indescribable sense of sorrow. He was the cause of all my sufferings. However, my wife, whom I had once loved deeply, chose the culprit who had hurt me.