One Hundred Years Of Solitude Kindle Novels & Stories

Up close, I could see better how beautiful the blue combined with honey of his left eye was, and how clear the honey color of his right eye was. Mason tilted his head. “Do you like my eyes?” I looked away. “No, they're just…” fascinating, different. “Different...” Mason said the word slowly as if evaluating something. Looking down, I could see the book resting on his lap: 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. A classic, huh? Mason lifted the book slightly. “I told you I liked to read.” "I didn't think you were telling the truth." He raised an eyebrow. "Have I ever lied to you?"

It doesn’t matter that I don’t see any; I’m aware of them now. I climb the stairs and can’t resist pushing on a door that’s partially open—cameras or no. It’s directly across the hall when I reach the landing. I’m excited to find that it’s a library with books lining tall oak shelves. There are two comfortable reading chairs and behind them a large business desk. I wonder if this is Moon’s office. Snooping in different rooms is one thing. Going through his desk quite another, and I won’t do it. I’ll forget that Moon told me to treat his home as my own. Instead, I search the shelves and read titles. It’s barely after twelve and I need to kill some time. I should have asked Mr. Thug where Moon

“Lie, I am. I’m making a mental spreadsheet.” Dmitry smiled more openly, and went to one of the shelves, pulling out a thick book with a navy blue cover. “Then here’s another point for your chart. This is Don Quixote, original Spanish edition. First printing from the eighteenth century.” “Really?!” She approached slowly, almost reverently as she extended her hand to touch the book, but stopped a few centimeters from the cover. “May I?” “You may do anything, Susan.” He said with calm intensity, watching her as if every small gesture of hers was important.

5 years ago, I was blessed to open a publishing house as well. E.H. Publishing has had success with multiple top-selling books, and awards. I am grateful for my success, and the benefits packages that accompany it but, were I being honest with myself, I feel empty. It has been several decades since I felt a woman embrace. I have tried, I have tried to move on but, soon all becomes dust in the wind and I have yet to find someone who touches my soul just as my sweet Eliza did. I will never again be able to see her, feel her again.

I hadn’t needed to buy a book for myself in years. I was sure it was his assistant who handled the logistics, but only with his approval. That made it mean something more. I opened the parcel and smiled. Inside was a translated first edition of The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. He always sent me first editions when he could. I held the book in my hands for a moment, running my fingers over the cover, a smile tugging at my lips. I’d be reading this one over the weekend. And for a while at least, I’d escape into someone else’s story.

I walked along the Seine with a coffee in hand, almost dizzy with possibility. Over the next few months, everything became a blur of revisions, phone calls, and contracts. There were moments when I wanted to pull back, to slam my laptop shut and pretend I hadn’t opened myself up like this. But every time I wavered, I thought of the story, of him, and I kept going. The day I held the first printed copy of The One I Let Go in my hands, I cried. Not quiet, graceful tears, but messy, uncontrollable sobs. The cover was soft under my fingertips, the title gleaming in bold letters.

The food tasted good, and I complemented the chef. I freshened up, picked up one of my books and started to read, and within minutes, I fell asleep. Only to be awoken by the same nightmare that has haunted me for sixteen years, the same nightmare that only visits me when rain falls. … A/N: Thanks for reading lovelies! Please recommend this book to your loved ones and drop a review. I'll be waiting to know what you think. <3

Just as it dared you to understand him, it revealed the commoner’s ultimate betrayal, transforming her into the story's true villainess. Mars was lost. The world outside the library’s single window dimmed from afternoon gold to deep twilight, then to the velvety black of true night. He only snapped out of it when he turned the final page, his body protesting with a chorus of aches. He blinked, his eyes stinging and watery, and groaned as he stood, his legs prickling with the agony of restored circulation. His phone screen glowed in the dark: past midnight. He had read for over ten hours, devouring a thousand pages without a single break. He stared at the strange novel with a mixture of awe a

I clutched my chest, gasping for breath as tears blurred my vision. My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug deep into my palms, using the pain to keep myself upright. “Wandi spent a year overseas, recuperating, before she was willing to forgive Neve. In a couple of days, I’ll stage a medical ‘miracle’, stand up again, and let her resume being the Donna. This year is a penance for her willfulness.” Each word of his was uttered coolly, piercing deeper into my heart. “But… it has been a year. Will she buy it?” someone asked hesitantly.

His phone lit up in his pocket. Annoyance tightened his jaw. “I made it clear—no interruptions tonight.” Voice dropped to ice. He angled the screen away—but not fast enough. “Assistant.” Celia. His thumb swiped rapidly. His thoughts bled into mine, raw and hungry: “Just a little longer. Wait downstairs. In the car.” Pupils contracted. A flicker of hunger in his gaze. Then—apology smoothed his features. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. It’s our anniversary… but clan business—”