Romancing Mister Bridgerton Read Online Novels & Stories

I suddenly felt… tiny. “Miss?” he asked again, nudging me. “Huh? Uh, yeah,” I stammered. He was… gorgeous. Ugh. “Okay,” was all he said before walking away. What the—he didn’t even apologize?! Rude?! Ugh. Hot guy, zero manners. No thanks.

"My darling works just fine. Her phone chimed again. A message from Damien: You have until morning. She studied the glowing screen. Finally, she typed back: Where should I sign? That evening found her in a luxurious penthouse suite nestled within one of the city's exclusive shopping enclaves. A French stylist named Margot was measuring her, as if the mention of Damien's name was just another whisper on the wind. "In high society, appearances are everything," Margot remarked, raising a beaded black evening gown. "People need to see you and think, 'She's untouchable now.""

It never did. “I hope you’re not overworking yourself,” she said, stepping into my path with the soft precision of a lioness blocking a gazelle. “Brides can get… fragile before the big day.” I returned her smile with the same politeness. “I’m doing fine.” “I’m glad to hear it. You looked a bit pale in that Page Six photo yesterday.” I blinked. “You read Page Six now?” “Oh, darling.” She tilted her head. “Everyone reads Page Six when it’s about you.”

I wondered if she were wearing some nice lacy black panties to match that bra. Miss Ross reached up and with a flip of her hand sent her long black hair over her shoulder. Another hot fucking move! Damn straight she knew what she was doing. Her head started to turn and I quickly glanced the other way. I smiled when I saw two other guys staring at her then quickly look down when she turned their way. I looked back down and flipped the page in front of me, giving the illusion I was reading. After waiting a minute I looked back up to see Miss Ross had stood up and was walking along the front row away from me.

This so-called cooperation was nothing more than false hope that Rafael had tossed them before crushing the entire family. "Heh." I lifted my foot and kicked the card back to Giovanni's feet, then snatched the ring from Lina's stunned hand. "Keep the money," I said coolly. "Buy yourself a decent urn. "My husband despises those who try to please me with this kind of cheap trash." Ignoring Giovanni's livid expression, I turned and walked away. I had already wasted enough time here. Giovanni grabbed my arm. "Stop! What did you just say? You're married?"

“She’ll probably spend the whole holiday in here if you let her.” I walked the aisles slowly, trailing my fingers over the books. Classics. Thrillers. A whole section of contemporary romance—Mirabel’s doing, mostly. She’d started collecting them in high school, said they were “escapist but smart.” I’d never read them. Too many happy endings. Too much hope wrapped in pretty words. I pulled one down at random. Dark cover, brooding man in a suit, and title written in gold foil: Claimed by the Billionaire. I snorted softly, then slid it back.

My palms slammed against his chest to push him back. He felt massive. He was a wall of muscle. He let me shove him back two inches. "Do not say it," I panted. My breath came in fast gasps. I scrambled backward until my spine hit the headboard. "Do not go there, Sebastian." "Elliot," he said. His brow furrowed as he reached for my wrist. "No!" I pulled my arm away. I tucked my hands close to my chest. My heart was a hammer against my ribs. The honey scent off my skin turned sharp and sour with alarm. "We don't do this. We don't have feelings. We don't do romance."