Rosen Garten Novels & Stories

In minutes we are driving to the top of the hill to a building made of glass and stone overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and the Bay beyond. "What is this place?" I ask in wonder as he opens the gate and lets me walk in first. The garden is blooming with beautiful white roses, the same roses he has gifted me since the very beginning. "The roses..." He smiles, rocking back and forth on his feet. "You recognize them?" I lean forward to take a deep inhale of the fragrant blooms. "This is where they all came from, all of the roses you have given me?" His eyes light up as he hears the approval in my voice. "They're so beautiful."

I turned to look at the man at the head of the table, opposite my father. "Yes, Gusev," father said with a nodded. The man was obviously in his early eighties but yet he looked younger with his gray hair perfectly trimmed and his beard well kept. But no one could overlook the power and authority radiating off him. "What is your name, young lady?" he asked me as the maid served my food. "Rosaline," I replied as politely as I could. My eyes fell on three large scary looking men that stood behind him. "Rosaline," he tested and I nodded. "Let's eat," he said and my father nodded.

A looked crossed his eyes,but it went away as quickly as it came, and soon he was looking at me amused again. "Of course, I didn't anticipate finding raunchy books in a sweet girl's bag, you're definitely right. Noted, I'm never doing that again." I scowled and he smirked. "So Rosie?" He asked, I couldn't help it, I rolled my eyes at that, rubbing at my temples. "No, my name's Rosette, not Rosie. That's childish." "Okay, so Rose. Well that's a pretty name for a very pretty girl, as cliché as it sounds, it's the truth, you're a pretty little flower." And the blush that was barely receding was back again.

Soon after, we were heading down a short drive filled with their playful banter and, once in a while, his hand brushing mine on the gear shift before we finally pulled up to the ivy covered building at the edge of the city on its cobbled driveway. "The Rosewood Conservatory?" I was confused. I read aloud from the sign. "The art gallery that turned into a greenhouse café, isn't this the old one?" "Right," he said and stepped out to open the door like the gentleman. I had called ahead and reserved us the private rooftop garden. I decided that you wanted someplace peaceful, full of nature and art." With a spiral staircase wrapped in flowering vines leading up, he took me through the glass panel

Liora The garden was the kind of place you’d expect to see printed on the back of a postcard: a maze of stone paths, fountains whispering in the distance, rose bushes trimmed so precisely it almost felt wrong to breathe near them. But Zane was right, it was far from Callum’s parents eyes, deep in the hedges. We sat at a white iron table beneath a trellis of climbing ivy, a tray of lox bagels, fruit, and pastries laid out between us like some perfect little royal picnic.

What could her lover be planning? Her phone buzzed again before she could ask any questions. "There's this greenhouse, The Rose of the City, that holds a big masquerade party every year," Max explained. "It's to celebrate the last day of winter and welcome the way for spring—that's at least what their website says." Max sent Elena a link to the website. The Rose of the City was gorgeous—it looked like a garden house maintained by some fantasy fairies and woodland animals. It was giant and housed some truly impressive plants.

The smell of smoke never left her. Even after five years, Inés still woke up coughing some nights, the phantom scent of ash curling through her dreams like a ghost refusing to rest. “Name?” the guard at the Delgado estate gate asked, his voice flat but suspicious. Inés gripped the strap of her cheap bag tighter. “Inés Montoya. I’m here for the maid position.” The man’s eyes raked over her; young, pretty, average enough not to draw attention, which was the point. He muttered something into his walkie-talkie, then motioned for her to go inside.

Zeil was on top, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his chest heaving. His hands shot out, gripping Kael’s wrists with a vice-like strength, pinning them above his head. His legs, braced and powerful, straddled Kael’s hips, effectively trapping him. He was a predator, finally having cornered his prey. The moonlight, a soft, silver cascade, spilled over them, illuminating the scene. They were in the heart of the main rose garden, a riot of blooms that seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow in the darkness. The air, heavy and sweet, was thick with the intoxicating aroma of a thousand roses, deep crimson, velvety scarlet, soft blush pinks, and creamy whites.

The winter roses were in full bloom, their petals glowing silver under the moon, frost edging their thorns like delicate lace. Liera gasped as they stepped into the clearing. “Wow… I had only heard of them. Never seen them.” The frozen roses stretched before them, their blooms perfect and ethereal, silver frost sparkling on every petal. The garden was a hidden jewel of Ravencrest, a place few were allowed to enter. Ryke had come here often when the weight of his duties grew too heavy. Now, he watched Liera as she stepped closer, her green eyes wide with wonder, fingers reaching out to touch a bloom without disturbing the frost.

He slipped away through the side gate, past the herb garden, toward the roses. The rose garden was at the southern edge of the property, a walled enclosure that caught the sun and held it. The roses were late bloomers, some of them still heavy with color—deep reds and pale pinks and one bush of something almost purple, the kind of flower that looked like it belonged in a painting. The walls were old stone, mossy in places, and the whole space had the quality of a secret, a room without a roof. Elijah walked to the far end, where a wooden bench faced the ocean, and sat down.