Roses And Champagne Novel Read Online Novels & Stories

And as Martinez stepped into the dark foyer, the heavy, suffocating scent of expensive, sweet floral perfume hit my nose, completely masking the smell of the night. Seraphina’s perfume. Martinez stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body turning into a solid block of ice beneath me as he stared into the dark, empty house.

Chapter Two: SIGHTING Later that night, Rojean dolled up to go to a place that was both a nightclub and a bar that everyone was talking about. She was old enough, for sure, especially if she was going to get married soon. But she was never the kind of person to go out on the weekends, to a club or even a bar and always preferred the comfort of their apartment which Lucas didn’t mind at all even when he wanted to go out. She was in a cream coloured off shoulder dress which stopped mid-thigh and hugged her curves beautifully.

[Rose] I bite my nails as I watch the snow falling down from the windows. The constant chatter of the neighbors disturbing me, while I sit up and make myself some hot chocolate I contemplate whether I could make it to the club or not, I bite my lip sitting over my couch and watching the TV. When a call was heard from the counter of my kitchen and I groan. How could I leave my phone over there? I quickly ran over to it and picked up the call from the house mom of the club.

“Friends and families discount.” Ollie paid the florist and then put the box of lilies inside his backpack before he plucked a single red rose from one of the shelves to his left. “Here.” He placed the rose in my hand. “It matches your hair.” Then Ollie turned around and walked toward the door without waiting for me while I stood there with my cheeks turning the same shade of red as the rose in my hand.

"Well, Mr. Caruso, how oddly strange for you to carry me over the threshold." I only but laugh at her and gently seat her next to the fireplace. While she is taking in the scent of the roses, I fetch the champagne that has been on chill. Pouring us each a glass, I sit down next to her, and the happiness I see in her eyes warms me even more than the heat that the fire brings. After staring into her eyes for but a while, I finally find the courage to speak, "Princess, I am not a man of many words. So please excuse me if I get this wrong."

Rose says grabbing my arm and pulling me out the door and to the Limo. We climb in and Rose imminently grabs shot glasses and pours 5 vodka shots. We shoot back the shots. We talk about random shit and Rose keeps handing me alcohol. "Brooke tonight any alcohol I hand you you have to drink it," Rose states. I give her a glare. "It takes you forever to get drunk so just allow me to do this," she says. "Fine," I give up. "Yay now drinks this," she says handing me a glass of champagne.

The universe was conspiring in our favor, giving us a blessing for this new chapter of our lives. I got out of bed with a smile glued to my lips, my eyes still locked on the words written on the note. In an incredibly sweet way, Vincenzo had prepared my breakfast and left a rose beside the tray. Glancing towards the kitchen, I saw freshly brewed coffee in the coffee pot, and its enticing smell filled the air. His gesture touched me in such a deep way that I felt an overwhelming emotion in my chest, like a warm flame spreading throughout my body.

"Open the bottle." An appreciative glint moved through his eyes, and he nodded slowly before he reached for the corkscrew and opened the Château Rosaire with the flick of his wrist. The cork came out with a soft pop, and the scent of the wine drifted upward immediately, dark and rich and layered, blackberries and woodsmoke and something floral underneath, like roses pressed between the pages of a very old book. He poured two glasses and handed me one. Our fingers brushed during the exchange, and neither of us acknowledged it.

I opened the door just a few inches and saw a small cardboard box sitting on the carpet with no name and no return address, so I pulled it inside and opened the lid while the others crowded around me to see what was inside. Resting on a bed of white tissue paper was a single rose made of delicate glass and the stem was broken in half so it looked dead and jagged, and I knew immediately that it was a message from Elena Romano because that rose was the symbol of the investment firm we had burned down in Berlin.