Novel & Cerita The Bookstore Sisters

My chest hollowed out, leaving nothing but the memory of his hands on me, the echo of his voice calling me piccola. I told myself it was fine. That I’d wait. That this was what sisters did—see their brothers off with grace. But deep down, I knew the truth. Sweet sisters don’t burn this way. Two days later, I was in the library when the murmur of voices broke through my concentration. I glanced up from my open book, my eyes narrowing as I caught two maids whispering near the shelves. Their tones were hushed, conspiratorial, and I almost ignored them—until I caught one word.

"Sisters, do you really have to do pack work today? It's so close to the Caribbean trip — " Alexa and Riley patted his shoulder. "Be patient. In a few days, we'll be off to the Caribbean. We promise." Hearing their words made it hard for me to breathe, so I got up and went for a drink of water. When I returned, my notebook was in Wesley's hands. Alexa and Riley had gone to get books from the shelves. Wesley was alone, tearing pages from my notebook — slowly, deliberately, soaking each one in a water bottle before crumpling it.

Sometimes it looks like knowing when to ask for help. Training Libby is not what I expect. I expect questions, nervous chatter, or awkward jokes to fill the silence. What I get instead is tension so tight I can practically hear it humming. She stands just inside the bookstore door like she’s bracing for impact, shoulders squared, hands folded together like she’s afraid of touching anything without permission. Her eyes move constantly looking at shelves, counter, register, exits. Cataloging. Preparing. Survival mode. “This is Sofia,” I say, gesturing toward the counter. “My sister. The actual boss.”

She smiles at me, hails a taxi and take us to her bookstore. Aunt Nicolette’s bookstore looks small but beautiful on the outside, but very big on the inside and even more beautiful. The interior of the store has wooden furnishings, a few tables and chairs that match the interior design and were positioned between shelves, bookshelves containing almost every single genre there is. I gawked at the place and my aunt giggles at my reaction. The bookstore looks like those ancient libraries or bookshops in fantasy novels. “You always do this when you walk in.” I flash her a smile and take a seat at one of the tables. “I’m going upstairs to get your uncle.” She says and disappears. I relax and inha

“You know, the Smiths reached out to Veronica, too. They offered her five million to cut all ties and disappear for good. “That woman loves money. She took it and swore she wouldn’t come back, but kept stirring up trouble in secret. The Smiths found out and sent her packing, taking the money back. “Honestly, why didn’t they just give that cash to me? What a waste!” I could not help but laugh at Monica’s attitude. Right before we boarded, a text came in from James: [Amelia, you’ll never forgive me, will you?] [I know I broke your heart. I’ll prove to you that I’m sorry.] This guy was crazy! I ignored the message and turned off my phone. Later, while we were on the way to the hotel, Monica gas

Today, he was sitting beside me when he asked seemingly offhandedly, "I heard your sister visited you earlier?" I nodded as I looked at his cheek, dimly illuminated under the candlelight. I still remembered the look of disdain on Joey's cheek when she entered my room that morning, snorting, "You're already pregnant—why are you living so frugally? Sion had my entire room filled with precious stones." I stayed silent as she studied the room, until she finally revealed why she came today, "Mom and Dad said you're pregnant, so I came to visit." She put down the gifts she brought, looking like she was in a bad mood.

"I do indeed, child. Well, you're here now. Why don't you help me with some inventory before your shift starts? We need to restock the shelves, and it would be a big help." I nodded, grateful for the distraction. As the day wore on, the bookstore bustled with customers. I was busy restocking shelves, lost in thought, when the door swung open and a group of girls from my school walked in. My heart sank as I recognized them - classmates who would surely recognize me. I quickly ducked behind a stack of books, holding my breath as they began to browse. "I heard it was a huge scandal," one of them said, her voice loud enough to carry across the store. "The affair was all over social media. I'm su

I shouted, "Jessica, I'm still your sister!" Jessica growled, "What kind of bullcrap sister? I've always been prettier and luckier than you. Why do you get all the good things in the end, while I turned into a mess? "Don't worry. As long as you cooperate, I'll make your death quick." She wanted to kill me again and restart everything, but Brett was too scared. After all, this was a prison sentence waiting to happen.

Analina’s P.O.V. With everything decided and my mother Liliana involved, the three cakes chosen and the party divided into its trio of lively sections, only a few tasks remained on my checklist. Now, the focus shifted to the sparkle and surprise of the event—decorations and presents for the three boys. I tapped my pen thoughtfully against the notepad, imagining vibrant streamers, clusters of balloons, and banners in hues chosen to match each boy’s personality. Tombstone, Arizona had its quirks, but I knew just where to look. The first stop would be the historic Allen Street, dotted with quirky shops like The Fun Frontier, famous for its themed party supplies—cowboy hats, faux mustaches, and

We removed the ruined shelving, ripped up the carpet, did our best to dry things with industrial-strength fans, then locked the place, leaving all the books on the main shelves as they were. My sister lives downstate near New York City. Though she’s a librarian and loves books as much as me, her husband owns a business and they have two little ones to take care of. She’d been in no position to move here and take over a ruined bookstore. At the time I was still content (or so I’d desperately lied to myself every single day) teaching high school English to teenagers who mostly didn’t give two farts about Hawthorne, Poe, or even Stephen King.