Novelas y relatos de The Rebound Bride

He assured her, "Okay dear, bye and my regards to..." "Mom, I'll send your regards to her. Bye." He cut her off and bade his bye, hanging up the call immediately. "She wants the wedding to be in Palm Springs." "Then, a Palm Springs wedding it'll be, except it won't be between you and Julie." "What do you mean?" Robin asked confusedly, "We're getting a substitute bride for you." He announced and Robin was deadpanned.

It was just obvious, the disciples' acting wasn't very good. The bride squinted and looked at their faces. "Really?" "Really!" Esteban nodded hard. The bride laughed again, her voice was really nice: "Then have some appetizers first, my husband isn't back yet. When he gets home, I'll have him make some bone soup for everyone." Bone broth? Whose bone? The disciples of the sect leaned on the table, looked at Amelia, then looked out the window, and finally stared at their new bride, who was tilting her head at them.

Malina willingly stepped aside, letting Annabelle take his seat at the computer. She began typing out her ideas in a document. Scene One: On a grand cruise ship, a lavish wedding is taking place. Suddenly, the bride leaps into the sea and transforms into a mermaid. The groom, without hesitation, dives in after her. Just before she loses her ability to speak, the bride utters a single sentence: "Take my tears and come find me in ten years. If you still love me, the curse will be lifted."

I was a grown woman—was I supposed to not survive without a man? But my cousin, Sarah Cameron... she couldn't. In our last lives, she married Blake, and the two of them were trapped in a lifetime of misunderstanding because of someone else. She was the gentlest soul you could meet, and even she couldn't escape being worn down by him. So this time, after being reborn, I looked at Sarah's worried face, her furrowed brow, and started packing without hesitation. "Sarah, I'll marry Blake. John Ridgewood might not look like much, but he's got a good temper. You two should be able to make it work."

But the truth was even more astonishing - he was, in fact, Christian Bridges, heir to the Bridges fashion throne, and one of the most drool-worthy models on the planet. This was his turf and just hours before, he'd been negotiating with contractors to get the stalled project back on track. Now, he was staring down a whole different kind of problem: a gang of thieves had made his building their playground. He lifted his finger to his mouth, his pink lips puckering slightly as he made a soft 'shh' sound. It wasn't until his other hand left Sienna's lips that she remembered to breathe, the air rushing into her lungs like a cool mist on a hot day.

I said, sipping the glass of vodka in my hands. *You sure?“ Bruce said, raising a brow. “Always, the night's still young; grab a chick, get laid,“ he winked, gesturing to another woman to come over. I chuckled. I could do that. I spotted a blonde dancing some feet away; her eyes met mine, and immediately walked towards me. A good distraction from reality wouldn't harm a fly. I smirked at her as she sat on my crotch and began grinding against me. I turned her over in a swift movement, crashing her lips into mine.

--- Her Father's words rang in her ears. " Everyone in the Requiem is a wolf and you are the Requiem's Bride." The shadows hugged the corners of the dimly lit din hall. She sat down on the chair alone. Everyone had left. The darkness and silence amplified her rage. She stared into the darkness, her blood boiling, her fist clenched as she scoffed under her breath. The Requiem's Bride. That was a title she never asked for. A life she was going to be forced to live with a man worse than her Father.

As soon as I came to my senses, my hand froze midair. A second later, Beatrice Hopper smacked it away. A sharp sting shot across the back of my hand, jolting me awake. That was when I realized I had been reborn. Somehow, I was now back at my wedding venue. Beatrice, my best friend since childhood, shot me a vicious glare. Then, she casually slipped the lottery ticket—the one she was supposed to give me as a wedding gift—back into her own pocket.

She applied three layers of concealer, barely covering the bruises. Once the dress and veil were on, I turned halfway in front of the mirror. The woman in the mirror stood in white, her train trailing behind her. She looked nothing like the useless woman who, a month ago, had been kicked hard enough to crack her skull and end up paralyzed in a wheelchair. The Vivian Lane from my previous life had already fallen from the rooftop and died. The one who came back was someone who had crawled out of hell. At eight sharp, the wedding car arrived downstairs.

Beside it, a smaller image of Isaiah, soft-lit, red-eyed. He scrolled to the first paragraph. Sources close to the Allen board say the chairman’s new wife, “a woman with no family to speak of,” accepted payment to carry a child for her former fiancé’s family, then refused to hand him over. He set the phone face down on the sill, very carefully, because the alternative was to throw it through the glass. Then he picked it up again and scrolled back to the top. Above both photographs, in bold black type: ALLEN CEO’S NEW WIFE: THE SURROGATE WHO SOLD A BABY