Until You Penelope Douglas Novels & Stories

Nina, amused by Angel's reaction, asked, "Why are you so excited?" Angel replied, "Of course I'm excited! I've watched so many of her dramas. Is this real? I'm meeting my idol! I adore her!" Penelope approached them and said, "Hello, I'm Penelope Zimmerman," extending her hand to Angel. Angel, feeling like she was dreaming, shook Penelope's hand, "Am I dreaming? I've seen all your dramas. I know your story, how you came from a small town and fought your way through the entertainment industry. I'm your fan..."

In just a few minutes, a sleek Rolls Royce glided up to the curb, its windows gliding down to reveal the person at the wheel. "Miss Davis?" I nodded, slipping into the back seat. "You can just call me Olivia," I mentioned as I settled in. He acknowledged with a nod, and the car smoothly pulled away from the curb. "So, where are we off to?" I asked him. "Mr. Russo's penthouse." Oh. "So, what's your name? What do I call you?" I inquired. "Sean." "Alright, Sean. How long have you been with Dante?" I questioned.

she spat under her breath, slamming the wheel with her palm. Her plan was simple , get to Damon’s mansion, question the maids, slip them money if needed. Someone would break, Someone always did. But just as she neared the familiar neighborhood, her eyes caught sight of a slim figure walking alone along the street. Long hair doll with beautiful hairpins youthful frame, the face illuminated briefly by a passing car’s headlights. Penelope, damon’s precious daughter. Anastasia’s lips curled into a slow, sinister smile. A thought as dark as it was tempting slithered into her mind.

As I quickened my pace toward the end of the corridor, a few steps away from Charles, I heard a familiar female voice, "Oh, Charles!" After hearing the cutesy voice, Madelyn and I exchanged glances. That's Penelope! "Penelope, I served you with my fingers last night. Why are you so dissatisfied?" Charles is less enthusiastic than Penelope. "It's daytime now," he said, "If you want to do something, do it at night." "But I can't wait..." said Penelope, standing on Tiptoe. She put her arms around Charles's neck. "I don't want to leave you for a second!"

“No… What else have you got?” The stylist stammered fearfully, “Don’t you like it? But M.Mr King…” Penelope stood up, picked a pen tool and walked over to the stylist. She aimed for the centre of the dress in her hands and dragged the pen down the dress, The stylist gasped. “Now, it is ruined. Let’s go for another dress.” Penelope said, innocently batting her eyelashes. A rack of dress was pulled in. “That is more like it.”

Saint Lucia Convent, Southfeld. 4.30 PM. Penelope was wearing her tailored dress, putting up her make-up in the Rolls-Royce. Next to her was Saint Lucia’s assistant principal Donelle. “You’ve really helped a lot by signing the contract today, Ms. Penelope. I wanted to ask you something though...” Donelle was like a dog, wagging its tail trying to make Penelope happy. Penelope couldn’t even bother to look at her as she pursed her red lips.

“She’s a better cook than me, and her food is even better than the food in this place.” “Penelope can cook too, right?” Petros inserts. “She used to bring me delicious desserts. Oh, where is her sister? I heard she was coming.” He scans the place. “I am waiting for her. Ah—there she is!” I wondered who Penelope was, but she turned out to be Pauline’s sister. I suddenly see her approaching from the entrance, wearing a blue nightgown and with her is a very tall Greek man in a designer suit.

It makes me want to gun Cillian in the head and leave a gaping hole for the world to see. “By the goddess!” Penelope also is here. I could always tell by how she refuses to let go of her s consonants, dragging them longer than others would. She pushes through the cluster of women who have clustered around me. “What happened, Luna?” I skirt around her question, grasping her hand instead. “Penelope! Oh, it’s great to see you. I can’t remember the last time we spoke. You’ve been so busy; it’s made me sad, Penn.”

It just quieted, until it became something softer, harder to recognize. A week into my solitude, a small package arrived at my doorstep. No sender’s name, just my address written neatly across the front. Inside was a fountain pen. The same kind I lost years ago, the same brand Joaquin once said was his favorite. There was no note. No explanation. But I didn’t need one. I knew it was from him. And that tiny gesture undid me more than any apology could have. That night, I sat at my desk, staring at the blank page on my screen. My fingers hovered over the keys. The cursor blinked, waiting.

I huffed annoyed and played his game, by saying “I would recommend Birthday Girl by Penelo-“ “Penelope Douglas about Jordan and Pike Lawson, who is her ex-boyfriend’s dad, but yet they fell for each other and in the end have kids and her ex was happy with it. Yeah, I’ve read it but that’s not what I was referring to,” he interrupted and I scrunched her eyebrows together and looked perplexed and what he had just said, “I was talking about me and you and whether you like it or not.” He knew Pike Lawson and damnit that man had my heart. He knew that I knew what he was talking about but played dumb.