Vintage Romance Novels & Stories

Ruby sweet-talked, connecting their foreheads together and gazing passionately into Carmilla's eyes. The raven-haired can only blush due to the undeniable sincerity in her fiancee's words. She suddenly connected their lips together never minding the prejudice of their audience or the fact that their expensive lipsticks are getting smudged. Ruby kissed back with equal passion, sending fire into her soul due to their fiery intimacy. The only thing Carmilla cares about right now is ravishing the supple lips of the romantic lady in her embrace.

Enrico muttered clicking their glass to cheers for this lovely night. Kendra enjoys the tranquility of the night embracing the gentle breeze and solitude to grace their whole evening and a lifetime to cherish. Beneath the shimmering canvas of the night sky, they found themselves drawn to the gentle lull of the Arno River, where the ancient bridges stood as silent witnesses to the timeless romance that had blossomed in the heart of this storied land. With a shared sense of melancholic serenity, they settled on a secluded terrace, enveloped in the whispers of a warm Mediterranean breeze that carried with it the promises of amore and the wistful remembrance of moments that would forever be etch

, Valentine said with a little embarrassment on his face. "How old were you then?" "Twelve, I guess,'' Valentine replied. "I won't blame a twelve year old for wanting to hang out when he can see his friends go", Lucia had a smile on her face but by no means she was laughing but she instead looked pleased, it was a smile of comfort. And Valentine felt attracted to her smile without even realising. "Let's go inside and eat something", Valentine offered, smiling.

I whispered to myself while looking at the ring that he himself put on me on our wedding day. We've only been together for two weeks but this is already happening to both of us. We don't get along anymore. “Romance him . . .” And my father’s voice still lingers in my mind. How can I do that if he’s this cold to me right now? How can I romance him if he despise me so much? “How fucked up my life is, really.” I shook my head while leaning on the backrest of my swivel chair.

The lantern cast her shadow long and warped against the wall, stretching her thinner than she really was. There was something on the table. She hadn’t left it there. Ben felt the spike of fear the moment her eyes landed on it. A ribbon. It lay coiled neatly beside the lamp, pale blue, clean and new. Completely out of place in the modest, worn-down room. Her breath hitched as she reached for it, fingers hovering just above the fabric. She hadn’t owned anything like this. Her chest tightened. She picked it up, the silk cool and unfamiliar against her skin. It smelled faintly of something sharp and foreign, like leather and smoke.

The smell of new books has kept enticing a chunk of the population, albeit a smaller percentage, and mostly, people who buy from us are collectors, those who are too rich to spend money on things of the past–and that's what we offer: old, tanning books with worn out spines; a remnant of the past, a time when HarmonyMatch was never a thing. I man the register for a couple of old folks who got a stack of magazines. I smiled as they walked out the store, his hands on her shoulder, both smiling as they talked about their purchase. I thought about how they were Matched, whether they knew each other before the ceremony, if they were childhood sweethearts, or if they were familiar faces you see on

The air stank of lust, money, and overripe fruit. “Nyxara,” he drawled, waving a hand without looking up. One of the girls scurried over with a glass of deep red wine, offering it to me with downcast eyes. “Join me. This vintage is older than half the pups in this fortress.” I took the glass, swirling it once before sipping — rich, tart, with a hellfire kick that burned pleasantly down my throat. I didn’t sit. I prowled closer, tail swaying like a metronome of ruin.

And somewhere deep inside his frozen chest lived a single, fragile hope— That one day, she would open her eyes, and come back to the man who had been surviving, not living, without her. A rare, fragile smile curved up Vincenzo Romano’s lips as he stepped closer to the hospital bed. Eight and a half months. And still, she looked like a dream he was afraid to wake from. He carefully placed the bouquet of blue roses beside her—her favorite. The color suited her, he thought. Calm. Eternal. Loyal. “Happy wedding anniversary, my dear wife,” Vincenzo said softly. His voice echoed in the quiet room, unanswered.

Nora brought white roses when she visited me in the hospital. She fumbled with the flowers, accidentally tipping over the vase and spilling water everywhere. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry, Natalie," she babbled, scrambling to clean up the mess. "I didn't mean to do that." "It's fine," I said, even though nothing really was. She sat down, nervously fiddling with the edge of her skirt. It was a fancy Chanel, a present from Francis, but I was the one who had picked it out. "Natalie, have you and Francis been at it again?"

Their hollow eyes made my skin crawl. "Exchange your vows." The ghost bride slowly lowered her head toward me. In that instant, a small piece of skull slipped loose from the side of her forehead and fell. Right then, I heard the system notification: [Ding! Congratulations on successfully selecting your target: Ximena Ferguson.] [Target has gifted you a blood-red formal suit. It has been added to your inventory. Bonus reward: one universal glue.] [Please remove the nail from Ximena's head and use the universal glue to repair her skull to increase intimacy.]