1927. Young women are thriving with their newfound independence and having fun.
Except that isn't the case for free spirited Brooke Dashwood. Being an heiress to a wealthy company run by her overbearing and temperamental father, she must live by th...
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Staring at myself in the floor mirror located in the grand room of my Aunt Lucinda's estate, I kept cursing to myself at how much I truly hated my hair being so long.
It just looked so dull, boring, and basic. Like me.
Even her pet dog's shaggy appearance was far better than mine. But of course, as much as I would've loved to cut it mostly off, I simply couldn't.
Yet, with Victoria Singh's words marinating in my head for months now of my pipe dream of becoming a flapper—but to do it right, I was becoming extremely tempted to break free and finally act on it more than ever. Who cares if my strict Aunt would disapprove of it? She never paid attention to my existence since I came back from finishing school. In reality, it was just a convenient way for her to send me away for a while too, after she met a dashing and wealthy man at the train station when picking me up eight years ago. Little did she know, that relationship ended by the time I landed at the school six hours later.
But it was a whole different story however, when it came to my Father.
He would probably throw a fit if I did anything intentionally to—as he put it, 'screw my life up'. But I didn't believe him. It was just silly old hair. It could grow back.
What really would have no problem in screwing up my life, came true when he moved down here for my return back home a few years ago.
But I guess after everything with my Mother happened, he felt more lonely and needed something he could dictate and punch around again.
Still, that didn't even matter as much anymore since my best friend had come back and somehow always knew how to lift up my spirits. Gosh, just thinking of him and all the odd jobs he told me he took to get here for me made me melt inside.
We had always written to each other every day in long letters that kept me up at night when I was gone, promising he would find me someday and how long I would patiently and eagerly wait until that glorious day came. And finding me, he did—which only confirmed an even bigger secret I had been bottling up inside for a few years probably horribly now since he arrived and had grown to be such an incredible young man I actually did dream about.
Yes, my heart had now carried a torch for Julian Alveres to the point where I could scream it out loud to the world with such pure delight.
He was the man of my dreams.
Kind, smart, funny, loyal, loving—not to mention wildly sexy. He was the definition of perfection in my book. Even when he just entered a room, I would get a fleet of butterflies inside my stomach that didn't go away until he ventured off again.
The only problem about my hidden and burning passion for his love, was that I knew he probably didn't feel the same. Besides, we were already the best of friends. I didn't want to ruin that if I told him how I truly felt and he didn't reciprocate those same feelings.
