Book 1 & Book2 - Rowell, Dove
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The morning fog rolled over the Thames like a half-forgotten secret, curling through the streets of London with a damp chill that clung to my designer coat. I tugged it tighter around my shoulders, the cashmere brushing my wrists with deliberate softness, a small luxury against the city's sharp edges. From my vantage atop the terrace café in Kensington, the city shimmered in muted golds and silvers, as if it were holding its breath for something it hadn't yet named. I sipped the last of my lavender latte, feeling the warmth bloom through my fingers into my chest. Everything smelled of rain and…mehr

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The morning fog rolled over the Thames like a half-forgotten secret, curling through the streets of London with a damp chill that clung to my designer coat. I tugged it tighter around my shoulders, the cashmere brushing my wrists with deliberate softness, a small luxury against the city's sharp edges. From my vantage atop the terrace café in Kensington, the city shimmered in muted golds and silvers, as if it were holding its breath for something it hadn't yet named. I sipped the last of my lavender latte, feeling the warmth bloom through my fingers into my chest. Everything smelled of rain and polished stone, of espresso and leather. I watched a delivery man dodge puddles with the agility of someone who had long ago learned to anticipate London's moods. Life had always felt like a delicate choreography here, a series of decisions and glances that, if made right, kept you floating just above the chaos. I liked it that way. I liked control.