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The Image of You Read Online Melanie Moreland

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Drama, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
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From NYT best selling author Melanie Moreland comes an epic love story of loss and redemption.
I realized in that one moment something was terribly wrong.

“I apologize,” she spoke, sounding formal.
“You have me at a disadvantage.”
Her hand rose in greeting. “I’m Alexandra Robbins…and you are?”

I stared at her hand and then her beautiful face.

The woman I had loved passionately—desperately—and still loved to this day.

My former fiancée…who was looking at me with no recognition.

As if I were a stranger to her.

And then it hit me as I took in the emptiness in her eyes.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

ADAM

Present Day

I yanked impatiently at the silk of the tie I was attempting to get into place. I cursed through gritted teeth as I looked at the skewed knot and, once again, tore it off. Taking a deep breath in, trying to calm myself, I started over. A memory stirred of the last time I’d worn one of these godforsaken things.

She held the length of silk in her small hands, her touch confident as she twisted and tugged, smiling while she patted the perfect Windsor knot in place. Standing on her tiptoes, she stretched up to smooth my shirt collar, and I ducked down to help her reach. She slid her fingers along the collar as she pulled and adjusted, her voice low and teasing. “Considering the magic your hands can create with so many other things, you would think you could figure out a tie, Adam.”

Growling, I lifted her off the floor easily, holding her to my chest. “I’ll show you magic later, my girl. My big wand and all.”

Her giggle made me happy, her kiss was filled with warmth, her touch love personified. She was mine.

I shook my head to clear it as I looked in the mirror, my face angry now as I yanked the knot too tight. I didn’t have her touch anymore.

He did.

Grabbing my rarely used suit jacket, I thrust my arms into the sleeves then added my press credentials and phone to the right-hand pocket. I frowned when my fingers brushed something in the bottom of the pocket, and I pulled out the item, stopping when I saw the piece of pink paper. She always wrote me notes on pink paper.

Thank you for doing this. I love you.

~Your Nightingale

Her writing. Her words. Her love.

Lifting the paper to my nose, I could still smell the faint scent of her on it. Light, airy, floral. She always smelled so good to me. Like home.

I looked at the words again and swallowed the painful lump. I had worn this jacket to have dinner with her parents, Sarah and Ronald—a dinner neither they, nor I, wanted to be at, but I did it for her. Back when she was mine.

Mine.

She wasn’t mine anymore.

Tossing the note onto the table, I picked up my camera, although I didn’t plan on using it tonight. It was the prop to get me in. The only way I could think to come face-to-face with a past that haunted me. To get answers to the questions that echoed in my head daily. To stop the ache that burned in my chest every waking moment. Maybe once I did, I could move on.

I ignored the voice in my head telling me moving on was something that would never happen.

The ballroom was crowded. Overflowing with people dressed in gowns, tuxes, and jewels. Too many voices, too many faces; all laughing, moving, talking. I swallowed heavily, trying to stay in control. How different this was for her. There was a time she would have hated this sort of event as much as I did. The entire over-the-top fake glamour would’ve made her shudder, and she never would have wanted to be the center of attention. However, it would seem, things had changed.

She had changed.

She was here somewhere. I could feel it. I hadn’t been this close to her in months. And now that I was here, I wasn’t leaving without seeing her. I wanted to know why.

Why was I so easy to throw away?

Why had she stopped loving me so abruptly?

She owed me that, at least.

Getting in was simple. I was known well enough, most of the hotel security just let me walk through. The one time I was stopped, I used my charm, a sly wink, as if we were sharing a secret, flashed my pass, and explained the bride-to-be wanted some special photos taken for her groom, and I was doing it on the down-low. The idiot let me in without another thought.

I moved around the perimeter, scanning the crowd, keeping my eyes open for her mother and Ronald. If they saw me, I would be escorted out immediately. I sidled up to one of the many bars and ordered a scotch, knocking it back quickly for added courage. I ordered a second and stood in the shadows as I watched.


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