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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“I have brunch with my parents.”

“Cancel.”

“I—”

“You need your sleep.” I hated the fact that she always seemed to put herself, and her needs, last.

“I can’t sleep all day, Adam.”

“You could if you stayed here.”

“I have to work tomorrow night.”

“Why?”

“I traded shifts.”

“You can stay here until you have to go.”

She picked up the skirt of her gown, letting it fall back down in waves of brilliant orange and gold. “And go to work in this?”

I lifted her off the counter. “Let me get you some clothes, and we’ll go to bed. You can plug in your phone and call to say you’re not coming. I’ll take you home early enough you can change before work.”

“I have to go. Especially after tonight.”

I scowled as I searched the cupboard, grabbing her a T-shirt and some boxers that were too small on me now. At least they wouldn’t fall off her when she moved—not that I’d object to that.

“Are you in that much trouble for wearing a pretty gown? Do they object to you looking different from all the bland women who were there this evening?” I complained. “It was like a fucking Stepford wife meeting.”

I thought she’d agree, maybe laugh at my assessment. What I didn’t expect were the words that came out of her mouth.

“No. I have to go and talk to them. I want them to hear the news from me.”

“What news?”

She drew in a deep breath, taking the clothes from my hands. “I told Bradley I couldn’t do this anymore. I–I broke up with my fake boyfriend.”

Then she disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me stunned.

I paced as I waited, anxious. I needed to know why she “broke up” with Bradley.

Everything in me prayed it was because she had the same intense draw to me as I had to her—that she didn’t want anyone in her life except me, fake or otherwise.

She came out of the bathroom, looking adorable in my old shirt. It was torn and tattered, the material thin, showing off her curves.

“I can give you a better shirt.”

She stroked the material. “No, this one is soft. I like it.”

I liked the way it hung around her shoulders with the ragged, wide neck, and the way it showed off her milky thighs. My body hardened at the simple beauty that shone from her. I wanted her.

I patted the bed next to me, lifting the covers so she could be warm as we talked. I wrapped my hand around hers. “Tell me.”

It was a minute before she spoke. Her eyes were trained on our hands, her fingers tracing over my bruised knuckles which happened when I slipped on some wet rocks. She bent down, brushing her lips to the discolored flesh.

“I can’t do it anymore. The constant demands and the disappointment I see on their faces. Nothing I do is right or good enough, and I’m tired of trying.” She sighed in resignation. “I knew my dress wasn’t what my mother would want me to wear, but I thought it was so pretty.”

“You were beautiful.”

She tilted back her head, meeting my eyes. I saw the sadness swimming in the blue depths, her irises cast in gray. “You’re the only person who said that.”

I lifted our hands and kissed the thin skin inside her wrist. “You should always wear what you want. Act the way you want to. Do what makes you happy.”

“When I’m on my own, I do. My mother hates the way I dress, but I like to be comfortable. I find it hard to conform to their vision of what is right all the time. I wore it because I loved it. The last dress I wore, Bradley told me I looked like an old woman and my mother said it was dreadful. So this time, I wore what I liked. But once again, it was wrong.”

“No. They’re wrong.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re perfect—just the way you are.”

She shook her head, frustration in her voice when she spoke. “I’m not perfect, Adam. I don’t want to be put on a pedestal by you. I’ve had to be perfect for so long. I’m just me.”

I held her hand to my face. “I know you’re not a perfect person. But all your little imperfections, all the things you think you have to change, make you perfect for me.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“What did great-guy Bradley think about being fake dumped?” I queried, interested in his reaction.

No matter what the bastard told her, he wasn’t faking anything. He wanted her—and he wanted to control her the same way her parents did. He just covered it better.

“He wanted to talk, so that’s why I went to his place. I felt I owed him that at least.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth. I told him I realized it didn’t matter what I did, it was never going to be enough. I was tired of living for everyone else and trying to make up for something I could never make up for—no matter how long or hard I tried. And using him only made me feel worse. We were both lying.” She took in a deep breath. “He asked me if there was someone else.”


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