We Will Meet Again
Contemporary Romantic Novel in English
Versandkostenfrei!
Versandfertig in 1-2 Wochen
12,99 €
inkl. MwSt.
PAYBACK Punkte
6 °P sammeln!
How to Forget Those Summers of 1994, When James at 13 and I at 10 Played in the Waters Near the Swamps in Houma, Louisiana. It was my small hometown, although not his, as he used to go there every summer on vacation with his great-grandfather who lived there; Mr. Sam Marshall Ford, one of the richest men in the United States in his time. His great-grandfather lived in a mansion outside the small town, surrounded by beautiful gardens and immersed in the forest, a bit out of contrast for the lower class of the place. James' mother always forbade him from going out to meet and play with boys his ...
How to Forget Those Summers of 1994, When James at 13 and I at 10 Played in the Waters Near the Swamps in Houma, Louisiana. It was my small hometown, although not his, as he used to go there every summer on vacation with his great-grandfather who lived there; Mr. Sam Marshall Ford, one of the richest men in the United States in his time. His great-grandfather lived in a mansion outside the small town, surrounded by beautiful gardens and immersed in the forest, a bit out of contrast for the lower class of the place. James' mother always forbade him from going out to meet and play with boys his own age, as no one was of his economic position there. He always went out accompanied by his two 'nannies' everywhere, and that always bothered him. I fortuitously met him on a Friday in August 1993 outside Oaklawn Middle School, and all because I wasn't paying attention when crossing the street. His luxurious car driven by one of his servants almost ran me over. I remember that scene vividly: two well-dressed men got out of the car, and then the elegantly dressed little man got out after them; very handsome, I must admit. The two adult men approached me first and asked if I was okay. Obviously, I was on the ground and scared of almost dying there, but I quickly got up due to the commotion caused by my fellow first-year high school students. I remember saying that I was fine, that it had been my fault. Before leaving, the handsome boy asked with a typical millionaire voice, somewhat arrogant but with a touch of honesty: "if you'd like, you can come to the mansion, the one at the top of the forest." I don't remember exactly what I said in response, but to get out of his gaze, which made me nervous, I think I said "yes," and then he said they would take me home that day, which I agreed to. The rest is history. The little of those two summers that we spent together as friends, I have to confess that I fell in love with James Marshall. He was so beautiful, he had something irresistible that made my stomach flutter. But I never confessed my love to him. I don't know, I was always afraid he would call me ugly or simply reject me. He was almost 14 and I was almost 11, but I looked like I was 8.
