Teach Me to Love - Book cover

Teach Me to Love

Ivy White

Age Rating


Can one letter change your life? When Lola Verb receives a letter from Mr. Robernero, she doesn’t know what to think. She doesn’t know him, but she soon learns a lot about him. And what she learns piques her interest. Mr. Harlyn Robernero Wilton is a billionaire tycoon who has chosen Lola for his partner. He is prepared to give her everything if she is willing to open up to him. But can she trust that his love is true when all she’s ever known is heartache?

Age Rating: 18+

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Chapter 1

Ouch! I’m nursing my throbbing knee, sitting on the floor. I’d taken a tumble down the stairs in my rush to answer the door. Whoever’s on the other side is knocking like they’re trying to break it down.

Part of me wants to fling the door open and slam it shut again, just to annoy them.


“Hold your horses! I’m coming.”

I push myself up and hobble to the door, rolling my eyes and muttering under my breath. I unlock the door and pull it open, my gaze traveling up from a pair of black pants to the face of the man standing there.

He’s holding an envelope and is dressed to the nines in a black suit. His white shirt is spotless, and his waistcoat is adorned with a gold vine pattern. His shoes are so shiny they’re reflecting the sunlight.

He’s blond, looks to be in his mid-thirties, and has striking green eyes. Well, hello there, I think, giving him an awkward smile.

“Hi?” I say, pulling the door towards me and peeking out from behind it.

“Good day, Miss Verb,” he replies. I nod at him, but he doesn’t say anything else. We just stand there, smiling at each other in silence.

Wait, was I supposed to respond to that? Was it a question? Or just a greeting?

“Hello?” His accent is distinctly American. I’m not sure what to do in this situation.

I’m not exactly dressed to impress, in my trainers, oversized black sweater, and denim shorts. Meanwhile, this guy looks like he just stepped out of a fashion magazine.

I’m not exactly rolling in dough, so my wardrobe is more thrift store than designer. I think I have about a buck to my name.

“I have a letter for you.” His voice breaks the silence. I want to tell him I’ve got food on the stove, but instead, I just stand there, smiling like an idiot.

“Oh. Can I ask what it’s about?”

“I believe it’s Mr. Robernero’s response to an email he received. If you don’t mind.” He extends the envelope towards me, and I take it. Who the hell is Mr. Robernero?

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good day, miss.” He turns and walks away, closing the gate behind him.

I glance down at the envelope, then look up to see what kind of car he gets into, but he’s already gone. Weird.

I close the door and rush to the kitchen to rescue my food. Thankfully, it’s not burnt.

I spend the rest of the day cleaning the house. By the time I’m done, it’s five o’clock. Yes, my house was that messy. I don’t have kids or anything, I just couldn’t be bothered to clean up after the holidays.

After days of telling myself I’d get around to it, I finally kicked my own ass into gear.

Now it’s time to relax. I love watching soap operas. I make myself a cup of tea and grab a couple of cookies, my eyes drifting to the envelope. I should open it. It was hand-delivered, after all.

I pick up the envelope and turn it over. It’s sealed with gold wax and a stamp, and a blue ribbon is tied around it. I pull off the ribbon and open it.

Dear Mr. Robernero,

My name is Wren, and I’m writing on behalf of my sister, Lola.

Oh, hell no! This can’t be happening! Why would Wren write to this Mr. Robernero guy about me?

She just turned thirty and she needs your help. She doesn’t know what love is, or what sex is.

Yes, I do, the cheeky bitch! How can I not know what sex is? I’m thirty, for fuck’s sake… Now, love… I’ll give her that one.

I have a reputation to maintain at work. My private life is none of their business. I can’t believe this is happening!

Can you believe it? She’s only ever had one partner. One! It’s shocking! How can a thirty-year-old woman only have one partner? I think I’ve had ten.

She lost her virginity at a party when she was sixteen and hasn’t been with a man since.

Why would she tell him that? That’s my private business! I’m going to kill her!

I came across your name and thought it would be a great idea to email you about my sister.

I hope to hear from you soon. You’re quite handsome, and from what I’ve read about you in the papers, you seem to know what you’re doing.

This guy’s in the papers? Who is he? But Wren emailed him after finding his name somewhere, so she doesn’t know him personally. What is she up to?

Everyone says you know all about love and sex, so I thought I’d ask for your help. Please help my sister get over her prudishness. She’s so boring.

I’ve attached a picture. I’m sure you’d enjoy a challenge.

Best regards,


PS She doesn’t know.

That sneaky bitch! Well, I know now, and I’m going to rip her hair out. What picture did she send to this Mr. Robernero?

I’m in shock, my mouth hanging open as I bury my face in my hands. Is this some kind of joke? My sister thought it would be a great idea to email a stranger and ask him to sleep with me.

I’m not some kind of call girl, and it really grinds my gears that she’d even think I’d be up for this. As if I don’t have enough on my plate already.

I’m a thirty-year-old woman who’s only had sex once because, let’s face it, men and I just don’t mix. End of story.

Why would she pull a stunt like this? I know why. It’s because my sister is a party animal, always out with her friends. Seriously? I’m thirty, not some college kid looking to party.

I’m way too mature for that nonsense, especially when it involves a bunch of twenty-year-olds shrieking like banshees. Who needs that kind of headache? Sometimes, I feel like I’m aging at warp speed.

But we could do other things together, and I told her as much. I even suggested a spa day, but she didn’t want to sweat or be seen with wet hair and no makeup, so she shot down my idea.

With a sigh, I read the reply.

To Lola,

We’re already off to a bad start. The letter is addressed to me. He’s read Wren’s letter and is game for her grand scheme to ruin my life. Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past anyone.

I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020.

Where’s the invitation? I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020. I don’t see where he’s asked me if I’m free or even interested in meeting him on the seventh.

Holy shit! What has she done? Tuesday the seventh is next week… I think. But who sends back this kind of crap? For one, he doesn’t know me, and for two, I have zero interest in meeting him. Ever!

He’s pretty full of himself, isn’t he? I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020. A simple “Hello, how are you?" would have been nice, but no, I get this. ~I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020~.

I’ve dealt with guys like him before, and it never ended well. I’ve told them I wasn’t interested, then bolted out the door without a backward glance, and I’ve never regretted it.

I can’t stand men who give one-word answers. I remember when I was texting this really hot twenty-nine-year-old, and everything was going great until I sent him a long message.

Want to know what he replied with? A thumbs-up emoji! I unfriended him and blocked his account. That pisses me off just as much as getting a lone Okay.

Seriously, why even bother responding?

I grab my phone and dial Wren’s number, waiting for her to pick up.

“Pick up your damn phone!” I yell, grabbing my cup of lukewarm tea and taking a sip.

“Hello.” Her voice is all sweetness and light. I grip the cup handle tighter.

“Why would you do that? I’m not playing your stupid games, Wren! Why would you email some random guy asking him to sleep with me? You’re such a bitch.”

“He replied? Oh my god, this is amazing.” Wren sounds over the moon. I narrow my eyes, staring at the wall.

“You need some fun!” Wren giggles.

I roll my eyes and sink back into my coffee-stained couch. Yeah, I can’t get the stain out because the cushions don’t have zippers, so I can’t toss them in the washing machine. They don’t fit.

“I don’t know who this Mr. Robernero is, Wren. What the hell am I supposed to do knowing that he wants to meet me?” I grab the remote and turn down the TV volume as I hear a knock at the door. I have no idea who it could be this time.

Setting my cup down on the coffee table, I walk down the hallway, still arguing with Wren.

“I swear to you, Wren, I’m going to strangle you and end up in jail for murder!”

It’s times like these I wish I had a peephole or a window. I never know who’s on the other side of the door until I open the damn thing.

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