Teach Me to Love
Author
Ivy White
Reads
227K
Chapters
17
Can one letter change your life? When Lola Verb receives a letter from Mr. Robernero, she doesnāt know what to think. She doesnāt 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 sheās ever known is heartache?
Age Rating: 18+
Chapter 1
Ouch! Iām nursing my throbbing knee, sitting on the floor. Iād taken a tumble down the stairs in my rush to answer the door. Whoeverās on the other side is knocking like theyāre trying to break it down.
Part of me wants to fling the door open and slam it shut again, just to annoy them.
DING!
āHold your horses! Iām coming.ā
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.
Heās 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 theyāre reflecting the sunlight.
Heās blond, looks to be in his mid-thirties, and has striking green eyes. Well, hello there, I think, giving him an awkward smile.
āHi?ā I say, pulling the door towards me and peeking out from behind it.
āGood day, Miss Verb,ā he replies. I nod at him, but he doesnāt 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?
āHello?ā His accent is distinctly American. Iām not sure what to do in this situation.
Iām 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.
Iām not exactly rolling in dough, so my wardrobe is more thrift store than designer. I think I have about a buck to my name.
āI have a letter for you.ā His voice breaks the silence. I want to tell him Iāve got food on the stove, but instead, I just stand there, smiling like an idiot.
āOh. Can I ask what itās about?ā
āI believe itās Mr. Roberneroās response to an email he received. If you donāt mind.ā He extends the envelope towards me, and I take it. Who the hell is Mr. Robernero?
āThank you.ā
āYouāre welcome. Have a good day, miss.ā 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 heās already gone. Weird.
I close the door and rush to the kitchen to rescue my food. Thankfully, itās not burnt.
I spend the rest of the day cleaning the house. By the time Iām done, itās five oāclock. Yes, my house was that messy. I donāt have kids or anything, I just couldnāt be bothered to clean up after the holidays.
After days of telling myself Iād get around to it, I finally kicked my own ass into gear.
Now itās 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. Itās 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 Iām writing on behalf of my sister, Lola.
Oh, hell no! This canāt be happening! Why would Wren write to this Mr. Robernero guy about me?
She just turned thirty and she needs your help. She doesnāt know what love is, or what sex is.
Yes, I do, the cheeky bitch! How can I not know what sex is? Iām thirty, for fuckās sakeā¦ Now, loveā¦ Iāll give her that one.
I have a reputation to maintain at work. My private life is none of their business. I canāt believe this is happening!
Can you believe it? Sheās only ever had one partner. One! Itās shocking! How can a thirty-year-old woman only have one partner? I think Iāve had ten.
She lost her virginity at a party when she was sixteen and hasnāt been with a man since.
Why would she tell him that? Thatās my private business! Iām 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. Youāre quite handsome, and from what Iāve read about you in the papers, you seem to know what youāre doing.
This guyās in the papers? Who is he? But Wren emailed him after finding his name somewhere, so she doesnāt know him personally. What is she up to?
Everyone says you know all about love and sex, so I thought Iād ask for your help. Please help my sister get over her prudishness. Sheās so boring.
Iāve attached a picture. Iām sure youād enjoy a challenge.
Best regards,
Wren
PS She doesnāt know.
That sneaky bitch! Well, I know now, and Iām going to rip her hair out. What picture did she send to this Mr. Robernero?
Iām 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.
Iām not some kind of call girl, and it really grinds my gears that sheād even think Iād be up for this. As if I donāt have enough on my plate already.
Iām a thirty-year-old woman whoās only had sex once because, letās face it, men and I just donāt mix. End of story.
Why would she pull a stunt like this? I know why. Itās because my sister is a party animal, always out with her friends. Seriously? Iām thirty, not some college kid looking to party.
Iām 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 Iām 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 didnāt 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,
Weāre already off to a bad start. The letter is addressed to me. Heās read Wrenās letter and is game for her grand scheme to ruin my life. Yeah, I wouldnāt put it past anyone.
I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020.
Whereās the invitation? I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020. I donāt see where heās asked me if Iām free or even interested in meeting him on the seventh.
Holy shit! What has she done? Tuesday the seventh is next weekā¦ I think. But who sends back this kind of crap? For one, he doesnāt know me, and for two, I have zero interest in meeting him. Ever!
Heās pretty full of himself, isnāt he? I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020. A simple āHello, how are you?" would have been nice, but no, I get this. I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020.
Iāve dealt with guys like him before, and it never ended well. Iāve told them I wasnāt interested, then bolted out the door without a backward glance, and Iāve never regretted it.
I canāt 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 Wrenās number, waiting for her to pick up.
āPick up your damn phone!ā I yell, grabbing my cup of lukewarm tea and taking a sip.
āHello.ā Her voice is all sweetness and light. I grip the cup handle tighter.
āWhy would you do that? Iām not playing your stupid games, Wren! Why would you email some random guy asking him to sleep with me? Youāre such a bitch.ā
āHe replied? Oh my god, this is amazing.ā Wren sounds over the moon. I narrow my eyes, staring at the wall.
āYou need some fun!ā Wren giggles.
I roll my eyes and sink back into my coffee-stained couch. Yeah, I canāt get the stain out because the cushions donāt have zippers, so I canāt toss them in the washing machine. They donāt fit.
āI donāt know who this Mr. Robernero is, Wren. What the hell am I supposed to do knowing that he wants to meet me?ā 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.
āI swear to you, Wren, Iām going to strangle you and end up in jail for murder!ā
Itās times like these I wish I had a peephole or a window. I never know whoās on the other side of the door until I open the damn thing.
