The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 2

by Beth Brower

Roland, as fate would have it, has grown up to be excessively handsome.

Oh yeah here we go

This golden Adonis was a great deal different from the Roland Sutherland of my Mortal Enemies list. His deep golden hair shone, his Grecian blue eyes sparkled. There are odes dedicated to him in London; I am certain of it.

His response was to smile like a Greek god, an inordinate amount of power for a young man to have.

I loathe Roland Sutherland. But I worry I might come to tolerate him.

Something in me said, she is very right. Something in me said, she is very wrong.

Trust only those not affected by love to judge with clarity.”

I blame this excessive confidence on the Americans. I also believe I like it.

Never trust a man who can say so many things with a single syllable.

I hit him. I took one of the volumes and hit him soundly on the head. (That makes the third man in fewer months I have assaulted with a book.)

And something in me that was tilting sideways, straightened. This I was not expecting. It was nice. It felt like an old friend come to visit. Something I’ve not quite felt since— I digress.