“Yes! Now, what did She say?” Marilyn was beaming. This would be why she sought me out now: to pass on wisdom. Not towards my sisters necessarily, but sometimes it had to be done. “I’m perfect.” I smiled brightly, shrugging my shoulders as if I had no reason to ever be sad. Her hands, moist with the same coolness as mine, brushed my forehead. “Are you alright?” Marilyn asked, pausing at my side. I pulled the window shut, and we were truly alone. Marilyn worried for me so I couldn’t let her see me sad. I dabbed under my eyes once again, removing any trace of tears. The sounds of Marilyn’s approaching footsteps drew me from my daydream. Unexpectedly, warm and familiar lips would meet with my hand. Without making the decision, my elbow would bend in time with his, happily following any direction he gave. As he held my hand, I wouldn’t feel the strain of my fingers being pulled wide. He, whoever the faceless man in my head was, would have fingers too large to fit comfortably between mine.
The sun would be drawn to my chocolate hair, its gentle curls lifting and falling with my steps. Wiping up the lonely tear, I closed my eyes and imagined it. As they walked, he looked into her eyes, lifted her hand, and kissed her eager fingers. The boy- equally tanned, but far more muscular- held her hand intertwined with his own. No, it would have been because she was all too aware of the way she looked in the eyes of her partner. She was a bronze-skinned beauty, but not necessarily because of her features. Or, rather, than I had been eight years ago. It was a young pair, not much older than me. On the cobbled streets below, a couple walked. How was I to know that out there, in the world I had once truly lived in, something as simple as an afternoon greeting could cause unimaginable devastation?Ī solitary tear traced my cheek as I stared out the second-story window of the house we were borrowing. The same goes for songs and laughter, or the words whispered in the ear of a friend. Or at least not in any way that can give you some sort of satisfaction. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.īecause she’s the kind of girl that songs should be written about, poems should be composed for, and books should be dedicated to. IUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:īecause of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. But as the competition approaches its end and the threats outside the palace walls grow more vicious, America realises just how much she stands to lose – and how hard she’ll have to fight for the future she wants.The breathtaking finale to THE SELECTION trilogy will make you swoon! Now, only one will claim Prince Maxon’s heart…It’s swoon meets the Hunger Games in the final instalment of THE SELECTION trilogy!For the four girls who remain at the palace, the friendships they’ve formed, rivalries they’ve struggled with and dangers they’ve faced have bound them to each other for the rest of their lives.Now, the time has come for one winner to be chosen.America never dreamed she would find herself anywhere close to the crown – or to Prince Maxon’s heart.
THE SELECTION changed the lives of thirty-five girls forever.
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