This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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FIRST EDITION
Copyright © Lindsey Kelk 2010
Lindsey Kelk asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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EBook Edition © NOVEMBER 2009 ISBN: 9780007353163
Version: 2017-08-10
The wedding was perfect.
Just ten people at City Hall, no hymns, no readings, no fuss; and then over to Alta in the West Village for the reception. Tiny candles flickered in the faces of my favourite people: Jenny, Vanessa, Erin. And Alex. God, he looked pretty in a suit. I made a mental note to get that boy a three-piece more often. Like maybe at our weddingâ¦no, bad Angela, too soon to even think it. Dum-dum-dee-dumâ¦
âSo you donât think Iâm making a ridiculous mistake?â Erin whispered over my shoulder, bringing me back with a bump. âI mean, it canât be six months since I was telling you I would never get married again.â
I shook my head. âNot at all.â I glanced over at the new Mr Erin, or Thomas as he was known to his friends. Or âthat mad hot piece of assâ as he was known to Jenny. âYou wouldnât be doing this if it wasnât absolutely the right thing to do.â
âUh, which it totally is. Hello?â Jenny Lopez swung in and planted a great big kiss on the bride, smudging Mac Ruby Woo lipstick all over her face. âHeâs a super-hot, super-rich lawyer and super in love with you. Iâm pretty sure they are the main three factors to take into consideration before you hitch your wagon. Plus, wow, classiest wagon ever. Even better than your last wedding. And way better than the one before that.â
âMy God, you are so rude,â Erin playfully slapped Jennyâs mass of chocolate brown curls. âBut youâre right. I couldnât not marry him. Heâs so sweet.â
âYeah, sweet. Iâm totally only getting married when the guy can rent out my favourite restaurant for an entire Saturday evening.â Jenny sighed and sank a full flute of champagne. âDoesnât Thomas have any single friends? And I do mean, single, rich lawyer friends?â
I couldnât stop smiling. The last wedding Iâd been to hadnât been such a roaring success. I had started the day as a blushing bridesmaid with a devoted fiancé and ended up a high-heel-wielding hand-breaker, whose devoted fiancé was at it with some tart in the back of their Range Rover.
After leaving everyone in the wedding party in tears and/or hospital, I had hotfooted it over to New York only to be taken in by Jenny: an entire family, best friend and therapist all in one. It hadnât been a walk in Central Park but Iâd found my way eventually. A job blogging for The Look magazine, great friends, an actual life, all the things that had been missing for so long. As a hand slid around my waist and pulled me close, I was reminded of the other thing Iâd found in New York: Alex Reid.
âSo this is the nicest wedding I think Iâve ever been to,â he gently pressed his lips against my skin. âAnd I have the hottest date here.â
âFirstly, there are only eight girls in the entire wedding and secondly, itâs still not even true,â I said, turning to brush Alexâs long black fringe out of his eyes. âErin looks stunning, Jenny is ridiculously pretty in that dress and Vanessaââ
âWill you please just take the compliment?â Alex shook his head. âAnd I donât care what you say, thereâs not a girl in the whole city that could compare with you right now.â
I wrinkled my nose and accepted a kiss, silently thanking my lucky stars. Weâd met just after I had arrived in New York and got far too serious, far too quickly. He had put the brakes on and I had spent six months cooling my heels, pretending I wasnât ready to start dating but really wondering when it would be OK to call him. Eventually, Iâd picked up the phone, cashed in all my karma chips and, thank God, Buddha and Marc Jacobs, heâd answered. Now I was just trying to have fun and ignore the constant burning feeling in my stomach, that this was it, that Alex was the one. There was no way I wanted a repeat performance of last time. Iâd spent ten years with my ex and not once, not for a moment, had I felt so scared to lose him as I did when I lay wide awake at night, watching Alex sleep.