Blurb:
Always the wedding planner,
never a bride, Elliot Lynch is famous for orchestrating the splashiest weddings
in Charleston, South Carolina. When her father’s sloppy management practices
leave them on the brink of bankruptcy, Elliot will do whatever it takes to save
the family business. When asked to appear on “The Marrying Type,” a reality TV
show about the people behind the scenes as couples exchange I dos, she says yes
to the invasion of privacy (and the hefty paycheck that comes with it). With
a camera crew capturing every detail of her life, Elliot faces her most
challenging contract yet: planning a wedding where her ex is involved in every
part of the process. Add in a lazy assistant, liquor-loving bridesmaid, and
rival planner encroaching on her turf, and Elliot’s wedding season goes from
high-end to high-stress. Forced to confront her past, Elliot must live out
her troubled present on national TV if she has any hope of saving her future.
Excerpt:
Finding the bride curled up next to a
toilet changed Elliot’s priorities. A rogue florist and brawling mothers paled
next to a sobbing bride. Even having Libby bail last-minute meant nothing
compared to this disaster.
Elliot kept her tone soft and light
when she approached the bride. “Honey, let’s get you off the floor.”
The bride answered with a muffled sob.
She didn’t budge. Elliot said a little prayer for strength, hoping her
proximity to a chapel outweighed her distance from a toilet in God’s eyes.
Elliot ignored the urge to gag—and her fear of ruining a pair of black
slacks—to gingerly kneel beside the young woman.
She barely had time to prepare for the
impact as the bride flung herself into Elliot’s arms. They sat in silence for
several minutes, rocking back and forth. Elliot held the hysterical woman while
she searched for any clues of what might have set off the bride. Unfortunately,
her vantage point didn’t offer much.
The bride’s sobs turned into hiccups.
Accepting a tissue, she blew her nose and murmured, “I'm late.”
“We have plenty of time.” Using one of
the wipes from her wedding emergency kit, Elliot blotted the woman’s
tear-streaked face to survey the damage. “We’ll call in the makeup artist and
hairstylist to touch you up. You’ll be gorgeous and camera ready with plenty of
time to spare.”
“No,” the bride said firmly. “I’m
late.”
Elliot nearly repeated her words of
comfort when she spotted an open pregnancy test on the counter. Paired with the
bride’s sudden and mysterious stomach bug, and the constant stream of tears,
she made the connection.
Oh, God. “You're pregnant.”
The bride sniffed. “Maybe. Probably. I
haven't checked the test yet.” Her hiccups picked up. “My mother’s going to
kill me. She says pregnant brides are tacky.”
She burst into a fresh set of tears.
Murmuring comforting words, Elliot craned her neck to read the test results. A
smiley face. Did that mean pregnant or not pregnant? She sighed. Of course it
meant pregnant.
“Do you want to talk to your fiancé?”
The bride shook her head, sniffing and
fighting back hiccups. “It’s bad luck to see him before the wedding.”
Elliot counted to ten before speaking.
“A woman makes her own luck.”
“Telling him would only make him
nervous,” the bride said.
“Maybe I can pretend this is a honeymoon
baby . . .”
Elliot knew she should try to talk
sense into the woman. The groom was smart enough to do math. Their parents and
everyone else would be able to crunch the numbers, too. But facts wouldn’t save
the bride’s wedding, or make her feel any better. A fresh coat of waterproof
mascara and some hairspray might.
It only took Elliot five more minutes
to comfort her client. Still puffy eyed, the bride pulled herself together for
another hair and makeup session to repair the damage. Leaving the cosmetologists
to their work, Elliot closed the bathroom door and leaned against the frame to
draw a breath.
“Crap.”
Much as she would have liked to hide
behind a pew in the chapel, Elliot pushed away from the door. She had a wedding
to run.
Rounding the corner, she found the TV
show’s camera crew following the ongoing battle between the mothers of the
bride and groom. She said a silent prayer of thanks they’d missed her situation
with the bride. Unless they’d picked it up on her microphone, which was
possible.
“Crap. Crap.”
If the bride wanted to convince her
family and friends she’d conceived a baby on her honeymoon and not before the
wedding, having the truth broadcast on The Marrying Type would
undoubtedly blow her cover.
Elliot still couldn’t wrap her brain
around how quickly the show had come together. What surprised her most was how
fast the network released advertisements for the show. They weren’t even done
filming the first episode, but ads were running every hour.
Elliot snagged Claire, her assistant,
as the young woman walked by. She needed an update on the florist, who was more
than an hour late.
“I haven't heard anything,” Claire
said, her attention focused on the fight brewing across the room.
“Get them on the phone. We wanted the bouquets
an hour ago.”
“But . . .” Claire gazed longingly
toward the more exciting issue at hand.
“I'll handle the moms.” Elliot played
with the pearl pendant on her necklace while she considered her various crises.
“Call the florist. And grab the bride a bottle of water and some crackers from
my emergency stash.”
“Want me to take her some champagne?”
“No champagne.” Claire raised an
eyebrow at her terse response. Elliot cleared her throat and plastered a smile
on her face.
“She’s sensitive to alcohol. One drink,
and she’ll be stumbling down the aisle. We need a sober bride for the
ceremony.”
Purchase
the book at:
About the Author:
Laura Chapman is the author
of The Marrying Type, Hard Hats and Doormats and the Autumn and Tuck series,
which appear in Merry & Bright and A Kind of Mad Courage. A native
Nebraskan, she loves football, Netflix marathons, and her cats, Jane and
Bingley. Until she fulfills her dream of landing a British husband or becoming
a Disney princess, you can find her in a bar penning her next novel.
Connect with the author at:
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