The Notting Hill Diaries
Ripped & Burned
Sarah
Morgan
Contents
Ripped
Praise for bestselling author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Burned
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Sarah Morgan
‘Sarah Morgan puts the magic in Christmas’
—Now magazine
‘Full of romance and sparkle’
—Lovereading
‘I’ve found an author I adore—must hunt down everything she’s published.’
—Smart Bitches, Trashy Books
‘Morgan is a magician with words.’
—RT Book Reviews
‘Dear Ms Morgan, I’m always on the lookout for a new book by you …’
—Dear Author blog
SARAH MORGAN is the bestselling author of Sleigh Bells in the Snow. As a child Sarah dreamed of being a writer and, although she took a few interesting detours on the way, she is now living that dream. With her writing career she has successfully combined business with pleasure and she firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times.
Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children, who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isn’t writing or reading, Sarah enjoys music, movies and any activity that takes her outdoors.
Readers can find out more about Sarah and her books from her website: www.sarahmorgan.com. She can also be found on Facebook and Twitter.
To Katie, with love.
Have fun and be fearless. Xxxx
‘Dearly beloved,’ the priest droned, ‘we are gathered here today to witness—’
A mistake of massive proportions, I thought gloomily, holding my breath and sitting up straight in a bid to stop my bridesmaid dress splitting at the seams. Any moment now I was going to burst out of this pukey-yellow tube and the wedding would forever be remembered as the one where the bridesmaid exposed herself. Not that I was prudish. Far from it. I’d danced on plenty of tables in my time, but on an ideal day I’d prefer not to find myself revealing all Victoria’s secrets to Great-Uncle Henry.
Some girls went through their lives dreaming of being a bridesmaid. You heard people talking about it as if it were a life goal. I had a list of life goals. I wanted to build a robot, visit Peru (I’ve always had a thing about llamas), work for NASA. Bridesmaid? That was nowhere on my list.
My parents married when they were both twenty-one. They stood at the front of a church much like this one wearing ridiculous clothes they wouldn’t normally be seen dead in, made all the usual promises—have and hold, death us do part, blah, blah—and then divorced when I was eight. Which taught me one thing—that a wedding is just a party by another name.
Because my neck was the only part of me that could move without straining a seam, I turned my head and glanced sideways. Through a forest of fascinators and absurd hats that made me think of UFOs, I could see the door that led to a pretty private churchyard, now covered in a light dusting of snow. I was glad it was pretty because I was sure I was going to be there soon. Here lies Hayley, who exploded out of her dress at the most inconvenient moment of her short, very unsatisfactory life and promptly died of shame.
The tiny church was crammed with people and stuffed full of extravagant flower displays, the cloying scent of lilies thickening the air and mingling unpleasantly with the smell of perfume from the elderly aunts. My nose tickled and my head started to throb.
The priest was still droning on in a hypnotic voice that could have been recorded and sold for millions as a cure for insomnia. ‘If anyone knows any reason why these two may not be joined, speak now….’
Any reason?
Was he kidding?
I could have given him at least ten reasons without even revving up a brain cell.
Number one—the groom was a total bastard.
Number two—he’d slept with the bride’s sister and at least two of the bride’s friends.
Number three—it was three days until Christmas and who the hell was dumb enough to get married when they should have been rushing round buying last-minute presents?
Number four—it was far too cold to be wearing a strapless dress and at this rate I was going to be eating my Christmas dinner in hospital with a nasty bout of pneumonia.
Number five—
‘Hayley, are you