Liars guide to true love, p.1
Liar's Guide to True Love, page 1
Liar’s Guide to True Love
By Wendy Chen
Wedding planner Cassandra Hanley is in the business of making other people's dreams come true. But for some reason, whenever she meets a potential mate of her own, she finds herself telling little (and not so little) white lies. She's not trying to sabotage her relationships on purpose: as a people pleaser, she just naturally tells men what she thinks they want to hear.
When Cassandra meets Nick, she's determined to be herself this time—until she learns he abhors weddings. So she recasts herself as an advertising exec, and now she's scrambling to cover up the lie…with more lies.
Into the tangled web wanders Cassandra's college sweetheart, Kevin. Kevin, the one man who knows the real Cassandra, and loves her anyway. Could he have been The One all along?
Torn between the past and the present, Cassandra is about to learn that you can't plan the perfect life the way you can plan the perfect wedding.
83,000 words
Dear Reader,
What do you get when you cross summer with lots of beach time, and long hours of traveling? An executive editor who's too busy to write the Dear Reader letter, but has time for reading. I find both the beach and the plane are excellent places to read, and thanks to plenty of time spent on both this summer (I went to Australia! And New Zealand!) I'm able to tell you with confidence: our fall lineup of books is outstanding.
We kick off the fall season with seven romantic suspense titles, during our Romantic Suspense celebration in the first week of September. We're pleased to offer novella Fatal Destiny by Marie Force as a free download to get you started with the romantic suspense offerings. Also in September, fans of Eleri Stone's sexy, hot paranormal romance debut novel, Mercy, can look forward to her follow-up story, Redemption, set in the same world of the Lost City Shifters.
Looking to dive into a new erotic romance? We have a sizzling trilogy for you. In October, look for Christine D'Abo's Long Shots trilogy featuring three siblings who share ownership of a coffee shop, and each of whom discover steamy passion within the walls of a local sex club. Christine's trilogy kicks off with Double Shot.
In addition to a variety of frontlist titles in historical, paranormal, contemporary, steampunk and erotic romance, we're also pleased to present two authors releasing backlist titles with us. In October, we'll re-release four science fiction romance titles from the backlist of C.J. Barry, and in November four Western romance titles from the backlist of Susan Edwards.
Also in November, we're thrilled to offer our first two chick lit titles from three debut authors, Liar's Guide to True Love by Wendy Chen and Unscripted by Natalie Aaron and Marla Schwartz. I hope you'll check out these fun, sometimes laugh-out-loud novels.
Whether you're on the beach, on a plane, or sitting in your favorite recliner at home, Carina Press can offer you a diverting read to take you away on your next great adventure this fall!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
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Dedication
For Kara, for your friendship and encouragement
Contents
Copyright
Introductions
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Introductions
Springtime Sundays are my favorite days. I can sit in front of my window with a chai latte and a toasted bagel, completely relaxed after another event. Yesterday evening’s at Pier 60 was a particular success. The florists from Bloom outdid themselves as usual, creating archways of every pink flower they could find (with the exception of roses, which the bride considered much too trite). All the food, from the fried crawfish served in paper cones to the mini milk shakes and fries at the end, was incredible, as one would expect from Abigail Kirsch.
As I flip through The New York Times, I know I’m in for an extra treat. There they are, my bride and groom, right next to the “Vows” column. Their eyebrows are perfectly aligned, just as The Times requires for photos, and they look truly happy. There have been several over the past few years, and they never fail to give me a thrill. Oh, I know the “Sunday Styles” section isn’t exactly the forefront of fashion, and it’s not like I am ever mentioned in any of the columns. But I guess that just shows how much I love my job. Yeah, I know that sounds like a corny lie because who in the world even likes their jobs these days. But it’s true—I genuinely love what I do.
And what is it that I do exactly?
I coddle and coordinate. I shop and style. I advise and admire.
I am a Wedding Consultant/Coordinator/Planner/Producer. Call me whatever you want; it’s just semantics.
It all started when I graduated from college with a degree in Art History and the Metropolitan Museum of Art didn’t want to hire me. With a typing speed of only forty words per minute, my temping career was limited (in my opinion, anyone who can type faster than that is spending too much time at a keyboard that will be obsolete in a decade). To make a long story of early twenties turmoil short, I had little to do and a lot of time to do it. So when my best friend Suzanne decided to get married to the surgeon-to-be that she hooked up with during Senior Week in college, I offered to plan her wedding while she began medical school.
Suze’s wedding was my most challenging to date, and of course will always be my favorite. It was a low-budget affair of course, as most twenty-two-year-old students’ weddings are apt to be. I had to be ultra creative, from negotiating a discount for bulk gerbera daisies at the flower market, to hand-making a crystal tiara for under fifty bucks. I have to admit that I didn’t do it alone, either. I mean, for Pete’s sake, I was twenty-two. What did I know about weddings? Suzanne was really no help either. Between her exhausting med-school schedule and being just plain smitten, she could have scooted down to City Hall for a quick ceremony dressed in a white lab coat for all she cared. “Do whatever you want,” she kept saying to me. “As long as I am Mrs. Michael Bryant afterward, I don’t care what the wedding is like,” she would say with a sigh. But I, of course, did not want my best friend to someday look back on her wedding photos and think how she wished she had done this tradition, or had that kind of cake. I wanted her day to be perfect.
And so I studied. I studied more diligently than I ever had in college. I read every bridal magazine (admittedly, there were a lot fewer of them then than there are these days). I read every wedding-planning book. And I was broke, so I studied the old-fashioned way, sitting at the Mid-Manhattan Library. On nice days I sat across the street at Bryant Park—that public setting often meant I had to endure well-meaning questions from strangers passing by. “Are you getting married?” They would smile, peering at my stack of reading material, and then look quizzically at my bare left hand.
It was mostly women in their late twenties or early thirties who stopped to ask me. Women who were recently married, without kids, so they still had that wedding-planning nostalgia. They often looked wistful, and peeked to see which wedding dress ad I happened to be flipping through. And it was during one of these times that I could almost feel how important this day is to most brides. I wanted Suzanne to be one of those women who thought their wedding day was the happiest day of their lives, who couldn’t help but start smiling when she thought about the romance and fun of her day. So I became even more determined that Suzanne experience a day she would never forget.
I have to hand it to my mother. She never lost patience when I called in the early hours of the morning with questions that kept me up at night. (Granted, my mother has been starting her day at 5:30 a.m. for as long as I can remember). Like when I needed to find out if it was okay if Suzanne’s mother threw the bridal shower. (It isn’t—no one in the bride’s immediate family should throw the shower because it might give guests the impression that they are greedy for gifts). And is taffeta the right fabric for a midsummer daytime affair? Does anyone even wear taffeta anymore? These days everyone does weddings their own way, but it’s nice just to know when you’re being unique and when you’re committing a faux pas, whether or not you care either way. I did draw the line at actually writing in to ask my questions to the editors of the magazines—remember, I wasn’t even the bride, or the official wedding planner. At that point I was pretty much just the glorified maid of honor.
My mother was the one who gave me the idea of the Emergency Kit. Not just any pouch filled with the usual ibuprofen, mini sewing kit and stain wipes. No, my Emergency Kit has morphed into a tote-sized, multi-pockete
During the entirety of planning Suzanne’s wedding, from the challenge of the budget, calming the mother of the bride, and of course the continuous shopping—I loved it all. And I was good at it! The ceremony and reception were gorgeously decorated—who knew gerbera daisies would become so popular among the fashionistas. The guests were kicking it up with the band we hired after scoping out college-town bars. Suzanne’s A-line dress was exactly suited for her body shape (the bodice was covered in lace and seed pearls—just perfect for Suzanne’s traditional personality). When one of Suzanne’s self-proclaimed socialite aunts asked for my business card, I knew I had found my calling. That was nine years ago and my devotion to my brides has outlasted some of the marriages (including Suzanne’s but I’ll get to that later).
It was during one of my bigger, more complicated weddings that I made a commitment to myself. I, Cassandra Hanley, was going to use everything I learned in dealing with brides, grooms, mothers of and other wedding-day stakeholders, and apply it to my own life. It makes sense, when you think about it. There are so many issues that arise when two people decide to spend their lives together. Just to name a few of the most common ones—
Mad Bride-itis: A woman can only talk about her wedding, suddenly losing all sense of self, style and sometimes common sense once she becomes engaged.
Second Chance Syndrome: Mothers think a wedding is all about themselves, because they never got to have the wedding of their dreams.
Sudden Onset Loutish-ness: The formerly caring fiancé suddenly becomes distant and boorish to cover up the fact that he feels emasculated by being the first (or last) of his friends to get married.
If I can plan the perfect wedding with all these disasters waiting to happen, clearly I can plan the perfect life.
Chapter 1
The Second Saturday in June
Wedding Planning Tip: Your wedding day is Your Day. But remember, it’s not your year, not your month, not even your week. It’s your day.
I’ve just hung up the phone with the string trio, to give them directions to the church again. The photographer and videographer have arrived and are checking the lighting. The florist is unraveling spools of tulle to mark the center aisle. I pause for a minute, standing at the altar to survey the work. The arrangements at the altar are just beautiful, made of four different types of white roses and sprays of stephanotis (the latter is supposed to be a lucky wedding flower, for those of you who were wondering). Just the right amount of trailing ivy adds a touch of color. The minister is mumbling the sermon to himself, practicing the names of the couple over and over again. The unity candle is in its place—the same candle the groom’s parents used at their wedding. I place a box of matches next to it. Please don’t let the mothers set the table on fire like at the Mills/Carrey wedding. Everything is going smoothly, I think, as I head toward the Bride’s dressing area.
She is wearing a tank top and capri pants.
At least her tank top is white, but it’s a far cry from the strapless silk organza ball gown she was wearing half an hour ago (Monique Lhuillier).
Well, thank goodness for brides with cold feet.
Oh, I’m not so hard-hearted that I am actually happy that the investment banker got jilted before he even reached the church, much less the altar. The bride had second thoughts on marrying for money, particularly since the groom was about to be laid off, so really they are both better off. I’m just being honest in admitting that if the wedding had happened, this beautiful day would have been spent catering, coordinating and canoodling. Instead I now have a new necklace to wear on my next date, and an entire day to spend bonding with my closest pals. Today is My Day.
The romantic in me thinks how it would have been a perfect day for a wedding, though. The morning started slightly overcast, just right for outdoor photos, and was now getting sunnier for a cliché June wedding. It was to have been a more casual, daytime affair, and relatively easy to work. But still, it was a rare summer Saturday that I had the day off, so even the cab ride from hell couldn’t ruin it. The cabbie stops so suddenly in front of my building that I nearly slide off the freshly Windexed seat.
Now let me just be upfront about my living circumstances. I have a spacious and sunny pre-war two bedroom that overlooks Gramercy Park. No, I’m not one of those lucky characters in the movies whose fabulous apartments are explained by some mysterious notion called “rent control.” The truth is, my parents paid the down payment. I’m not proud of the fact, but I am damn grateful. So if you want to hate me for being parentally subsidized, go ahead. Otherwise, get over it.
There are two messages on the machine from my mother—of course there are—even though I had just spoken to her not three hours ago. Apparently my mother just had to tell me right away that she and Dad are thinking maybe they just might take a trip to the Bahamas this winter. Perhaps. Right. The Bahamas are a three-hour plane trip from their house in Princeton, New Jersey. And despite years of saying how wonderful it was to finally be free of raising two daughters, Bridget Hanley can never muster the nerve to be more than a hundred miles away from them. She already complains—and often—that it is bad enough that I moved to The City.
I change into a pair of dark jeans and a lemon-yellow T-shirt. I dial Suzanne. “Suze, it’s me. No-Engagement-Ring Bride called it off. I’ve got the entire day free.”
“That’s horrible. She called it off today?”
“Guess it should make the groom think a bit when she says they can’t get married until they trade in her engagement ring for one with a bigger stone.”
“Ha ha, very funny. I have to do some rounds at the hospital today. I don’t think I’ll be able to meet up until tea. Want to meet at the St. Regis then?”
Three weeks ago Suzanne came back from a month-long business/holiday jaunt in London. And she’s been a wannabe Brit ever since. “Sure, Suze, but a cup of Earl Grey now and then doesn’t make you Bridget Jones.”
“See you at four, love.”
I suppose as a doctor she does have other priorities. My spirits will not be dampened. This is my Day Off.
