by Becca Lee
A PERFECT MOMENT
Copyright © 2014 by BECCA LEE
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Becca Lee, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover design by Louisa Maggio @ LM Creations
Cover Image by BlueSkyImage
Interior Design by Angel’s Indie Formatting
Edited by Lauren McKellar
Proofread by Hot Tree Editing
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue – five years earlier | Ella
Chapter One | Ella
Chapter Two | Preston
Chapter Three | Ella
Chapter Four | Preston
Chapter Five | Ella
Chapter Six | Preston
Chapter Seven | Ella
Chapter Eight | Preston
Chapter Nine | Ella
Chapter Ten | Preston
Chapter Eleven | Ella
Chapter Twelve | Preston
Chapter Thirteen | Ella
Chapter Fourteen | Preston
Chapter Fifteen | Ella
Chapter Sixteen | Preston
Chapter Seventeen | Ella
Chapter Eighteen | Preston
Chapter Nineteen | Ella
Chapter Twenty | Preston
Chapter Twenty-One | Ella
Epilogue | Jo
Dedication
“When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine, that's amore.” – Dean Martin, That’s Amore
To my boys, you make my world a brighter and better place.
Acknowledgements
After ten years of attempting to write a story, I constantly found myself hitting a road block, so I gave up. This past Christmas, I was inspired. I was inspired by the many authors, who I adore, by the own love of my life and by the beauty I see in the world around me. I half expected my hubby to laugh when I told him I’d actually written the first 6,000 words to a book. Instead, he smiled, kissed me and told me, “I was amazing.” Me! Without his support, I wouldn’t have had the time to achieve one of my dreams, to publish. Thank you, baby.
As you know, a book doesn’t become possible without the amazing love, support and care of so many people. My best friend, Charl, was the first to tentatively read my first few chapters. Her enthusiasm drove me. As my dearest and oldest friend, I thank you, beautiful. I will always be your Junior Burger. And a mention to my wonderful parents, who always shower me with their support and love. Thank you for always believing in me.
Breaking into the community was so damn hard, and I have one woman who was the first to offer kindness and support. An author who showed consideration to a newbie. I’m so grateful to Kristine Raymond for the kindness she showed me. Thank you, lovely. Your heart is beautiful and your writing is amazing.
Justine of Hot Tree Editing, you are a fabulous beta. You told me when to wind it back. You reassured me and offered me great pointers. Thank you so bloody much. You rock, woman!
My editor, Lauren McKellar, has been so patient with me. I’m that painful author who constantly prods. Thank you, Lauren, for making my book shine. A big thanks to Hot Tree Editing, who swept their loving gazes over APM too.
Angel, ‘who needs a capitalized The in front of her name’, thank you for your fresh eyes and for your wonderful formatting. You’ve been so supportive and generous.
My beautiful, talented and pervey book babes, you sure know how to pimp my arse. I’ve loved every moment of it. Josie, Ang, Angie, Ellen, Lila, Rebecca, Justine, Alisha, Becky, Kayleigh and Cynthia, you’re all so bloody special and awesome. Thanks for taking a chance on me and supporting me with such ease. Also a special mention to Mandy, your kindness means a lot.
Heather and Shannon, from Sexyways of Reading, you made my release tour rock. Thank you. I was blown away by the interest and support from every single blogger and reader who kindly took a chance on me, sharing my book and supporting my release. You’ve all help me achieve my dream. Thank you!
Finally, a mega shoutout to my girl, Josie, my super sassy and über gorgeous PA. You organise my arse to perfection, are the loudest cheerleader and have helped me so much. Thank you for the 4am brainstorming, the threats to take people down who are mean, and for your unwavering support. You’ve been my constant through this. I’ll be sure you never go without a Crunchie again.
Prologue – five years earlier
Ella
When you reached out for that perfect moment, it is only natural to want it to last forever. Sometimes, however, life has other ideas. Life simply throws shit in your face and then throws its head back, laughing its goddamned arse off. Seriously! When the phrase, it’s only natural comes into play, surely that means it’s natural, right? Uncomplicated, right? Meant to be.
Who the hell was I kidding? Apparently, wanting a perfect moment to last was too much to ask for. Sitting on my backside in the middle of the church grounds, watching my shithead of a fiancé shove his tongue down a bitch’s throat, was not exactly my perfect moment. For once, my belief in ‘the moment’, in a happily ever after, flew out the fucking door, laughing in glee as Fuckwit—yes, that’s now the name I’ll be referring to him as—groaned deeply into Bitch’s mouth. Bitch being his skank of an ex.
Not so much of an ex now, after all, it seems.
My best friend, Jo, chose that moment to come barrelling around the corner, almost tripping over my frozen body when she took in the sight. I tilted my head up from my position on the ground to look at her. She did this crazy cartoon-like double take as she took in my meringue-covered arse sitting on the damp grass, and then back up to cheating Fuckwit.
Never one to hold back, Jo clenched her fists, stepped over my legs and the mountain of silk I had spread all over the ground, and proceeded forward. Everything seemed to slow down. I expected her to turn into some sort of kick-ass superhero, or maybe even a villain, from the tension in her back. I could almost see the rage pulsating off her. Instead, what happened next left me snort-gasping, followed by snotty crying mixed with a hint of pride.
Jo grabbed on to Bitch’s hair, taking both Fuckwit and her completely by surprise. Having your tongue down someone else’s fiancé’s throat will do that to you. She proceeded to shriek like a banshee, pushing Bitch to the ground, before raising her right fist and punching Fuckwit square in the nose. From just a few metres away, I heard the crunch. Fuckwit immediately wailed and hit the ground. At this point, Bitch stood up and foolishly began to wave her finger in Jo’s face, when Jo captured her waving finger and twisted, which forced a cry and a drop to the knees. It was then that Jo looked around for what I assumed was inspiration.
Horseshit.
Literally, horseshit. In preparation for my perfect moment, we had organised two magnificent horses and a beautiful fairy-tale carriage. On the ground, just a few metres away from her on the road, Jo spotted the fresh horseshit, her face lighting up with glee. Never one to cower or be afraid of a little bit of shit under her nails, Jo pushed Bitch forcibly in Fuckwit’s direction and strode toward the steaming shit. She proceeded to pull off her puffy underskirt from her bridesmaid’s dress—ever resourceful—and used it as a scoop to capture what I assumed to be her ammunition.
Both Fuckwit and Bitch were completely unaware of their impending face packs—the fia
ncé-stealing ex was crying over her finger and Fuckwit’s broken nose. The horseshit landed directly on their heads, and then a wild Jo carried out a rub in the face for good measure, finishing off the job perfectly. Jo, clearly feeling satisfied with her handiwork, pulled her phone out of her bra and took a picture of the shitty pair. She turned, looked at me, smiled and headed back to my laughing-crying self.
“Come on. Let’s get the hell out of this shithole.” She laughed at her own joke. Pulling me up to my feet, she looped her arm around my waist and gave me a tight squeeze, causing an involuntary sob to escape. “As soon as I get this shit from under my nails, I’ll grab us two of those cooling bottles of champers I saw, and you and I are going to have ourselves a party.”
I nodded my head in agreement, trying to steady my tears and ignore my aching heart.
Chapter One
Ella
“Take it easy,” I carefully suggested to a pale Jo. She was chugging a glass of Champagne so quickly I half expected the bubble to shoot right down to her arse and release tiny Champagne sparkle farts.
“Nope.” She proceeded to refresh her glass.
At any moment, I knew I would have to rugby-tackle her. She could not walk down the aisle pissed as a drunken hobo. We were at a church, for crying out loud. She’d had my back when she was my bridesmaid, and if I let her get too shitfaced to walk down the aisle on her own wedding day, I would have to hang up my title in shame. “No more, woman,” I cried out.
She eyed me over the rim of the flute.
“I said no. You can do this. Shit, this is what you’ve been planning for over the last bloody year. You are not going to forget a damn thing about this day by being too drunk to remember. You hear me?”
She nodded solemnly and lowered the glass flute.
“Now, step away from the bottle, nice and slowly.” I had to get my timing right. Any sudden movements and I knew from the look in her eyes darting in that direction, she’d grab hold of the bottle with two hands and make a run for the bathroom. I edged toward the bottle of Champagne sitting far too close to the edge of the table and her grabby hands for my liking. “I mean it. Back away, Jo.”
She eyed me warily as I moved closer. She took a tentative step back, the Champagne flute lowered from her mouth. It was serious work. Hell, trying to talk a bride-to-be down off the proverbial ledge and not get shitfaced was one thing. Add to that, in just fifteen minutes she was due to elegantly glide down the aisle—as opposed to stagger and trip—and it was a whole new ball game. I had no doubt the staggering was in her imminent future if I couldn’t pry her away from the winking bubbles; it was hard bloody work. I just needed to gain one more metre and I could officially begin to rock my title of ‘Best Bridesmaid Ever’.
Jo’s eyes darted toward the table and then back to me. I froze and gave her the sternest look possible. This was when the last six years of staring down sixteen-year-olds in the classroom would finally pay off. I totally owned the don’t-mess-with-me death glare. I owned this shit. I squinted slightly and gave a slight shake of my head, always maintaining eye contact. She stood a little taller at my movement for a moment, before she bit lightly on her bottom lip, in what I assumed to be defeat. She seemed to realise that she would not win this war. Not on my watch!
The door flung open behind me, forcing me to break my eye contact with Jo. A high-pitched squeal of, “You look beautiful,” filled the room. No, no, no! It was too late. I had myself a runner.
Jo took the moment to lean forward, latch onto the open bottle of fizz and race towards the door at the opposite end of the room. I had approximately four seconds to make my move before she would be safely in the bathroom behind a door that locked.
I lurched forward, taking a leaping stride through the air, feet off the ground and cried out, “Nooooooooooo ...”
I slammed into her back and latched onto her legs, wedding dress and all, as she plummeted to the ground, just one second away from her great escape. We both hit the carpeted floor with a cry. The Champagne flew from her hand and sailed in the air before smashing against the wall next to her escape door.
“What the fuck, El?” Jo cried out as she watched on in horror at her smashed bottle. “What the hell am I going to drink now?”
Feeling utterly proud of my sweet skills, if not a little bit breathless, I pulled myself up, smiling. “Get your arse off the floor, Jo. We’ve got a wedding to get to.” I looked her over, amazed that she was Champagne-spillage free.
Jo turned and grumbled in defeat, and then held her hands out to me to pull her skinny arse to her feet.
“Oh, my! Girls, are you both okay?”
We spun and looked around at the horrified expression on her Aunt Jackie’s face. Jo’s dad chose that moment to step into the room. It took all of five seconds for him to take in the room and our frazzled appearances before he looked to the ceiling and rubbed his face with both hands. “Just once, girls, just once, act your bloody age and get yourselves together. The cars are here.” He sighed heavily as he headed back through the open doorway. Before he fully left the room, he looked over his shoulder, smiled and said, “You look stunning, Jo. Beautiful. Come on, Jackie. Let’s wait for them outside.”
Alone, we turned and looked at one another. Picking up a tissue off the table, I wiped the small tears that began to sneak from my best friend’s eyes. “You’re ready. You’re beautiful and you’re going to totally blow Liam’s mind away.”
She nodded her head in agreement and took a depth breath. “And if his ex-shows up and tries to seduce him?”
My heart constricted slowly. The two of us had been terrified of weddings ever since my perfect moment was ruined. With my eyes glistening, I held her hand and squeezed. “Not going to happen, Jo. And if any crazy-arse woman attempts anything, I’ll be taking them down before they’ve even realised the idea has formed in their head. Liam is not Fuckwit. He loves you, and he’s going to be so pissed we’re already late.”
Holding hands, we made our way outside to the waiting cars.
***
I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Looking around the hotel marquee, the evening party was in full swing. Wedding guests tore up the dance floor and Jo was sitting on her husband’s lap, laughing loudly.
Mission complete. I totalled kicked bridesmaid’s duties arse!
I looked at the full bottle of Champagne that literally had my name on it—written on by the drunken bride with lipstick when I said I wouldn’t drink until I was sure everything was perfect—and I smiled at the scene around me. Jo had truly had her perfect moment. The wedding ceremony was exactly that: perfect. There were no floozy ex-girlfriends trying to hijack the wedding, and no one said anything inappropriate, with the exception of Aunt Jackie, who shouted “with tongues” when Jo and Liam had kissed after cutting the cake—not that they needed egging on, or anything. Everything was simply perfect.
I reached out to the bottle of Champagne with a smile, ready to take my fill when a masculine hand took hold of the bottle at the same time. My hand froze and I stared daggers at the offending fingers. I don’t think so, buddy! My gaze travelled up his arms that were partially covered by rolled-up shirtsleeves and finally landed on his face. My eyes widened momentarily, before they took on a threatening glare. “Back off, buster. Can you not read?”
Still firmly clasping my bottle of Champagne, Booze Stealer, raised his eyebrows slightly before smiling down at me. “Surely—”
“Not interested, buddy. I’ve waited all day for this moment, so I suggest you remove your hands before you get yourself hurt.” This shit was serious. No one was getting between me and the light bubbles that I knew would taste so delicious when they popped on my tongue.
“You can’t be seriou—”
My raised eyebrows teamed with my death stare stopped him mid-sentence. He looked at my bottle and squinted at the writing. “Ella?”
I gave him a short nod before pulling the bottle from his hands. He loosened his grip with a
quizzical smile. “Thank you,” I said, not really meaning it; hell, he’d had his thieving hands on my Champagne. I sat and waited for him to continue on his merry way and leave. No such luck. Apparently, saying thank you was cue for sit-down-when-you’re-not-invited-and-irritate-the-shit-out-of-me.
“So, Ella,” he said with a slight smile, “why do you get the last bottle all to yourself?” He leaned into my space.
Unbelievable! I felt my quiet moment begin to slither away as the moron who sat in front of me attempted to smooth-talk his way into a glass of my Champagne. Clearly, he had no idea the special relationship I had with the bubbly stuff. My nectar of choice had been my saving grace since that day five years ago. It had helped me get out of my broken heart then and had continued to since work its magic over the years. Whether it was an idiot boyfriend who didn’t make the cut, dealing with a boss who drove me to throw my shoe at his head as he got in his car—it happened—or even those wonderful moments of celebration. Either way, Champagne and I had a history. A beautiful, messy, poetic history. Okay, maybe not poetic, but getting my fill of this stuff always manages to put a smile back on my face.
“Listen, douche. This bottle and I are going to head over somewhere else, somewhere away, alone.” I made to stand but hesitated when I saw his slimy smile.
He winked, actually winked at me, before he said, “Okay, Ella, baby. Give me five minutes and I’ll make sure we’re alone.”
I shuddered at the thought of Booze Stealer being anywhere near me, especially alone. “Erm, no. That’s not what I meant. I mean—”
“Shh, baby.” He put his finger against my lips. “Let’s keep it real, be honest with ourselves, and try to keep this quiet. I’ll just wait by the bar and follow you out.”
For the first time in a damned long time, I was rendered speechless. Keep it real? I wondered who spoke like that anymore. Seemingly, the dickwad in front of me. I wiped my lips with the napkin still on the table as he walked away and gagged a little. I dreaded to think where his sticky fingers had been. I shuddered involuntarily. I watched as he made it to the bar, picked up a drink, downed it, and then turned and faced me, another drink in his hand.