A sweet funny read

Do you fancy a sweet romance that has dashes of humour? Try The Gabardi Baby.

He's the charming boss with no idea how to atone for his life choices.

She's been jilted and now, all her careful planning is out the window. 

Here's an excerpt, and Amazon buy links follow! Enjoy!

She leant against the bench, facing the lounge and, of course, just off to the right, the door to her bedroom.

The last place she wanted to go into was her bedroom.

She set her glass in the sink, then took her watering can off the shelf.

She filled it with water and did the rounds of the flat, watering her plants.

They were well-tended and she loved them. Loved watching them grow and flourish and if they produced stem flowers, she loved arranging them in vases. In fact, right now, there was a lovely arrangement in her bedroom. She inhaled sharply, put the watering can back, and studied the door.

She was going to have to go in there some time and face up to it.

She massaged the spot on her forehead that had not yet turned into a full-blown ache and half-heartedly wished it would take root. Then she could take some painkillers to make her drowsy and have it go away altogether. But it always felt wimpy to pop a few just because you felt a bit ‘off.’

She was made of sterner stuff than that.

She dragged her gaze away from her bedroom door, onto her sofa and she brightened. Of course. She could sleep on that for the night. She’d fallen asleep on it a few times in the year since she’d splurged on it, so why not?  The idea held promise and she mulled it over. There were huge cushions decorating it, and several blankets scattered along the back. Heck, she wouldn’t even need a pillow—

Grow up, Theodora. You are not going to spend the night on the sofa.

She eyed her bedroom, clenched her fists, strode over to the door and pushed it open.

Then she stepped inside.

Her gaze zeroed in on the offending item, lying in an undignified mess, on her un-made bed.

Yesterday it had been in its protective covering, hanging carefully on the outer door of the closet where it had been ever since she’d picked it up from the designer.

Yesterday morning, she had admired the off-white dress with the bateau neck and simple lines, and marvelled yet again that she had found the perfect dress at a designer’s boutique in Notting Hill.

There were adjustments to be made, of course, but it had been worth it. The designer had stressed the dress could be shortened to cocktail length and look stunning without being bridal, but Teddy had dismissed that idea.

Why have a dress for a special day and then ruin it, when you could wear it again to renew vows or celebrate an anniversary?

Why butcher a perfectly wonderful and expensive gown?

The dress, now in a mess on her bed, seemed to shimmer in front of her.

That’s a remnant now. She put her hand to her head as a wave of dizziness swept through her. That is just a remnant of my life.

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