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Boldwood Books - Camilla Isley

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130 pages

English

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Description

The moment you stop looking, that’s when Prince Charming will come knocking on your door!

Summer Knowles does not want a boyfriend. Relationships have caused enough problems in her life. As bridesmaid at her sister’s wedding, she’s going to avoid all things romantic – especially the brawny, hipster best-man who has commitment-phobe written all over him!

When Archie Hill meets Summer, he immediately thinks bridesmaid-and-best-man-with-benefits! They have one week together and may as well make the most of it. But what if one week just isn’t enough…

As wedding fever takes hold, can a sworn-off-men bridesmaid and a die-hard bachelor learn a thing or two about happy-ever-after?

A friends-with-benefits, wedding date rom-com, perfect for fans of Christina Lauren, Lindsey Kelk and Sarah Adams!

Please note that this title was originally published as You May Kiss the Bridesmaid.

What readers are saying about Camilla Isley:

‘A fun read filled with humor, heart, and love big enough to reach...to the stars and back. Recommended read for Contemporary Romance, Chick-Lit, and Romantic Comedy fans. Get ready to be starstruck!’ Gina, Satisfaction for Insatiable Readers

‘It's not every day the female lead is revered more for her high intelligence, than her beauty. It was nice to see that dynamic between Lana and Christian...following what the heart wants. Sara, Chick Lit Central

‘I completely fell for Christian in this book and it's been ages since I last felt like this about a book boyfriend.’ Rachel, Rachel Random Reads

‘I adored these characters. Penned in my favorite dual POV, the writing style was crisp and engaging, yet also perceptive and loaded with wry wit and clever touches. I zipped through their star-crossed storylines.’ Honolulubelle, Books & Bindings

‘Cute, sweet, and fun!’ Zoe, What's Better Than Books?

'This book had me smiling away to myself!! It has the perfect mixture of sweet, passion, drama and courage!' Michelle, Come Read With Me

‘A fantastic romantic read that I devoured in one sitting.’ Kay, Coffee and Kindle Book Reviews

‘An addictive page turner with an absolutely wonderful meet-cute.’ Julie, Romantic Reads and Such

‘You can definitely feel the chemistry between main characters. They're so different but perfect for each other. An adorable rom-com that made me smile a lot.’ San, Behind the Sentence

Sujets

Fiction

Romance

Family Life

International

Contemporary

Wedding

Marriage

Romantic Comedy

Contemporary history

Informations

Publié par	Boldwood Books
Date de parution	22 juillet 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781837519330
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0900€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

THE LOVE PROPOSAL
(A WEDDING DATE ROM-COM)

CAMILLA ISLEY
To all of us who’ve ever been tired of always being the bridesmaid…
CONTENTS

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

Epilogue

Author’s Note

More from Camilla Isley

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
1
SUMMER

Sterile and cold. The retrieval room is both. It’s a compact space filled with medical equipment: a gynecological bed, an ultrasound machine, various monitors, and a metal IV stand.
As uninviting as the gyn bed looks, I fidget in my hospital gurney waiting for the nurse’s permission to switch accommodations. I’m perfectly able to walk, but it’s the clinic’s policy to have me ferried between rooms this way.
Gosh, I hope this will be over soon. I’ve been second-guessing my decision to be here since the hormone shots began two weeks ago, and can’t wait to be done. They said the procedure would take no more than twenty minutes, but I feel like I’ve been stuck in this room for hours, and we haven’t even started yet.
The nurse must realize I’m fretting because she asks, “Are we waiting for someone to join you today?”
By someone , she means a partner. And the question is well-intentioned, I’m sure. Unfortunately, she’s twisting the knife into the wound of my singlehood.
“No,” I say. “I’m alone.”
The automatic doors behind me swoosh open, sparing me the need to elaborate further on my lack of a love life, and two female doctors walk in. One is wearing white scrubs while the other is clad in salmon.
The salmon doctor speaks first. “Good morning. I’m Doctor Philips, and I’ll be the one retrieving your eggs today. And this”—she points at her colleague—“is Doctor Mathison, your anesthesiologist.”
The nurse hands the doctor my medical file.
Dr. Philips does a quick check of my record, and asks, “How are you, Miss Knowles?”
“A bit nervous,” I say.
The doctor smiles. “No reason to be, Summer. Can I call you Summer?”
I nod.
“The procedure is quick, and you won’t feel a thing.” She gestures to the gyn bed. “Ready to jump?”
I nod again and, with the nurse’s help, move onto the bed. The hospital gown I’m wearing flaps open as I stand up, but today’s not the time for modesty. I lie in a half-reclining position with my back leaning at about forty-five degrees while Dr. Philips instructs me to please place my legs in the stirrups. And so here I am, half-naked, legs wide open, and completely exposed.
“Has the procedure already been explained to you?” Dr. Philips asks.
“Yes,” I confirm. “But could we go over it another time, please?”
“Sure.” The doctor smiles again. “First, I’ll perform local anesthesia while Dr. Mathison will use an IV catheter to administer an intravenous sedative. Then, I’ll use an ultrasound probe attached to a thin needle to make a tiny puncture through your vaginal wall and enter the ovary, where we’ll suck out the fluid that encloses the eggs via the needle. And we’ll be done in no time. Ready?”
For a needle to puncture my vagina? I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
I nod.
The doctor smiles once more and pulls on a surgical mask.
“Try to relax now,” she says. “I’ll start with the local anesthesia by administering four small injections. You’ll feel four little pinches similar to what you’d experience at the dentist.”
Ah, I disagree in my head, but the dentist operates on my gums. You, doctor, are jostling around much more sensitive parts.
The first pinch comes, and, okay, it’s not bad. Honestly, the dentist analogy is strikingly correct. Anyway, I’m distracted from the second needle’s prick by Dr. Mathison talking to my right.
She gently grabs the IV line, saying, “This is the pain medication. You might feel lightheaded, don’t worry, it’s normal.”
I can only think, Hell yeah, please get me high before the big needle comes. Long live the drugs!
As promised, in a matter of seconds, my eyes cross and I feel insta-happy, not a worry to my name. I barely hear Dr. Philips say she’s going in and, before I know it, I’m back on the gurney ready to be transported to my room.
Once there, the nurse helps me transfer to the hospital bed and instructs me to rest. She needn’t have done so. With the sedative still running high in my bloodstream, the moment my head touches the pillow, I pass out.

* * *
Best. Nap. Ever.
I haven’t slept so well in months and wake up only when the nurse comes back to check on me two hours later. She asks if I’m okay, and when I nod, she invites me to get dressed and wait for Dr. Philips, who will arrive shortly with my results.
I use the adjoining bathroom to get changed and, when I come out, Dr. Philips is already waiting for me, her usual friendly smile stamped on her lips.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Good,” I say, sitting on the bed—my legs are still a little like Jell-O. “The needle sounded scary at first, but I honestly didn’t feel a thing.”
“Happy to hear.” The doctor nods, satisfied, and taps the medical folder in her hands. “I have your results here,” she says. “The procedure was a success. We were able to retrieve seventeen eggs, of which fifteen were viable and have been frozen.”
“Fifteen eggs? Is that good?”
“Fantastic. You’re under thirty-five, and with this many eggs, you stand a 70 per cent chance of a live birth.”
“Okay.” I nod. Even if the pessimist in me can’t help but concentrate on that 30 per cent chance I’ll never have a baby.
The doctor must be used to her patients not being a cheery bunch because she doesn’t comment on my scarce enthusiasm but continues to give me my prognosis. “Your body responded very well to the hormonal treatment, but one potential side effect of having produced this many eggs is that you’re at risk of OHSS: Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome.”
That doesn’t sound good.
“Luckily,” the doctor continues, “the condition occurs only if you were to get pregnant, which”—she checks my file—“I see is not the case with you. We’re not proceeding with fertilization, right?”
I know she’s only doing her job, just like the nurse earlier, but, once more, it feels as if the doctor is purposely pointing out how single and desperate I am.
“No,” I say. “No sperm donors on the horizon for now.”
“That’s fine. Frozen eggs, if properly conserved, remain viable indefinitely. And our facility is top-notch. We also offer a wide selection of donors in case you decided to proceed with fertilization later in time.”
Again, she’s just giving me my options. But I can’t help feeling like a total failure, a woman whose sole chance of having a baby will be to pick a dad from a catalog because she couldn’t find a man in real life.
The doctor finishes her report by giving me a list of medications I have to take for the next two weeks and mandating that I use protection were I to have sex.
Aha. Fat chance!
I’ve been in a dry spell for months and before that, the last man I had sex with ruined my life. Well, not just him; I played a big part in my own self-destruction. But still, I’ve sworn off men. Hence the need to freeze my eggs if I ever hope to have a family.
On that cheerful note, I thank the doctor one last time and leave the clinic. A few minutes later, on the street, I hail a cab to JFK.

* * *
At the airport, I clear the security checks super early. Unsure how long the procedure would take, I’ve kept a nice cushion and booked the red-eye flight back to LA.
With a couple of hours to kill, I could stroll the shops, but I’m not in the mood for shopping. Plus, with the anesthesia fresh in my system, I’m still a little groggy. I don’t even have the energy to go look for a proper restaurant, so I settle for the first bar I find on my path.
I sit at one of the high stools at the deserted counter.
“Hey, you’re back,” the bartender—a friendly-looking guy with sandy hair and blue eyes—greets me as if we were old friends. He does a double-take and adds, “Not from the jungle this time, huh?”
What the hell is he talking about?
I stare, unsure how I should reply.
But the bartender just keeps going. “And how’s the doctor?”
The doctor? How could he know I’m coming from the clinic? Do I have “sad lady who froze her eggs because she can’t find a man” written all over my face?
“Did he find you?” the bartender asks.
He?
I blink, confused.
“Winter?” the guy asks, calling me by my sister’s name. “Are you okay?”
And the mystery is solved: he thinks I’m my twin.
“Sorry,” I say, smiling. “Wrong sister. I’m Summer. We haven’t met.”
The dude’s eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, you look exactly the same.”
“I know, identical twins and all… So, you’ve met Winter? When?”
“It must’ve been, what, almost a year ago now.”
“Wow, you have a good memory.”
He winks. “Part of the trade and your sister’s story was too unique to forget. A treasure hunt, being abducted in the jungle by rogue militia.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “My sister never does things in half measures. Gave my parents a heart attack.”
“Oh, well, she didn’t seem too upset about the kidnapping. She was more concerned with the archeology professor leading the expedition not loving her. Winter told me her story when she grabbed some breakfast here before a flight, and after she left, what do you know, the dude in question showed up. He was brooding over a lost jungle love, and when I told him his lady had just left, he chased her halfway down the airport—guess he was in love. But I never heard how it ended.”
“Well.” I sigh, contrasting emotions swirling in my head—mushy joy, a bit of jealousy, and a boatload of terror. “He proposed two months later and they’re getting married in three weeks…”
I hope I’ve kept the dread from my voice. I swear I couldn’t be happier for