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Wedding Belles

By wentworth43 All Rights Reserved ©

Humor / Romance

Blurb

Planning weddings is Sabrina’s thing, making other people the happiest they have ever been for that one special day they’ll never forget, that’s what she’s good at. Follow Sabrina on her haphazard journey through life, love, sex and a deluge of matrimonial bliss. Recently abandoned by her man Sabrina finds herself plunged into an even more hectic world where seductive Scotsmen and celebrity engagements are the norm. With heartbreak and happiness jostling for position in the lives of Sabrina and her closest friends only time will tell as to their eventual outcomes, but either way they’re going to make it together.

Chapter 1

Sunday morning. Time: Too damn early!

Sabrina looked out from under the duvet, was it really morning? Oooh her head,

Don’t move” it seemed to be saying,

Stay here where it’s nice and warm.”

In fact it was strangely warm!!! What a night it had been; too many tequilas, too much dancing,

“No hold on, scrap that, NEVER too much dancing”.

Sabrina stretched out feeling every ache possible, but what was that OMG was it a foot?? She timidly ran her foot to other side of the bed,

“Noooooooo!!!” She didn’t,

“Oh please Lord tell me I didn’t.” Gently she rolled over……. “Oh God! I did! I did! Why Oh Why???”

Over the other side of bed, Sabrina could just make out a mop of thick, dark, curly hair snuggled deep under the duvet-her duvet never you mind! Sabrina racked her pounding head to try to remember who and where he had come from. It appeared to be far too early for the flash backs, no doubt they’d surface around the time she was at her parents for dinner! No doubt leaving her reeling in shock or worst still, fits of giggles that would prompt her parents to ask, “What’s wrong love, share it with us?”

HOW could I share with my parents what I am about to tell you?.........................

Awake enough to the horror of a strange man in her bed, Sabrina wondered if she could remove herself to the bathroom, have a shower and hope that when she came out, the man would have left the bed. Better still, left her flat and run out saving any further embarrassment and that false promise of “I’ll call you, Gorgeous.”

Bingo! Flash bulb moment on how to escape,

“Slowly does it. Ease one leg, then the other. Slide onto the floor and creep away below eye level- just in case. ( I could win a prize for sliding out of bed)

Yep here we go, Yippee,!!!

Just as I turned the end of the bed on all fours, bottom poking in the air I heard an apperceive “Mmmmmmmm, Well, Good Morning Gorgeous are you ready for round four??”

“Round four?” Sabrina thought, “I can’t remember the first three!!!” The question hung in the air like a very bad fart that no one wanted to claim. I couldn’t move I was routed to my beautiful and very soft cream, fluffy carpet- though in my very, very sore head I was still thinking “Don’t move, if you don’t move, you won’t be seen. A bit like the chameleons, bleeeeeeeeeend into the carpet. ( Let’s face it, my head’s telling me; it’s been a while since you’ve seen any sun so blend in you will.)

So this is where you find me: stuck at the end of my bed on a Sunday morning with my arse stuck in the air, my head banging with the remains of last night’s party and a strange man asking if I’m ready for round four!!!

Blast Christian for ruining my life and following his dream, what about my dreams? The ones that included him, our children, a house by the seaside, roses around the door and me cooking biscuits all day with Poppy and Charlie the twins and darling little Monica playing happily @ my feet!!

Ahhhhh!!! Christian, you Pig!

Ok back to problem in hand, more about the pig later. Mr Four Rounds now appears to have moved down the bed and is stroking my bottom!! I’m still hoping it’s the sheet brushing on my rear end when Jesus!! He slaps my bottom in such a fashion you’d think he was on the winning horse in the Grand National and is set to win thousands by riding her home at great speed. I leap up with such a start that my head hits him right across the nose. Cue lengthy scream from him which, let’s face it, does not help my head at all. Then just as I am thinking “Fab that will put paid to round four, five or God forbid anything else he was thinking” I suddenly see red droplets of blood on my beautiful fluffy cream carpet!!

What happens next is played in slow motion in my head ---not so slow in his.

I leap up from the floor screaming like a fish wife -not my finest hour it has to be said- “My carpet you Bloody moron! Quick move! Get into the bathroom”. That’s when I notice it’s far too late as Mr Four Rounds has been wiping his bloody nose all over my brand new, white, Egyptian cotton duvet cover- a treat to myself after The Pig left.

In one quick and masterful move I whip him out of bed push him towards the kitchen all the time shouting “Just get dressed, get out, you idiot!” Armed with my lovely bed covers I am straight into the bathroom to run cold water over them hoping to prevent staining. This done I retreat into the kitchen expecting finally, to be alone with my hangover, but “Oh no!” it seems Mr Four Rounds has recovered from his nose bleed and the blood appears to have rushed somewhere else. Looking at the large purple throbbing object standing at a right angle from his body with, might I add, a bow stolen off a bunch of flowers a client sent me in thanks for a wonderful job, I realise he’s clearly still expecting Round Four!

It turns out me running around with my bottom hanging out and my boobs flailing in every direction is a massive turn on for Mr Four Rounds (he will always be known as this as I didn’t give him chance to tell me his name).

It takes just one look from my “very not impressed face” to tell him that it’s not going to happen. Mr. Four Rounds Junior deflates like an old wrinkled balloon, HE picks up the clothes that I have thrown at him, dresses quicker than any man I’ve ever seen, and retreats out of my door as if he’s being chased by the father of the teenage daughter he just spent the night with!!

At last on my own, with my head coming back to haunt me, I find the pain killers, make coffee and slump into my lovely brand new DFS sofa (another new buy when The Pig put what he claimed was his, in storage).

I find myself just thinking about brekkie and wondering what if anything I have in fridge for Full English to soak up the remaining tequilas in my system, when I hear my ring tone “Rock DJ!” ahhh Mr Williams(the only constant man in my life). Struggling to get myself upright I wonder back into bedroom and start hunting for the ’phone.

Dear lord its Katy. Now, she was also out last night and has called to find out how the “Hotty” turned out (to you and me that’s Mr Four Rounds).

I might as well fill you in now: Katy is my dearest and oldest friend who lives her life through the many cock-ups I cheerfully call my mine.

Katy is happily married and has been since she was 24 yrs old, (we’re both 29 now) to a very well breed and delightful man who goes by the name of Stan. Stan, owns his own photography company and met Katy totally by chance when he was taking pictures of a state of the art building. Katy was standing at the bus stop along side it when a car soaked her with muddy water, what happened next can only be described as Mills and Boon. Stan swept over, offered her his coat and to buy her dinner after, of course, he’d given her a lift home and waited for her to shower and change: the rest as they say is history! They were married in the most beautiful wedding on a sandy beach in Cornwall. I know, I can hear you saying “Cornwall, how can that be wonderful?? There are so many lovely beaches abroad where you can be certain of lovely weather.” Well think of sunset on a mid August evening, the beach is private as his parents own the hotel it’s attached to. Tiny little tea lights marking her walk down the beach where an altar made of fresh flowers: Stargazer and White Lilies awaiting her. Champagne on tap and a violinist playing the wedding march, it was without doubt the most moving thing I’d ever seen.

I digress…… Anyway Katy, after I had given her full-blown, nothing-held-back account of all I could remember and she had laughed so much her coffee came out of her nose, filled me in on how Mr Four Rounds had actually ended up in my bed.

This is what happened:

We had met up for Katy’s birthday; me, Katy, Stan, Louise and Michael (not married she’s still waiting for ring, 5YRS WAITING!), Charlotte and Elliot, (new couple, still in the honeymoon period of great sex and no annoying habits). As the only member of our group without a partner, the rest of them see it as fair play to find me a man, oh and what a lovely job they do make of it!!! So after a very nice meal, if loud, in TGI’s, we moved along the High Street to a new bar that had just opened with live music and offers on tequila shots. That’s where the fun really began, the girls found a man that I might like look of then sent their men off to see if he’s…………….

1. married.

2. gay

3. with a girl.

4. worse still, he’s all 3 and is called a Player.

(Player= man who’s married with a mistress and looking for new bait)

This may seem very odd but believe me it happens more that you would care to know.

On the night in question it was Charlotte and Elliot who decided it was their turn to “share the love” as they put it.

The rest you will have to wait for as the flash backs have yet to surface “Thank God!”

Still Sunday. Late afternoon

Sunday evening is the best part of the week, I put this down to two factors: mainly, excellent TV and also, my weekly visit to the parents for a full Sunday Roast. (No-one does a roast quite like your mum). The added bonus is that my darling little brother Daniel gives the parents so much grief, they don’t take too much notice if I look a little grey. Though green would be a better way to describe my skin tone today.

I arrive at my parents ready and armed to fight off any questions regarding the state of me, although the God of Karma seems to be on my side today as Daniel has done what he does best. His Saturday night was far more amusing than mine, at the tender age of 23 Daniel stills lives at home- cheaper living leaves him more money to spend on the girls and drink and there are girls a’plenty. It seems it’s a girl that’s landed him in it today, on arriving home in the small hours Daniel had brought a girl with him and she was a screamer! At 4am, amid the heights of passion, she started screaming like a fox mating.

My parents (Rose and Nick) grabbed the nearest thing to use as a weapon and headed for Daniel’s bedroom panicked about what was going on. On opening the door screaming “ATTACK” (as only your parents would) and flicking the light on, they were faced with Daniel, naked as the day he was born and a blonde straddling him with arms and boobs going up and down like pistons, clearly enjoying the moment. Mum stood frozen, poised with her best vase above her head ready to throw when needed, what she saw though made her drop the family heirloom (must thank Daniel for that Mum’s been trying to give it to me for years) which smashed to the floor in un-repairable pieces.

Dad, on other hand, looked, laughed and gave his son a metaphysical slap on the back. He left the room taking our heartbroken Mum with him. I arrived to find Dad and Daniel reliving the evening and Mum refusing to talk to either of them.

Nothing like a good laugh at someone else’s expense and a glass of wine to put the world back where it should be especially after this morning. Keeping the peace at home wasn’t easy with the hangover still Hanging Over!

Back in my flat later that night I am just getting my work clothes ready for the Week from Hell; I have the wedding of soon to be Mr and Mrs Prairie (Oh yes! Like “Little House on the Prairie” only I wish they were more like that.) and that’s when it all comes flying back to me. It’s like a hurricane whipping the roof off my world. The ridiculous positions, the very bad pole dancing round end of my bed (this does explain the very painful and purple bruise I have on my thigh), the throwing of the underwear which had to be retrieved from the curtain pole- note, I am still searching for the matching knickers. Oh Lord! No wonder he thought putting that bow on it would pave the way!

I make a promise to myself no more, never again will I throw myself into other people’s plans for my happiness, I’ll stay a man free zone, although I do realise this is very much like saying I won’t ever drink again and we all know that only ever last till the next weekend or mid week birthday bash.

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