Lindsey Kelk - A Girl’s Best Friend

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015

Copyright © Lindsey Kelk 2015

Cover illustration © Bree Leman

Other images © Shutterstock.com

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015

Lindsey Kelk asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007582372

Ebook Edition © November 2015 ISBN: 9780007582389

Version: 2018-10-25

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Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Lindsey Kelk

About the Publisher

Doesn’t everyone wish they could go back in time and change the past?

First, I’d do the world a favour and kill whoever invented the front-facing camera on the iPhone; second, I’d try to convince the parents of some of humanity’s worst offenders to use more advanced family planning methods; and third, I would never, ever have kissed that man.

Or possibly any men. Just to be safe.

It had been the most ridiculous six months on record, not only of my life but quite possibly ever. I wasn’t sure if there was a way to check against everyone else’s cockups but my list was pretty impressive as far as I was concerned. Yes, there had been a lot of fun parts. Hawaii, Milan, New York, Nick … but dear God, the mistakes I had made. And, as Amy always said, there was no ‘clear history’ button for your heart. Actually, Amy always said there was no clear history button for your vagina but still, the sentiment was the same.

But there I was, against all the odds, standing in a dressing room, wearing a dress I never thought I’d wear, minutes away from changing my life for good.

No pressure, then.

‘Is it too late to elope?’

The door to the dressing room cracked open and Kekipi slipped inside, smiling.

‘It might be,’ I replied, looking at myself in the enormous, three-paned mirror that almost took over the room. ‘I’ve got the frock on, you’re in a suit, all the guests are here. Probably going to have to go through with it.’

He took both of my hands in his and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Well, it’s so easy to get a divorce these days, I’m not too worried. Let’s be honest, I’m not actually sure it will be entirely legal in the first place.’

I managed a half-smile and nodded. ‘You, sir, make a very good point.’

‘You look beautiful, by the way, white is your colour.’ Kekipi reached out to brush one of my semi-tamed curls back behind my ear. ‘You get a pass.’

The curl he had tried to tether sprang back in front of my face and Kekipi rolled his eyes. The rest of my hair had been bullied into something like a bun, although there were so many curls involved it looked more like a Danish pastry gone wrong. I had to stop believing I could do something just because I’d seen it on YouTube. The hairdresser had given up after an hour and I really, really should have taken her advice and left it well alone.

‘I think you look very handsome,’ I said with a mini curtsey, ignoring my mullet. It was true, he did. His bronze skin shone and his hair, usually slightly wavy and a little bit wild, had been brushed into a very dapper side parting. ‘You should wear a suit more often. Especially one with so many sparkles.’

‘Love the sparkles, hate the suit,’ he confided, tugging at his stiff collar. ‘I still think this whole thing would have been much easier if we’d gone with my suggestion of a beach wedding.’

‘Well, bear with me.’ I held a finger up in front of my false eyelashes. ‘We could ditch these outfits, jump out the bathroom window and run away to Hawaii together?’

‘Tempting,’ Kekipi replied. ‘Very tempting.’

‘No one is running away anywhere without me,’ a sharp voice called out from behind the toilet door. ‘Do you know how long it took me to get her in that dress?’

‘How long?’ Kekipi whispered.

‘Too long,’ I replied, breathing in. ‘I should never have let her loose with corseting.’

Amy, my dresser, and my best friend, emerged from the toilet with a very serious pout on her face and a very silly unicorn T-shirt on her back. ‘I mean it,’ she said, a pair of jeans in her hand. The girl was so afraid of missing out on something she had run out of the bathroom, half-naked. ‘You’re going nowhere.’

‘And may I ask why you aren’t dressed yet, dearest Amy?’ Kekipi leaned in with a kiss for each of her pink cheeks, eyes averted from her pants. ‘I do believe the ceremony starts in fifteen minutes.’

‘I’m putting it on now,’ she muttered, eyeing me with defiance.

‘Ever since the hot Ribena and holy communion incident of 2001, Amy isn’t allowed to wear nice dresses for very long before an event,’ I explained as Kekipi watched a look pass between us. ‘Amy spills things.’

Kekipi blinked. ‘Say that again?’

‘AMY SPILLS THINGS,’ she repeated loudly. ‘I’m putting it on now. I can’t fuck it up in the next fifteen minutes, can I?’

I fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. As she had proved to everyone a million times in the last three months, Amy was not a child. Not that she was doing a much better job of passing as a grown-up than I was. I watched as she hunted around the bodice of the bridesmaid dress hanging on the back of the door with her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth, looking for the tiny covered zip. Eventually she found it, pulled it down – and leapt back as the entire dress fell to the floor in a silky puddle.