Always the bridesmaid, p.1
Always the Bridesmaid, page 1
ALWAYS THE BRIDESMAID
BRITS IN MANHATTAN BOOK FOUR
LAURA CARTER
For my youngest baby
CONTENTS
Sarah’s Story
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
More from Laura Carter
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Laura Carter
About Boldwood Books
SARAH’S STORY
If you never look for love, you can’t ever get hurt
1
SARAH
‘Oh yeah, God that’s good,’ I groan.
‘I told you I’d find the spot.’
‘You have. You really have.’
I’m suspended from a reclaimed teak frame in Izzy’s recently renovated dance studio. What used to be a stage for her ‘Salsa Yourself Fit’ classes has been replaced by an aerial yoga set-up.
As I shift to see myself in the wall of mirrors that line one side of the studio, I can see the effect hanging upside-down is having on my body: tomato-red face, long brown locks escaping the knot I had tied on the top of my head, the flesh of my cheeks sagging with gravity. It defies logic that Izzy makes this look immensely glamorous on TikTok.
My unsightly appearance aside, Izzy has found the exact spot on my lower back that has been playing up recently from too many hours spent lifting boxes of files and paper at work.
Drew – lawyer, boss and one of my best friends – has taken a case defending his longstanding client, vehicle-manufacturing giant Rolando. As his legal secretary of more than a decade, Drew trusts me more than any paralegal or junior associate at the firm. And so I have spent the last twelve days straight trawling through box after box of paperwork disclosed by the other side – a minority shareholder in Rolando – looking for one tiny receipt. The smoking gun that will prove that the applicant couldn’t have been where he said he was at the precise moment the applicant’s entire case hinges on.
I lugged those boxes up and down from tabletops and carried the heavy files home to keep going through the night, meaning I had to abandon my near-daily yoga practice and tweaked my back.
‘Breathe through it,’ Izzy says as she stands behind me, holding onto my thighs and leaning into my hips, getting straight to that sweet spot around my spine.
‘I’m having a head rush,’ I tell her, my voice sounding peculiar in my ears, as if I’m speaking in a fish bowl.
‘Whoa!’
The shout follows my other friend (and Drew’s fiancée) Becky crashing to the soft floor beneath her as her silk ropes have somehow twisted, turned, and flipped her out onto the surface.
‘Ouch,’ she says, lying in the exaggerated position that a cartoon character who has been knocked over by a truck might lie in.
‘What on earth!’ Izzy says, as she ditches me and moves to collect her fellow Brit and friend from floor. ‘What were you doing?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Becky says, coming up to sit with Izzy’s help. ‘I think maybe that’s part of the problem.’
I can’t help but laugh. I laugh so hard my own gangly legs somehow unravel from their holstered position and I too fall into a heap on the ground.
Glancing sideways to Becky, I reach out to take hold of her hand and laugh harder.
‘What a calamity you both are,’ Izzy says, trying to maintain professionalism for the benefit of the other five women attending her class, each of whom looks remarkably more chic than Becky and me.
‘Is this what you meant by being transformed into a butterfly from our cocoons?’ I ask.
Despite her efforts, Izzy’s voice breaks and the corners of her lips defy her, turning upward right before she too folds over and we are all laughing together – the very definition of lasting friendship.
I’m sitting on a stool at the food bar in the gym, flanked by Becky and Izzy, where a large coconut-milk latte and a slice of French toast with berries and maple syrup have been placed in front of me. Izzy has just been handed a green detox smoothie.
‘Sorry, Izzy,’ I say, digging the side of a fork into my French toast. ‘I was willing to rouse from my hard-earned slumber and make the trek to Brooklyn for a nine-fifteen class on a Sunday morning, but I draw the line at having a vegetable-packed smoothie for breakfast.’
Below where we are sitting, we can see men and women swimming laps of the gym pool. The Williamsburg franchise is the latest addition to the Brooks Adams gym empire.
Despite Brooks’s insistence that he pay for the legal advice and the discount that Drew gave, I happen to know that it actually cost the firm money. But Drew is a partner in the firm, he has the power to do that, and I fully endorse him supporting Brooks, who has been his best friend since kindergarten and one of my best friends for almost as long as I have known Drew.
What pleases me more is that I genuinely love Becky and Izzy. Both Brooks and Drew have previously had relationships that I did not approve of, ones which I knew were doomed from the start, and which were ultimately only about the bedroom. It’s not as if I have the final say, or any say really, in who my friends date, but I more than encouraged them both to find their happily ever afters with Becky and Izzy.
I suppose you could say that is one of my things – matchmaking. In particular, matchmaking for my friends. And the next two weeks are further proof of just how skilled I am in coupling people up.
‘I’m so excited for the wedding,’ I say, untying my hair from my knot and letting it fall down my back, tickling my shoulders, which are exposed in my workout vest. ‘I can’t wait to see Jess in her bridal gown.’
Jess is marrying Drew’s younger brother Jake next weekend and I credit myself with ultimately having nudged the couple from friends with benefits to life partners – or I at least played a significant role in helping them get their acts together.
We’ll all be staying in a house I’ve arranged for us (using Drew’s credit card to pay the rent) in Surrey – apparently a ceremonial county in southeast England, according to Wikipedia – in the week running up to the wedding. The week after, I’m staying in London to see the British sights.
‘And I can’t wait for us all to be together again,’ I add, shielding the half-eaten breakfast in my mouth with my hand as I speak. ‘My first trip to England! I know I say this all the time but it’s crazy that all of the guys fell for Brits. I love it! Are you excited to be going home?’
While I sip my latte and take another inelegant bite of French toast, dabbing excess icing sugar from the side of my mouth with a napkin, I note the exchange of apprehensive looks between Becky and Izzy.
‘Come on, it won’t be so bad,’ I say, attempting to sound reassuring.
‘Won’t it?’ Izzy asks, one eyebrow raised in question. ‘My sister let slip to my parents that I’ll be back in the country. They want to have lunch.’
‘Lunch sounds… nice, no?’ I can feel my face twist, as if I’m bracing myself for falling debris landing on my head.
‘Not just lunch. Lunch with Brooks and his daughter. They’re still grieving the career they always wanted me to have, using the degree that they paid for. They still think music, health and fitness is like my gap-year career. They don’t get TikTok and Insta, they don’t realize I have a brand now. Or maybe they do and they still don’t care because I’m not some kind of literary correspondent for The Guardian.’
‘Hmm… You never know, maybe they’ve missed you and thought about things, and—’
‘Sarah, I assure you, it would be… the worst lunch imaginable.’
‘I’m not sure where to go with this. I don’t think I have a strong message of positivity off the cuff, so in a while I’m going to come back to you with some kind of Sarah affirmation. For now, there’s always French toast, if you would indulge just one time. It’s worth the cals, I promise.’
I take another bite of my toast and purr as if I’m making love to it.
Izzy rolls her eyes but her amusement is evident.
‘How about you, Becky? Are you looking forward to it?’ Izzy asks.
‘The wedding? Massively.’ Becky swallows a mouthful of smashed avocado on sourdough, rubbing a spot of green mush from the tip of her nose with the back of her hand. ‘I’m so happy for Jake and Jess and we haven’t seen much of Drew’s parents and sister recently, so it will be lovely to catch up with the family. But being in England? Having to pretend that every place I see isn’t a trigger from my past? Nope, zero excitement about that.’
‘Okay, I usually pride myself on choosing my audience but it seems long hours and an early morning have messed with my mojo,’ I say jokingly. ‘Seriously though, if either of you feels anxious or down about the trip, please, ple
Becky smiles. ‘A week of hanging out with my best friends will be all the fixing I need.’
‘I second that,’ Izzy says.
‘Eek, it’s going to be fabulous!’ I say, rubbing my hands together. ‘Now, I must go home and pack for our flight.’ I rise from my stool and brush sugar from my yoga leggings, then finish my latte. ‘I’m so pleased it worked out that we can all travel together.’
2
SARAH
The alarm on my coffee machine chimes, then the distinct sound of grinding beans filters through to the one bedroom of my apartment in West Village. Drew and Becky bought me the machine as a Christmas gift last year and I love the smell that fills my home every morning but I truly hate the offensively loud noise it makes.
It’s Monday and the start of my ten working days of vacation from the office. It’s the longest block of leave I’ve taken since my honeymoon. The thought comes to me as I walk into the kitchen of my open-plan living space, stilling me momentarily as I reach for a mug. It kills the giddiness I have been feeling about my trip.
I read the message written in Script font on the mug – You’ve Got This. I nod, as if the mug has physically rather than metaphorically spoken to me, and I tell myself what I always try to remind myself in these moments of melancholy – at least you met him and enjoyed four beautiful years together.
My husband was stolen from me far too soon. Before any of our life plans and dreams had come to fruition. I have been without him now for double the length of time I was with him and still the pain of his loss is ever-present, ever-real. It catches me off-guard. Something as simple as my mind acknowledging the last time I took a two-week break from work can thrust me back into darkness in an instant.
‘London, London, London,’ I whisper to myself as I set about pouring filter coffee into my mug and adding oat milk from the refrigerator. But it doesn’t stop me from thinking of him. You would have been so excited, Danny.
I remind myself that I’ll be enjoying the sights and sounds of London for both of us. That is why I have booked to stay an extra week after the wedding, when all my friends will be heading back across the Atlantic. I’ll carry him with me, in my head and in my heart.
Turning my back on the coffee machine, I lean against the benchtop and savor my first mouthful of coffee, sighing around the creamy caffeinated drink.
‘That’s better. Let’s get you ready and Newark Airport bound, lady,’ I tell myself.
An hour later, my hair is washed, dried, and whipped into a loose chignon to fend off the static that always makes it go wild on a long-haul flight. I’ve bought a travel outfit specifically for the flight out: a wide-legged black jumpsuit, which looks smart but has the essential elasticated waistband I need to absorb the forty-thousand feet airplane bloat.
There have been many times in my life that I have resented the height I was born with – at nearly six feet tall and with a personal preference that women should always be taller than their male partners, it lessened the available partner pool significantly in my singleton days, pre-Danny – but today, my ability to pull off a wide-legged jumpsuit with comfy flats is undoubtedly a perk of being lanky.
I do a last check in my shoulder bag for my passport (tick), wallet (tick) and smartphone – on which I double check I have all necessary QR codes (tick). Then I re-check that I have removed all plugs from sockets in the apartment, with the exception of the refrigerator.
Finally, I drag all thirty-two kilos of suitcase (not a gram of my luggage allowance wasted) into the elevator of my old townhouse-style apartment block, bump it down the ten concrete steps from the red-brick building and make it to the cobblestoned sidewalk.
Heading east onto West 14th Street, I raise a hand, still lugging the case, and watch a yellow cab swerve toward the sidewalk to pick me up. Feeling guilty after the driver near breaks his back lifting my luggage into the trunk, I decide not to complain when he forces it over the lip with a strong battering from his knee.
I let out a happy sigh as the cab heads toward New Jersey and Newark Airport, where I will be meeting the gang ahead of our flight. The seven of us – Drew and Becky, Brooks and Izzy, Jake and Jess, and I – haven’t been together for more than a few hours since our mini-break in the Hamptons last summer.
We had been staying in Drew’s beachside holiday home to celebrate his engagement to Becky, which was ultimately gatecrashed by Jake’s realization that he was in love with Jess. With a little nudge from moi, he had accepted Jess wasn’t just his flat mate, his best friend, or even his friend with benefits. Nope, she is his soulmate.
On arrival at Terminal B, I feel bad enough about the weight of my luggage to tip the driver more than usual. I settle the fare using my smart watch, then hand him thirty dollars in notes.
I fluff the strands of hair I’ve left hanging loose to shape my face – which is akin to a basketball shape without framing – and, struggling into the terminal, I locate a screen to confirm my luggage check-in point. As I make for the drop-off, I’m surprised to see a twenty-year-old woman with a funky new haircut, wearing workout leggings and a top that exposes a toned but not-really-required-to-be-on-show midriff, charging toward me.
During breaks from college, Cady, Brooks’s daughter, ordinarily lives with her mom, Brooks’s ex-childhood sweetheart, but in recent times she has been spending increasing amounts of time with her dad and Izzy.
Cady’s relationship with Brooks was rocky throughout her preadolescent and adolescent years, as she went through every phase a girl of her age goes through: from gothic to emo, from nerd to class clown, from stubborn tantrums to grown-up forgiveness. Brooks found those years difficult, partly because he recognized himself when he had been through some of those same phases.
Since meeting Izzy, though, he’s reconciled his relationship with Cady and she has become a huge fan of Izzy’s, no doubt connecting over cool things that I don’t understand like Instagram, TikTok and whatever the latest social media trends are now. Only a year ago, Cady hated the way her dad was constantly dressed in workout attire, often marked with his own branding: BA or Brooks Adams. But now, seemingly Cady’s latest trend is to wear workout gear too, perhaps inspired by Brooks and Izzy, or more likely the front page of every magazine focused at young women and MTV viewers.
‘Sarah, I’m so pleased you’re here. Dad and Izzy are on one,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘Izzy took an eternity to get ready apparently, but you know what Dad’s like, Mr Impatient. He probably packed seven pairs of boxer shorts, two gym kits to put on rotation, and by force of being a groomsman only, a shirt and suit. Anyway, we’ve only been here for ten minutes and already they’re driving everyone mad. You’ll calm everything down, I know you will.’
I’m very much aware of the fire between Izzy and Brooks, which they will doubtless resolve between the sheets once they’ve landed in London, if not the bathroom of the airplane.
I hug Cady, kissing her cropped, highlighted and spiked hair. ‘I like the new look,’ I say, more to be kind than because I think it’s the best look for Cady. ‘Why are you all still this side of security?’
I look over to the small Starbucks where everyone is sitting – Brooks, Izzy, Drew, Becky, Drew’s parents, his sister Millie, her husband Eddie and their two young kids – surrounded by small cases and bags of hand luggage on the floor.
I can see from a distance that Drew is stressed and I hope it has nothing to do with the wedding or the trip.
