Wedding Bubbles: A romantic comedy (Wellywood Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

that you’re, well, older , and I was so tired of the room the way you’d left it all those years ago.”
    My mother, love her as I do, could never be described as subtle. All she wants is for me to meet a nice man, get married in a wedding ceremony of her choosing, and settle down to provide her with adorable grandchildren called Jonathan and Jemima.
    OK I’ll admit, I've no idea what she actually wants these imaginary grandchildren to be called, but you get the general picture. 
    “Oh, it’s errr…. lovely, Mum,” I reply as I look around the room, feeling dubious.
    With an unpleasant shock I spot one of my old framed photos sitting on the windowsill. I immediately step over to it and turn it face down.
    “Oh lavender’s good for the soul, dear. And helps you sleep, too,” she replies with a smile.
    “Err, I think that’s the scent , Mum,” I reply, noticing my bed has been replaced by a small sofa. “So where exactly do I sleep?”
    “Oh this sofa is the sweetest thing, it just pops open into a bed. See?” She pulls on a lever and the sofa does indeed pop open into a single bed with soft pink coloured bed linen. Nice change from the sea of purple, I suppose, but a single bed?
    God, I really am home.
    “I’ll just pop into the garden to pick some flowers to help you sleep.” Before I can protest she walks with purpose out of the room in the direction of the garden.
    That’s all I need, more bloody lavender.
    But at least it gives me a moment to take a breath. I lived in this house, sleeping in this very room until after I graduated from university and got a flat in town with Morgan and Laura, two of my besties from school. I smile at the memory. They were such fun to live with. Morgan and I had both graduated, me with my bachelors in Classics and Morgan with her marketing degree. Although Laura was still at varsity studying law she moved in with us into the smallest room.
    We were earning virtually nothing, spending what we had on clothes and wine, and having as much fun as a bunch of twenty-something girls can manage. Which really is quite a lot of fun, as it turns out.
    Our other good mate, Lindsay, was always over too, but she still lived with her parents in Roseneath, Wellington’s answer to Beverley Hills. We were inseparable, the four of us, and had been since high school, so it was entirely natural we’d all still hang out once we got out into the world.
    Jerking me back to my current miserable reality, Mum walks back in holding the promised vase of cut flowers, which she places carefully on a lace doily on top of the chest of drawers.
    “There, that should help you sleep well while you’re here.” Glancing quickly at the overturned photo she asks, “You’re seeing Morgan tomorrow, is that right, dear?”
    “That’s right,” I smile back at her, feeling my excitement rise.
    My one speck of hope is that Morgan and I’ve agreed to go into a sensational new business venture together as personal stylists.
    I see it as my opportunity to bring my fabulous London life to Wellington, and I’m pinning all my hopes on it working out.
    It was Morgan’s idea. She’d decided running marketing campaigns for large banks was about as interesting as watching your toenails grow, so had packed it in and gone back to school to study interior design. Along the way she’d ended up as a personal stylist after having helped a friend out at one of those mall fashion shows.
    A t my local pub on her recent visit to London I’d told her the devastating news I had to move back home because my British work visa was about to expire.
    “Have you tried to find a cute Brit to marry you?” she’d joked.
    “Not likely,” I’d responded. “The closest I’ve ever come to being a criminal was when I stole a chocolate bar from Patel’s dairy with you, Laura and Lindsay, remember? God I felt guilty about it for months .”
    “Yeah, you’re not gifted in the ability to bend the truth, really.” She’d shaken