Amalfi Coast (That Wedding Girl Book 2) Read Free

easily be a model, but he only stands a few inches taller than me.  Okay, why am I checking out a complete stranger? This is wrong!
    “Don’t be sorry, bella .” His English is as fluent as his Italian.
    Words are not coming out of my mouth right now.
    “ Qual è il tuo nome ? Your name?”
    My mind draws a blank. My name, my name… How can I not know the answer to this?
    “Lacey.” I smile weakly at him thankful my brain hasn’t suddenly dissolved to the mental capacity of a two-year-old. 
    He takes a lingering glance at me, stopping short of my décolletage once again making me conscious that I’m not wearing a bra. What a sleaze! With an impish grin on his face, he starts to move backwards and turns towards the hall.
    “Ciao, signorina Lacey”, is all he says as he walks down the corridor without looking back at me. The way he says my name, the way it rolls off his tongue and pronounces it is sexy.
    Get a grip Lacey, it’s just a cute guy . I’m That Wedding Girl – give me a sixty guest wedding in a foreign country to plan any day. But having a thirty second conversation with a tanned lothario? That’s something I don’t have much experience in.
    All of a sudden, Gabe opens the door behind me and steps out with a big towel in his hand, his aviator sunglasses on his forehead. “Hey, you’re not changed yet! I thought you were getting ready,” he feigns annoyance.
    “Actually, I feel pretty ready,” I said grinning to myself.

CHAPTER TWO
     
    I lean into the circular gilded mirror, taking inventory at my reflection. After the afternoon pool lounge session with Gabe, I now have a nice light tan and I like the colouring on me. Two thick coats of mascara have been applied, a bit of blush has been dabbed on, my hair is as straight as it can be but in this humidity I doubt it will last long before it frizzes.  The only solution is to tie it up in a casual half pony-tail that makes it look even more full and voluminous. My long black dress feels snug and comfortable, and I’ve just painted my toenails dark green to go with my brown sandals. Happy with my efforts, I grab my purse and head out of my hotel room, eager to catch up with my old friend.
    The hotel lobby is uniquely Mediterranean. From the yellow terracotta tiles to the high ceiling fans, there is so much light and openness here that it feels more like an opulent villa rather than a hotel. I scan the room, searching for a familiar face amongst the sea of relaxed tourists. A face I haven’t seen in almost four years.
    A recognizable voice calls my name out, “Lacey! Over here!”
    I turn around and in the distance I notice a woman with long and wavy fire-engine hair. She’s waving at me frantically. Is that…it can’t be. She’s wearing a demure knee-length white lace dress and heels, but that can’t be right. Where’s the black leather skirt and denim shirt she used to rock? Is this Amelia Smith, the girl who would rather attend poetry slams than go shopping? The girl who would buy from the bottle shop rather than go to bars and order cocktails?
    The tall and lanky man she is walking towards me with is equally dressed to impress, wearing a fitted navy blazer and tailored jeans. That must be Kieran, her soon-to-be husband. Her posh, proper, and rich soon-to-be husband, who must be the source of this new look she is sporting.
    “Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it’s you!” She runs up and wraps her slender arms around me, and I slowly hug back, shocked at the sight of her. She’s like a whole new person.
    “I have to say the same!” I take in her scent, which is like a bouquet of white flowers. Moving abroad seems to have agreed with her, judging by the way she is glowing. “You look amazing, I almost didn’t recognise you,” I say, pointing to her hair.
    “Likewise you are looking good!”
    Amelia gestures to the man standing closely behind her. “This is my other half, Kieran.”
    With thick dark hair gelled back and his face