~ * ~
Fall in New England is one of the
most beautiful times to get married. It seems everywhere I turn there is a
wedding going on. Backyard, harvest-themed. Elegant autumnal events. Stunning
scenic spectaculars. And no matter whether the bride is wearing the latest Marchesa
gown, or sporting cowboy boots, there is one common element…BRIDESMAIDS.
Something happens to a woman when
she’s planning her wedding. For some reason she feels the need to rope all of
her friends into her madness. Sisters, cousins, old college roommates, BFF’s,
none are immune! Have you seen some of those hideous bridesmaid dresses? I’ve
been in several weddings, and thankfully the brides have behaved themselves and
not asked me to wear anything with a huge butt bow, but I was always told the
same thing…oh, you’ll be able to shorten this and wear it as a cocktail dress!
Never happens! That dress you paid way too much money for in a color that only
looks good on the mannequin will end up in the back of the closet along with
their matching shoes, parasol, and hats.
There are tales of brides using
their maids as wedding staff. “Volunteering” them to spend hours stuffing
Jordan Almonds into little bags or hand-lettering three hundred and fifty place
cards or plucking roses apart an hour before the wedding so the flower girl has
something to scatter. How about that bride with the frothy princess skirt that
fills the aisle and trails behind her for yards? Who do you think holds all
that tulle while the bride uses the ladies room?
In my new book, Rock Solid, my
heroine, Emily Baskins is coerced into being Bridesmaid #6 for her
ex-boyfriend’s wedding. The bride actually asks her to wear platform shoes and
a wig so she won’t ‘stick out’ in the parade of tall, willowy brunettes the
bride has purposely chosen to accompany her down the aisle.
What about you? Have you been a
bridesmaid? Worn a butt bow? I’d love to hear your stories of weddings gone
wrong. I’m not going be a spoiler and tell you what happens to Emily. You’ll
have to read that for yourselves!
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MAXIMO VEGA is a
“rock” star! The media proclaimed him 'The Sculptor for the New Generation,'
but he’s a reclusive artist ensnared by fame. Driven and intense, his isolation
only adds to his mystique. Couple that with his smoldering good looks and rich
Italian accent… Fans sigh his name.
EMILY BASKINS is a gifted graduate student at the Stoddard School of Art. To land an internship at the Vega Studio is her golden ticket. All she has to do is follow the rules. And stay out of trouble. Two things Emily has never been able to do.
As Max becomes trapped in the glare of the limelight, he discovers his greatest muse. He teaches Emily to breathe passion into clay and give marble a soul. But is their fiery relationship as rock solid as they believe? Or will a lie shatter the illusion?
EMILY BASKINS is a gifted graduate student at the Stoddard School of Art. To land an internship at the Vega Studio is her golden ticket. All she has to do is follow the rules. And stay out of trouble. Two things Emily has never been able to do.
As Max becomes trapped in the glare of the limelight, he discovers his greatest muse. He teaches Emily to breathe passion into clay and give marble a soul. But is their fiery relationship as rock solid as they believe? Or will a lie shatter the illusion?
~ * ~
Maximo Vega gathered his composure. He wore a black
T-shirt, gray across the shoulders with dust, worn jeans, and heavy boots under
a thick leather apron that reached to his knees. Hanging his head and bracing
his hands on his hips, he was a study in frustration. The sleeves of his shirt
hugged defined muscles of steely arms. And his hands…they were artist’s hands.
Sculptor’s hands. Beaten by stone and scarred by tools. They spoke of years of
rugged, blistering work
He was tall. His shadowed jaw, rigid with anger,
cut sharply against the tanned column of his neck. Maximo slapped the chisel on
his leathered thigh. “I pay you. You find me good hands! Not idiota!”
“I’m sorry, Maximo. He’s gone. You’ll never have to
work with him again.”
~ * ~
Lisa A. Olech is an artist/writer living in her dream house
nestled among the lakes in New England. She loves getting lost in a steamy
book, finding the perfect pair of sexy shoes, and hearing the laughter of her
men. Being an estrogen island in a sea of testosterone makes her queen. She
believes in ghosts, silver linings, the power of a man in a tuxedo, and happy
endings.
You can find her at: www.lisaolech.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/Lisa.A.Olech.Writer Twitter: www.twitter.com/LisaOlech
