Charlotte Delaney has sworn off men. After one relationship disaster after another- including turning a guy gay!- Charlotte is so over the male species.
Isaac Fletcher had his heart cruelly broken. Yes, it was years ago. No, he never got over it. I...
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"Why are you laughing?" Logan hisses in my ear as we walk the red carpet towards the venue. He sharply pulls on my arm and says, "Get your shit together."
I shake my head. "I'm sorry but I can't," I say. Leaning towards him, I place my lips right by his ear and say, "Daniel is walking with his suit jacket inside out. I thought about telling him but then I was like, 'Nah, he'll look like a top twat in the newspaper tomorrow.'"
Logan looked a few couples ahead of us and eyed up Daniel's tuxedo. Just as I'd said, the jacket was inside out. You'd have thought he'd have noticed, or at the very least that Sophie would have mentioned it, but nope. Here he was, walking in front of countless cameras, having his photo taken and posing like a pro. It's at times like these that I love family gatherings and this one is my favourite.
Every year, my family get together with the family of family and it all goes to shit in record time. If you think Donald Trump fucking over America was done quickly, you need to experience a Delaney party. As soon as we walk through the door, it all crumbles and people start trading insults or fighting and throwing punches, and that's just my brothers and me. I feel quite sorry for the newcomers, Logan included.
Logan Leahy has attended a few family gatherings with me in the year, three months and eighteen days we've officially been together but this was his first time at this rodeo. It's going to be an eye-opener.
"You are unbelievable," Logan says, the words sounding even funnier in his American accent.
"You say that after every sexual encounter, Mr Leahy," I say, a little too loudly perhaps, given that his parents, who are behind us, both gasp and cough awkwardly. I turn to look at them and smile, before reverting my attention back to the carpet ahead of us. In the time Logan and I have been dating, his parents still haven't gotten used to me or the fact that I have zero filters. Once again leaning towards Logan, I whisper, "Your parents are giving me that disapproving glare again."
He turns his face to mine and plants a long, lingering kiss on my lips. "Who gives a fuck? Not me."
"Not me, either," I agree.
Walking forwards, a man in a navy suit guides us to a small x that's been marked on the carpet and instructs us to pose for a few photographs. In my red gown, I strike a pose that is Madonna Vogue video worthy and then cosies up closer to Logan. His arm tightens around my waist and he leans his head closer to my ear, whispering the US national anthem in my ear. He does it just so the photographers have photos of us looking loved up. When the man in the navy suit thinks the paparazzi have enough pictures, he ushers us along and up the steps into the Delaney Dublin hotel. Once we're safe in the ballroom, I pull Logan towards the bar, motioning for a few shots of vodka. Looking down the bar, I see Martha awkwardly waiting for someone in the crowd to notice her.
I follow her gaze and spot the person she's watching. Sam Courtenay. Honestly, this girl needs to get a grip on this crush of hers. I've told her enough times that I'm blue in the balls that she should either get under him or get over him. There's no in-between. Well, there is, but that's where she currently is and I affectionately call it 'Limbo.' Limbo is not a place she wants or needs to be. When Logan and I have our double-digit number of shots, I lead the way over to where my best friend stands and force a shot glass into her hand.
