Monday, November 19, 2018

I Invited her in by Adele Parks ~ Excerpt

About I Invited Her In

Hardcover: 432 Pages
Publisher: MIRA; Original edition (February 5, 2019)
Imagine the worst thing a friend could ever do.
This is worse.
When Mel receives an unexpected email from her oldest friend Abi, it brings back memories she thought she had buried forever. Their friendship belonged in the past. To those carefree days at university.
But Abi is in trouble and needs Mel’s help, and she wants a place to stay. Just for a few days, while she sorts things out. It’s the least Mel can do.
After all, friends look out for each other, don’t they?
I Invited Her In is a blistering tale of wanting what you can’t have, jealousy and revenge from Sunday Times bestseller Adele Parks.

Purchase Links

Amazon | Books-A-Million | Barnes & Noble

About Adele Parks

Adele Parks one of the most-loved and biggest-selling women’s fiction writers in the UK. She has sold over 3 million books and her work has been translated into 25 different languages.
1500+ 5 star reviews have kindly been written by her fans on 🙂
She has published 15 novels in the past 15 years, all of which have been London Times Top Ten Bestsellers.
Adele was born in the North East of England, in 1969. She enjoyed a traditional 1970’s childhood, watching too much TV and eating convenience food because nobody minded if kids did that in those days. Since graduating from university, where she studied English Language and Literature, she worked in advertising and as a management consultant. In 2010 Adele was proud to be awarded an honorary doctorate of Letters from Teesside University.

Connect with Adele

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“It’s just been so hard. Such a shock,” she mutters, staring at me, her big black-brown eyes filled with incomprehension. How could this have happened to me? she’s asking, as about a zil­lion women before her have asked.
Ben is a faithful sort of man, and for that I’m infinitely grate­ful. His father played around and then eventually left Ellie when Ben was fourteen; he swore he’d never cause the same hurt. But just because my husband is faithful it doesn’t mean I don’t have a clue about men who are not, of which there seem to be very many. Working in a dress shop gives surprising insight; once women are inside the changing room, they think they’re in a confessional box. People tell me stuff. A lot of stuff. It’s rarely good.
But Abigail is surprised it’s happened to her. I reach towards her and gently put my hand on her arm because I’m not capable of finding the correct words.
“Married affection,” she corrects herself, “married love, is often undervalued just because it’s reliable. That’s a tragedy, isn’t it?” I nod. “It’s a tragedy that we don’t value reliability. If our fridge breaks, we throw it out. We don’t try to fix it and we don’t care what becomes of that fridge, if it’s left to rot, if it makes the earth bulge. Landfill.” She’s warming to her metaphor. “People treat their marriages like that a lot of the time. I think I’m an old fridge. He’s got himself a new model, the sort that dispenses ice and has a fancy drawer to keep vegetables fresh.”
“You’ve lost me,” I murmur.
“Yeah, I’m dragging out the comparison, but you see my point. I’m on the scrap heap.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true. It was Valentine’s Day. Did I tell you that?”
I gasp and shake my head. Ouch, that’s cruel.
“He hadn’t mentioned any plans for the evening, which was unusual. Normally we make quite a thing of Valentine’s night, a celebration, you know?”
“Mmm,” I mumble, not committing. To be honest, Ben and I are not big celebrators of Valentine’s Day. We might remem­ber to pass one another a card across the breakfast table, or we might not. Valentine’s Day often falls in the half-term holiday, and we’re usually more wrapped up in balancing childcare. The most romantic thing Ben can do for me around then is work from home.
“Last year, we went to Hawaii. It seems like five minutes ago. I can still smell the flora and fauna. I can still feel the warm, tranquil waters. It really is a breathtaking place. We had a can­dlelit dinner on the beach, prepared by the islands’ top chef and served to us by a butler.”
“Wow.” I know she’s telling me about the romantic gestures of a man she found with his pants around his ankles, but wow. It’s hard not to be a tiny bit impressed.
“One year, he flew me to New York and we went ice-skat­ing in Central Park, then drank hot chocolates in a cutesy log cabin café. Another year we had a helicopter tour of LA at night. He always sent me two dozen red roses. We always did something. This year he hadn’t mentioned what we’d be doing. I just thought he’d planned something extra special. I wanted to be prepared, so as soon as I finished at the studio I dashed to the beautician. Had the usual: a manicure, pedicure, a Brazil­ian. You know?”
I do not know. I mean, of course I know in theory that this is what women do to prepare for a special night but I can’t re­member the last time I went to a beautician. I can paint my own nails and, as for the other business, well, let’s just say Ben has learnt to love the retro look. He’s lucky if I pluck my eyebrows. I just find life busy and tricky enough without having to inflict extra pain on myself for an aesthetic that precisely one person is going to benefit from. I mean, I’d never ask him to put hot wax on his best bits. Ben has never complained about my lack of grooming in that area; it’s not as though he needs help find­ing his target.
I don’t interrupt Abigail to tell her as much. I know she’d be shocked and think I’m slovenly.
“I popped to the salon for a blow-dry and it was just chance that my stylist was running ahead of schedule. What were the odds, on Valentine’s Day? Normally there’s a backlog. I was just going home to get changed, and then my plan was to return to the studio so that he could meet me there. I wanted to look fresh and fabulous but without admitting to making the effort. When I saw his car on the driveway, I was excited. That’s the worst of it, Mel, I was actually excited to think he was home. I thought maybe we’d have a little afternoon delight, sod the blow-dry.”
I realize that she means the sex she was planning would be the sort to mess up her hair. It’s a bit more detail than I need.

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