BURNING MOON
ABOUT THE BOOK
Title: Burning Moon
Author: Jo Waston
Series: Destination Love, #1
On Sale: August 2, 2016
Publisher: Forever
Formats: eBook
Price: $4.99 USD (eBook)
Newly revised and expanded, Jo Watson's
Wattpad sensation Burning Moon is now available in print for the first time!
There's a very fine line between blushing
bride and mascara-streaked sobbing mess. #beenthere
Lily Swanson has been planning her perfect
life since she was twelve years old: Meet Mr. Right, have the big white
wedding, buy a house in the 'burbs and raise 2.5 picture-perfect kids. However,
when her fiancé bails, leaving Lily alone at the altar to face 500 gossipy
guests, her dream turns into a nightmare. But then Lily makes an impulsive
decision—she ditches the dress, grabs her passport, and heads off to Thailand
to spend her honeymoon alone.
Or so she thinks...
Because Lilly quickly learns that everything
in Thailand is very hot-the weather, the merchandise, and especially Damien—the
sexy, spontaneous man she meets before her feet even hit the sand. Now with no
plan, and nothing holding her back, Lily lets Damien lead her on a wild,
unpredictable ride to the world's most exclusive party, Burning Moon. But after
a week of letting go, indulging her every impulse and desire, Lily must go back
to the girl she used to be. Or can Damien convince her that their party doesn't
have to end?
THE SERIES
Burning Moon, #1
Almost A Bride, #2
BUY THE BOOK HERE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jo Watson is an award-winning writer of
romantic comedies. Burning Moon won a Watty Award in 2014. Jo is an Adidas
addict and a Depeche Mode devotee. She lives in South Africa with her family.
FOLLOW
FOREVER ONLINE
EXCERPT:
Michael Edwards—fiancé
of one year, perfect boyfriend of two—had left me, Lilly Swanson, just ten
minutes before I was scheduled to walk down the aisle. The bottle of perfume
that he’d wanted me to wear today, insisted I wear, because “it was his favorite,”
mocked me from the dressing table. So I picked it up and threw it against the
wall, watching it shatter into a million pieces, just like my life. I was hit
by the sickly sweet smell of jasmine and felt sick to my stomach.
What was I going to tell
the five-hundred guests who were sitting in the church waiting for me? Some had
even flown here to South Africa all the way from Australia.
Hi everyone. Thanks for
coming. Guess what? SURPRISE! No wedding!
A wedding that my father
had spent a small fortune on.
A wedding that was going
to be perfect.
Perfect, dammit. Perfect!
I’d made sure of that. I
had painstakingly handled every single tiny detail. It had taken months and
months of meticulous planning to create this day, and now what?
Things went very blurry
all of a sudden. I vaguely remember my brother James bursting into the room,
screaming insults and then vowing to kill him. He even punched the best man
when he claimed to have no knowledge of Michael’s whereabouts. My rational,
logical father tried to find a legitimate motive for Michael’s behavior,
insisting we speak to him before jumping to any rash conclusions. Hundreds of
phone calls followed: where was he? Who had seen him? Where did he go?
At some stage the guests
were told, and the rumor mill went into full swing…
He’d had an
affair.
He’d eloped with someone
else.
He was a criminal on the
run.
He was gay.
He’d been beamed up by
aliens and was being experimented on. (Hopefully it was painful.)
People threw around bad
words like bastard, asshole and liar. They
also threw around words like shame, sorry and pity. They
wondered whether they should take their wedding gifts back, or leave them. What
was the correct protocol in a situation like this?
While the world around
me was going mad, I felt a strange calm descend. Nothing seemed real anymore,
and I began to feel like a voyeur looking at my life from a distance. I didn’t
care that I was sitting on the floor in my bra and panties. I didn’t care that
my mascara and lipstick were so smudged I looked like Batman’s Joker. I just
didn’t care.
Some minutes later my
other brother Adam, the doctor, burst in and insisted I drink a Coke and
swallow the little white pill he was forcing down my throat. It would calm me,
he said.
Shortly after that, my
overly dramatic, theater-actress mother rushed in to give the performance of
her life.
“Why, why, why?” She
placed her hand across her heart.
“What is this, a madness
most discreet? A stench most foul?” She held her head and cried out, “Whyyy?!”
“For heaven’s sake, Ida,
this isn’t some Shakespearean bloody play.” I could hear the anger in my
father’s voice. Even after 18 years of divorce, they still couldn’t be civil to
each other.
“Lest I remind you that
all the world is a stage.” My mother shouted back, the deep timbre in her voice
quivering for added dramatic tension as she tilted her head upward and clenched
her jaw.
“There you go again with
your crap! Clearly you still haven’t learned to separate fantasy from reality!”
“Well, I managed to do
that with our marriage!”
My brother jumped
between them. “Stop it. This isn’t the time!”
And
then all pandemonium broke out.
The priest came around
to offer some kind of spiritual guidance but exited quickly, and very
red-faced, when he saw my state of undress. Some inquisitive relatives stuck
their heads through the door, painted with sad, sorry puppy-dog looks, but
they, too, left when they saw me spread-eagled on the floor.
An enormous ruckus
ensued when the photographer burst in and started talking photos of me—no one
had told him. The ruckus became a total freak show when my favorite cousin
Annie, who had designed my dress for free as a wedding gift, saw the state of
her “best creation” lying crumpled and torn on the floor. She looked like she was about to cry.
Then everything went
very blurry and the noises around me combined into one strange drone.
I closed my eyes and
everything went black.
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