Queen of Babble
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Lizzie Nichols has a problem: she can't keep anything to herself. And when she opens her big mouth on a trip to London, her good intentions get her long-distance beau, Andrew, in major hot water. Now she's stuck in England with no boyfriend and no place to stay until the departure date on her nonrefundable airline ticket. Fortunately, Lizzie's best friend and college roommate, Shari, is spending her summer catering weddings in a sixteenth-century château in southern France. Who cares if Lizzie's never traveled alone in her life and only speaks rudimentary French? She's off to Souillac to lend a helping hand!
One glimpse of gorgeous Château Mirac—and of gorgeous Luke, the son of the château's owner—and Lizzie's smitten. But thanks to her chronic inability to keep a secret, before the first cork has been popped Luke hates her, the bride is in tears, and Château Mirac is on the road to becoming a lipo-recovery spa. Add to that the arrival of ex-beau Andrew, who's looking for "closure" (or at least a loan), and everything—including Lizzie's shot at true love—is in la toilette . . . unless she can figure out some way to use her big mouth to save the day.
the time, it is no small wonder they got the message wrong. History of Fashion SENIOR THESIS BY ELIZABETH NICHOLS 7 Keep your own secret, and get out other people’s. —Philip Dormer Stanhope, fourth Earl of Chesterfield (1694–1773), British statesman I wake up with a feeling of deep and utter contentment, even though I’m sleeping alone, Andrew having stumbled to his own bed after an attempt at sleeping together in the narrow MDF bed failed miserably, thanks to his long legs and my tendency
telling people that! Not if he really loved me. Right? If he really loved me, he wouldn’t have noticed I was fat. Or he would have, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Not enough to tell his family.” “That’s true,” my seatmate says. “But he did. He told them I was fat!” New tears erupt. “And when I got there, they were all, ‘You’re not fat!’ Which is how I knew he’d said something about it. And then he goes and gambles away the money his parents—his hardworking parents—gave him for school! I mean,
grip on my wrists even firmer now that I’ve dropped my hands from my face. He’s essentially holding them in his big warm hands. And it feels nice. Really nice. “You have my complete and total word. I won’t say a thing. Your blow job is totally safe with me.” “Ack!” I cry. “I mean it! Don’t mention those words again!” “What words?” he asks. Now his dark eyes are as lit up as the smattering of stars I see winking down at us, like sequins on a blue cashmere sweater set. “Blow job?” “Stop it,” I
surely Luke’s parents would support him while he was in school. Have you thought of talking about it to Luke’s mom and dad?” Dominique’s expression changes from one of mild disgust—with me, apparently—to one of horror. “Why would I do that?” Dominique looks completely perplexed. “I want Luke to transfer to Paris with me and work at Lazard Frères so that he and I can turn this place into a five-star hotel, turn over a considerable profit, and come here on weekends. I don’t want to be a doctor’s
this up begin their work, another truck—this one filled with folding tables and chairs for the rehearsal dinner and wedding reception (both of which are to be held on the lawn)—rumbles up the driveway (knocking down everything Luke and Chaz couldn’t reach, and forcing the two of them to have to scramble back down the driveway to clear it of all the newly fallen branches) and needs help unloading. Just as Shari, Chaz, Blaine—who, his band not having arrived yet, declares, “I’m bored,” and begins