I’m Sorry…Now Read

Who’s ready for a juicy, soapy, twisty, turny, gossipy look at the rich and the famous for being rich? It’s the latest choice for Duchess Doll reading. The Last Mrs. Parrish is the yummiest of collected envy, deception and power amongst the bitchiest–and it’s not who you think. Penned by a pair sisters who claim their dark side comes from stories concocted by their Greek grandmother, dark side is where we’re headed.

I know. I know. I’ve been on hiatus and you’re mad. I’ve heard it from everyone. Where have you been? Did you quit the blog? No, no and no again. Life just hit me in the face with a whirlwind. Left one job. Rid myself of clients, both good and bad, got a new job, planned one wedding and knee deep in another. Even those of us with lavish lives get taken away in the undertow. Good news is, both the black gown and the little fur wrap arrived for the upcoming wedding of Oldest Chicken and Baby Pea. Fret over other details remains…flowers and vines and photos and guests and how cold is it in Seattle. Whatever will I do if it rains?

Think of this book is a gift to make up for the neglect. It’s an easy breezy read to keep you guessing and perhaps rooting for the wrong guy. When you hit the book shop (please do, especially if there’s a small one) look for author Liv Constantine. It’s the moniker for the sisters Constantine, Lynne and Valerie. It’s their debut and if they’ll only get better, we’re in for a wild ride.

Enter Amber Patterson, poor, invisible Amber. Doesn’t she deserve the life surrounding her? Women like Daphne, with her perfect husband and gorgeous children, immersed in social society. The homes, the apartments, the designer clothes, the hair, the beauty–it’s enough to drive a girl mad with envy.

And Jackson, oh my, Jackson. Just the name makes one breathless, non? That face, the cut of his suits, the way he commands a room. And the way he dotes on his wife. Why shouldn’t a girl get herself some of that, hmmm?

Bishops Harbor, Connecticut. Playground of the wealthy. Who doesn’t take the yacht out to wile away the hours, have martinis on the porch and dress for dinner? Why not take in a play in the city and stay at the apartment since the drive is oh so far? Who doesn’t have a rack of designer wear delivered to the house a few days before the ball? Cinderella and her fairy godmother got nothing on the ladies of Bishops Harbor.

But can they scrap with the homely girl from somewhere mid country? She’s studied them all; learned of art, fine wine and jewels all the while sipping ten dollar cabernet in a lukewarm bath in an apartment unworthy of two tone Chanel slip ons.

Any more clues will ruin the ride. Strap in Dolls. It’s reading time.

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