“It’s hard to write a book that is both intelligent and sexy, but Karen has done it. Her prose
sparks off the page.” –USA Today Bestselling author, Jenny Holiday
Secrets of a (Somewhat) Sunny Girl by Karen Booth
Genre: Romantic Women’s Fiction
With divorce and infidelity hanging from nearly every branch of her family tree, Katherine Fuller sees no point in marriage. Boyfriends? Sure. Sex? Of course. Wedding vows? No, thanks. Still, when her younger sister Amy gets engaged, Katherine gathers all the enthusiasm she can. She won’t let Amy down. She’s done enough of that for a lifetime.
As the sisters embark on wedding plans, Katherine’s college love resurfaces. It nearly killed Katherine to part from sexy Irish musician Eamon more than a decade ago, but falling under his spell a second time forces her to confront everything she hid from him. The secrets surrounding her mother’s death are still fresh and raw in her mind, but one has haunted her more than the others. She can’t bear to tell anyone, especially not Amy. It could ruin far more than a wedding. It might destroy a sister’s love forever.
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Amy and Katherine are sisters living in New York. Katherine thinks Amy is taking her out to dinner, but Amy has other plans.
“You are going to love me after tonight.” Amy clapped her hands together and grinned like she was up to no good. It was weird. It wasn’t like her to be coy.
“I already love you.” This must be some pretty amazing Paella. “And was I supposed to wear heels? Is that what you meant by cute?”
“Remember how I told you that my firm was expanding our entertainment division to include music law?”
What exactly did this have to do with eating? Or with what she was wearing? “Can we talk about this over dinner?”
“No. Shut up. I’m trying to tell you the surprise. I’m taking you to see someone you know. Someone famous.”
“I don’t know anyone famous.”
“Yes, you do. Eamon MacWard.” She then said something about one of the attorneys in her office and tickets, but I was stuck on his name. “The show is sold out. People are scalping tickets for ridiculous amounts of money.” She took my hand and led me to the street corner like I was a kid in need of a chaperone. “We’re in the VIP section. Fifth row. And we have backstage passes.”
The light changed. The walk signal turned. Everyone around us proceeded to cross, including Amy. My feet, however, were stuck to the pavement.
She yanked my arm then rounded back. “Katherine, come on.”
A man bumped into us. “Watch where you’re standing.”
“Get your face out of your phone,” Amy snapped back.
I’d known that Eamon was coming to New York. I’d have to be living under a rock to not notice his handsome face on one of the big screens in Times Square, or the way some of the women in my office had chattered about it. In fact, I’d been keenly aware of every time Eamon had played in the city over the last decade, ever since he became big enough to sell out concert halls all over the world. But I’d never gone to see him. It would’ve been too painful.
“What is going on?” Amy asked. “I thought you would be excited. Remember how you told me you met him in Ireland? We’ve never gone to see him together. I thought it would be cool.”
“I thought we were eating.”
“I’ve heard he puts on an incredible show. And he’s so damn sexy. The Irish accent? Oh, my God. I could sit around and listen to him read the phone book.”
“There’s no such thing as a phone book. Not anymore.”
“You know what I mean.” She tugged on my arm again, but I didn’t budge. “Come on.”
I did not make a habit of keeping details from my sister. She was the one person I could tell anything, without judgment. I hadn’t told her about Eamon when I returned from Ireland because she’d been stuck at home dealing with Dad while I was gallivanting in Europe. It wasn’t until Eamon’s first record came out that I casually mentioned I’d met him. Amy hadn’t pushed me for more at the time, and I wasn’t sure I could talk about him without crying. The more famous Eamon became over the years, the idea of suddenly sharing everything became exponentially more absurd.
I didn’t just meet Eamon MacWard. We had a fling. A stupid hot romance where we almost never got out of bed, and when we did it wasn’t for long. He made my toes curl. He wrote a song about me. Saying goodbye to him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
“I need to tell you something,” I mumbled.
“Can you tell me along the way? It’s a good twenty blocks to the theater.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “The closer we get to the theater, the dumber it’s going to sound.”
Amy dropped her head back out of exasperation. “You are officially making me insane.”
“I didn’t just meet him. I know him. I know him, know him.”
Her eyes became so huge they threatened to swallow her button nose. “Like sex, know him?”
“It was a long time ago. Nobody knows. I mean nobody.”
Amy squealed like a piglet. People turned around. “Oh, my God.” She huddled up next to me and muttered in my ear. “My sister had sex with Eamon MacWard?”
The first time we did it, we were so hot for each other we didn’t even use a condom. We were half-naked in his front hall. I was out of my mind.
About Karen Booth:
Karen Booth is a midwestern girl transplanted in the South, raised on ‘80s music, Judy Blume, and the films of John Hughes. An early preoccupation with rock ‘n’ roll led her to spend her 20s working her way from intern to executive in the music industry. She traded late nights for early mornings when she became a mom, and once the kids were old enough to hop on a school bus, she started writing contemporary romance and women’s fiction. Karen has been a finalist for RT Magazine’s Series Romance of the Year, RT Magazine’s Gold Seal of Excellence, and the National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award (NERFA). Her books have been translated into sixteen different languages.Connect with Karen: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Pinterest