Liar's Guide to True Love

by Wendy Chen

Overview

Wedding planner Cassandra Hanley is in the business of making other people's dreams come true. But for some reason, whenever she meets a potential mate of her own, she finds herself telling little (and not so little) white lies. She's not trying to sabotage her relationships on purpose: as a people pleaser, she just naturally tells men what she thinks they want to hear.

When Cassandra meets Nick, she's determined to be herself this time—until she learns he abhors weddings. So she recasts herself as an advertising exec, and now she's scrambling to cover up the lie...with more lies.

Into the tangled web wanders Cassandra's college sweetheart, Kevin. Kevin, the one man who knows the real Cassandra, and loves her anyway. Could he have been The One all along?

Torn between the past and the present, Cassandra is about to learn that you can't plan the perfect life the way you can plan the perfect wedding.

83,000 words

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781426892721
Publisher:	Carina Press
Publication date:	11/28/2011
Sold by:	HARLEQUIN
Format:	eBook
File size:	980 KB

About the Author

Wendy Chen is a New Yorker by birth and at heart, and is currently trying out suburban life in northern Virginia. She planned her own nuptials more than a decade ago, but still suffers from wedding nostalgia. Liar's Guide to True Love is her first novel, but not her last. Visit her online at facebook.com/wendychenbooks.

Read an Excerpt

The Second Saturday in June

Wedding Planning Tip: Your wedding day is Your Day. But remember, it's not your year, not your month, not even your week. It's your day.

I've just hung up the phone with the string trio, to give them directions to the church again. The photographer and videographer have arrived and are checking the lighting. The florist is unraveling spools of tulle to mark the center aisle. I pause for a minute, standing at the altar to survey the work. The arrangements at the altar are just beautiful, made of four different types of white roses and sprays of stephanotis (the latter is supposed to be a lucky wedding flower, for those of you who were wondering). Just the right amount of trailing ivy adds a touch of color. The minister is mumbling the sermon to himself, practicing the names of the couple over and over again. The unity candle is in its place—the same candle the groom's parents used at their wedding. I place a box of matches next to it. Please don't let the mothers set the table on fire like at the Mills/Carrey wedding. Everything is going smoothly, I think, as I head toward the Bride's dressing area.

She is wearing a tank top and capri pants.

At least her tank top is white, but it's a far cry from the strapless silk organza ball gown she was wearing half an hour ago (Monique Lhuillier).

Well, thank goodness for brides with cold feet.

Oh, I'm not so hard-hearted that I am actually happy that the investment banker got jilted before he even reached the church, much less the altar. The bride had second thoughts on marrying for money, particularly since the groom was about to be laid off, so really they are both better off. I'm just being honest in admitting that if the wedding had happened, this beautiful day would have been spent catering, coordinating and canoodling. Instead I now have a new necklace to wear on my next date, and an entire day to spend bonding with my closest pals. Today is My Day.

The romantic in me thinks how it would have been a perfect day for a wedding, though. The morning started slightly overcast, just right for outdoor photos, and was now getting sunnier for a cliché June wedding. It was to have been a more casual, daytime affair, and relatively easy to work. But still, it was a rare summer Saturday that I had the day off, so even the cab ride from hell couldn't ruin it. The cabbie stops so suddenly in front of my building that I nearly slide off the freshly Windexed seat.

Now let me just be upfront about my living circumstances. I have a spacious and sunny pre-war two bedroom that overlooks Gramercy Park. No, I'm not one of those lucky characters in the movies whose fabulous apartments are explained by some mysterious notion called "rent control." The truth is, my parents paid the down payment. I'm not proud of the fact, but I am damn grateful. So if you want to hate me for being parentally subsidized, go ahead. Otherwise, get over it.