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Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée?
by Nina Milne
CHAPTER ONE
WHAT ON EARTH was she doing here? Gabby Johnson forced a smile to her face and her nerves into submission as the word mistake flashed through her mind in neon. Get a grip, Gabby. This was supposed to be fun, for heaven’s sake—a hen weekend, friends together for two days of female solidarity and a good time to be had by all.
The problem was it depended on your definition of a good time.
‘Right!’ The maid of honour, to whom Gabby had just been introduced, a vivacious petite redhead called Lorna, clapped her hands together. ‘Ladies, I have a timetable of fun activities planned to celebrate the upcoming wedding of our very lovely friend Charlotte.’
Gabby relaxed slightly as everyone cheered. She reminded herself that this was a celebration—that it had been kind of Charlotte to include Gabby. They had been friends in college, lost touch and then reignited a friendship of sorts after bumping into each other a few months ago.
‘OK,’ Lorna continued. ‘So here we are in the lovely city of Bath, in this fantastic house right in the centre, and this is our plan for the evening. I promise that cocktails will be involved later. But first, I have a fun activity planned. Before I explain that, it’s time to have a glass of bubbly whilst we all get changed.’ Lorna turned around and gestured to seven luminous pink bags. ‘These are all named, and I hope I have got the sizes roughly right.’
Gabby stepped forward with everyone else and took her designated bag, watching as everyone else peered into theirs, listening to their shrieks of laughter. Panic began to shrivel the edges of her introverted soul.
Come on, Gabby. Woman up. How bad can it be?
The pops of champagne corks as everyone pulled mini bottles from their bags should have reassured her, but then...
‘It’s a bunny suit!’ one of the women exclaimed. ‘I have always wanted to try one of these on.’
A bunny suit? Somehow she’d expected a more low-key affair. Dinner and drinks. Maybe a cocktail. Bunny suits hadn’t figured anywhere in the equation. Now she was going to spend the evening in one.
Why, oh, why couldn’t she be like all the other women in the room, who seemed enthused by the whole idea? She would have sold her rapidly contracting soul in exchange for some of the palpable joie de vivre and confidence that filled the room.
Gazing into the contents of the bag, she forced herself to maintain a smile as she tugged the costume out. A bright pink corset, a pom-pom tail, bunny ears, sheer tights... Now she understood why she’d been asked to bring a pair of pink stilettos.
Ideas streamed through her mind: perhaps she could fake illness, perhaps she could object on the grounds of political correctness...? Get a grip, Gabby. There was nothing worse than a party pooper, so all she could do was exchange her jeans and T-shirt for the bunny outfit.
Somehow she had to loosen up. Her childhood mantra ran through her head—in twenty-four hours it will be over. It came from the times when she’d been scared, hiding in whatever sanctuary she’d been able to find whilst her mother partied.
Even aged three she’d known with chilling certainty that her mother would not be able to keep her safe, would be too far under the influence of drugs and alcohol. So she had always scoped out a place to conceal herself—in a cupboard, under a bed... And wherever she’d been she’d kept telling herself that she would get through it, that at this time tomorrow it would be over. Comparatively speaking, parading the streets in a bunny suit would be a doddle.