Dear Literary Agent
Caroline Clayton’s self-esteem is at subterranean levels, near the primordial ooze in the earth’s core, when her fiancé, Albert, dumps her for her younger, thinner, supermodel sister, Gabriella. Like an idiot she agrees to be the maid-of-honor at their wedding. Santorini Sunset, set in Santorini, Greece, is a 100,000 word contemporary, romantic comedy with an irreverent, snarky flare that follows Caroline’s transformation from frumpy-successful-career woman to desirable-successful-at-everything woman. Bridget Jones meets Zorro—without the swashbuckling sword play.
As the maid-of-honor, she must contend with her mother’s scathing tongue, her sister’s narcissism and her ex-fiancé’s pity, which add to her already battered self-image. To shock her family and to prove she isn’t heartbroken, Caroline asks her co-worker, sexiest-man-alive, Raul Sobrevilla, to be her pseudo-boyfriend for the week of the wedding. Unable to fathom that Raul could find her attractive, much less fall in love with her, she must overcome her doubts and trust her heart again. She can have it all . . . career and love. All she needs is her regained self confidence, which she discovers when she sees herself through Raul’s eyes.
In addition to being published in Skipping Stones, March 2010, I have extensive experience as an editor and technical writer.
I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Five tiny little words—uttered in less than a second. That’s all it takes to remove every trace of happiness from the heart. To replace hope, joy, love and bliss with despair, sadness, self-doubt and homicidal rage.
I don’t love you anymore.
If four more words are added to the equation, the heart is filled with betrayal, distrust and the need for years of counseling
I love your sister.
I never actually went into counseling and I certainly never killed anyone, but the thought crossed my mind on more than one occasion. Slow, painful ways to inflict death on the love of my life, Albert, or as he’s now known, my future brother-in-law.
When asked, I’d be hard pressed to define which was worse, my fiancé leaving me for my sister or her asking me to be her maid-of-honor. I close my eyes at night and see my sweet, beautiful, kind, baby sister looking at me with tear-filled, million-dollar eyes—literally, they are insured for that amount—begging forgiveness and asking me to stand up for her during her joyous nuptials.
“I know we hurt you, Caroline, and I’m so sorry. I’ll understand completely if you refuse to be my maid-of-honor, but you’re the best friend I have. I couldn’t imagine my wedding without you by my side.”
I refrained from commenting about how best friends don’t steal fiancés and was quite restrained when I resisted the urge to rip her beautiful blonde hair from her scalp. Everyone knew the . . .