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Her Best Worst Mistake

Her Best Worst Mistake - Sarah Mayberry Violet Sutcliffe simply can't stand it anymore, sitting at the boring party, looking at her best friend's stuffy fiancee schmooze some important people, whom she describes as :

E, be real. These people are the walking dead.” Violet’s gaze swept over the well-dressed crowd attending the Heart Foundation’s annual fundraiser. “Older than Moses, richer than God and more boring than a truckload of accountants.”

And then there's the fiancee himself:

He was wearing a classic black tuxedo, but he somehow managed to look stuffy rather than suave. But that was his gift—taking anything stylish, fun or frivolous and stifling the life out of it.

The two of them don't get along, at all. They keep snipping at each other, the only reason it hasn't got to the point of doing physical harm is because the both care for Elizabeth.

And then things change. Elizabeth breaks of the wedding and goes to Australia to find her father. And Violet, well Violet suddenly feels sorry for Martin (the stuffy fiancee :D). Her peace offering doesn't exactly goes as planned.

And then on a rainy London night, Martin comes to her flat, and sparks fly, and things that should never have happened - happen. And it feels like the world turned upside down.

Both of them go on with ignoring each other, but then one night, at a party, they see each other, and things get out of control. There's this dress you see, and a certain pair of black lace panties. (Just imagine the model with red hair)

And so an affair begins. Neither of them is sure what exactly it means, both try to convince themselves that it's just physical, but:
“Maybe I just have a good memory.” 

She was starting to feel uncomfortable. Or perhaps exposed was the better word. 

“You have an appalling memory. You forget Elizabeth’s birthday every year.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

There was something about the way he was looking at her that made her feel even more nervous. 

“So? I remembered you liked the peach schnapps. It’s not a big deal.”

“Isn’t it? I remember that you hate escargot. And that you refuse to see any movie with Kate Beckinsale in it. And that you have every George Michael album ever made.”

She blinked. “Why would you remember all of that?

“I don’t know. I used to think it was because you annoyed me.” He took a step toward her. “I used to think it was because you were always wearing short skirts and low cut tops and laughing too loud. I used to think it was because your perfume would get in my clothes and stay with me for days afterward, even though I’d barely brushed up against you.”
He took another step toward her and something powerful and undeniable thudded in the pit of her stomach. 

“You hate me,” she said, staring at him, knowing she should put some distance between them before this became something it shouldn’t.

“Do I?”

And deeper feelings start to develop:

“Shut up,” he said, then he kissed her, because there was no other way of conveying how he felt. 

Protective and aroused and amused and admiring were only the tip of the iceberg. Every minute, every second with Violet was a revelation. She was astounding—strong and fragile, fiery and gentle, shy and bold. A walking, talking contradiction. A puzzle. A mystery a man could spend a glorious lifetime unraveling. 

I liked the book a lot. Both Marin and Violet are great, and their relationship with all the ups and downs, with the raw feelings was spellbinding.

There was something that dragged too much - the not coming clean with Elizabeth part, it simply didn't seem like such an obstacle.

But still, the book is reccommended, if nothing else then because of this:
“Thank you,” she said.

He looked bemused. “For what?”

“For everything. For being amazing in bed and endlessly patient, for sacrificing the Savage Club for me and bringing me all the way around the world simply because you were worried about me, even though it meant you were probably going to spend your holidays alone. For the way you always put your hand on the small of my back to guide me across the street and the way you let me be in charge of the television remote control and the way you have never, not once, judged me or mistrusted me or made me feel small or unwanted.”

“Violet, sweetheart...” He blinked and she realized that he was close to tears. 

Her Martin. Mr. Uptight. Mr. Repressed.