It's Got to Be Perfect: the memoirs of a modern-day matchmaker Read Online Free

against a lamppost. ‘What?’
    His eyes finally met mine.
    ‘You did tell her that’s not going to happen?’
    His ran his fingers through his hair. ‘The divorce is going to cost me a fortune.’
    The bodice seemed to tighten, like a python wrapped around my chest.
    ‘What?’ I shouted.
    He reached for my hands. ‘It doesn’t have to be the end of us though.’ He squeezed them tightly. ‘You can stay in the flat. We can see each other in the week.’
    I knocked his hands away. ‘You want me to be your mistress?’
    His looked at me as though that might not be such a terrible idea.
    ‘Are you insane?’
    Immediately, I visualised the three of us as the subject of a Louis Theroux documentary about polyamory in the Western world.
    I stared at his face, searching for answers. I looked into his pleading eyes, then down at his mouth, the mouth that had only to curl at the edges to give me goosebumps. I looked at his chest, at the outline of muscles through his shirt. Then at his arms: the strong arms that I thought would hold me forever.
    He walked towards me and slipped his hands around my waist. ‘I love you, Ellie. We can get through this.’
    I stepped back. ‘Get through this? This isn’t a world war. We were supposed to be planning the happiest day of our lives.’
    My heart pounded and my mind whirled. I struggled to hold back the tears as I gazed up at the sky and tried to make sense of it all: the work trips, the late nights at the office, the emergency golf games.
    ‘You’re still sleeping together, aren’t you?’
    He began digging at a weed in the pavement with his foot.
    My muscles twitched and adrenalin shot through my veins. I wanted to rip the shoe from his foot and pummel him over the head with it, but before I could act, I caught a glimpse of cappuccino-coloured chiffon in my peripheral vision. I turned to see Caro and Cordelia behind me.
    Cordelia, clearly having caught the drift of the conversation was clutching a bag from the “Have a Horny Honeymoon” stand and had a menacing glint in her eye. Just as my thoughts were diverted to our porn-diversion splurge at The Wedding Show, she reached in and pulled out a dayglow dildo.
    ‘She bought this for you!’ she shouted, waving the oversized phallus at Robert.
    He looked at her and lifted his hands as if to say: ‘Thanks, but I’m all good for dildos.’
    Cordelia clenched her jaw, and tightened her grip around the girth. Filippo, seemingly anticipating her intentions, darted out the door and snatched the dildo from her as though he were partaking in some kind of bizarre relay race.
    I looked back at Robert. Images from Backdoor Babes flooded my mind. Latino Lesbos and bushy beavers. I imagined strippers writhing on his groin. I pictured him in his office emailing “Juicy Lucy” with his hands down his trousers. Then I imagined his wife bouncing through the doorway of their new townhouse and into his arms.
    Tears pooling in my eyes, I glanced down at the three-carat diamond nestled in its platinum clasp. Its market value was probably enough for a deposit on a flat. Or a round-the-world trip with Cordelia. Yet, without hesitation, I tore it from my finger. I looked at Robert’s bewildered expression, then across the road at the “For Sale” sign. Every muscle in my body tensed as I swung my arm back and then hurled the ring towards the gutter.
    As the ring spiralled through the Mayfair street, the front door creaked open. Edwina and the priest emerged, mouths agape, to witness Filippo leaping into the air like a brightly dressed frog. His eyes bulged as he held the dildo aloft like a baseball bat. He soared towards the ring, ready to intercept it, but his back swing was a little overzealous and the dildo slipped from his grasp. It bounced a few times, rebounded from the curb and then somersaulted after the ring into the gutter. The rest of the Fastidio team edged out, eyes wide, to see the ring twirl on the spot, offering a closing