by CC MacKenzie
Coco Monroe didn't do romance, she didn't do babies and she sure as hell didn't do weddings.
It wasn't that she didn't do love or was jaded. She loved her family, her friends. She was a caring, sharing sort of a person. But she didn't do weddings. And if it wasn't for the fact that Rosie Gordon was one of her closest friends she wouldn't be doing this one either.
In theory she had absolutely nothing against procreation or the institution of marriage.
And as far as mini human beings were concerned she could take them or leave them.
Unlike most women she didn't bill and coo over her friend's spawn.
Nope.
Now dogs, well dogs were a completely different thing.
She loved the couple of mutts that shared her life with her whole heart.
Why did other people, people who should mind their own damn business by the way, believe she was missing out?
As soon as her brothers knew she was attending Rosie's wedding to Alexander Ludlow the winks and nudges had started. Along with the sly comments about her, 'Carrying on the family line.'
Why should she be the one to carry on the family line?
After all she was the baby of the Monroe clan.
Why couldn't Ethan, Wallace and Bruce step-up and be men?
They were the ones with penises.
It was bad enough listening to her father's relentless mutters to set her up with a, 'Good man.'
No. Thank. You.
She had a career, a life to lead, things to do and that didn't include a husband or children.
According to the latest government demographics, seventy per cent of women aged twenty-eight were single, career oriented and in no hurry to have babies or settle down.
Right on, sistas.
The tiny family chapel in the grounds of Ludlow Hall with its clipped lawns and rose covered arches dated back to the seventeenth century. It had witnessed many births, marriages and deaths of the Ludlow family. And was absolutely charming.
Inside, the chapel's slightly shabby condition gave it a certain steadfast grandeur. The vibe wasn't exactly eerie but it was as if the ghosts who dwelt there ran soft fingers of welcome across Coco's cheek, down her bare arms.
She shivered.
'You okay?' Louise muttered.
'This place is so atmospheric.'
'I know. But it's a friendly sort of creepy. There's a lotta love being felt here today.'
Coco grinned. 'You're a big softie when it comes to weddings.'
'I'm a big softie when it comes to Rosie Gordon. She doesn't hang around does she? It must be shortest engagement in living memory.'
'Alexander was the one in a hurry,' Coco whispered.
'It took him long enough to see the light,' Louise muttered.
'You may now kiss the bride,' instructed the minister.
Alexander didn't need to be told twice.
The congregation laughed at the bride's surprised yelp as the groom bent her over his arm and kissed her senseless.
Then an organist with two chins, and working on a third, beamed as he played the wedding march with gusto.
'They look insanely happy.' Louise whispered in Coco's ear.
She was right.
Alexander and Rosemary Ludlow held hands as they strolled down the aisle.
Coco had to admit the bride's cropped hair had come as a surprise but her friend suited the style.
The wedding dress, a dreamy concoction of ivory silk and tulle, came all the way from a fabulous designer in Rome. It was off the shoulder and showcased a slim but curvy body.
Rosie's dark brown eyes were suspiciously bright even as she grinned at the guests.
Those bright eyes went huge with wicked glee when she spotted Coco and Louise. Rosie was well versed in Coco's views on divine happiness.
Behind the happy couple came the wedding party of Rosie's parents, Alexander's sister Bronte Ferranti, her husband Nico and their twins.
'Aww, look at the babies, isn't little Sophia just gorgeous?' Louise cooed in a way that had Coco battle not to roll her eyes.
In spite of herself, she had to agree the kid looked cute.
Jeez, what the hell was going on with her friends?
They were dropping like flies into wedded bliss and babies.
However, Coco had to admit marriage and motherhood certainly agreed with Bronte.
She worked the pencil slim look in a knee length dress in emerald silk. Along with a matching fascinator on her shiny blonde head.
Yep, Bronte Ferranti was one hot mama.
And the way the big Italian Nico Ferranti was looking at his wife, no wonder she was happy. Who wouldn't be happy with a gorgeous male specimen like that drooling all over her.
Envy was a useless emotion, but Coco couldn't help the little dart to the heart.
The bitter truth was that with her emotional baggage there wasn't a man on the planet who would take her on. He'd need balls of steel to stand up to her father.
