Remember Me?

Zusatztext "The author of the Shopaholic series adds a fun twist to a Cinderella story." Redbook " Remember Me? " is good fun! a page-turner that will keep a reader up all night.AP Quintessential Kinsella. It´s a perfect pick for a spring-break read. Fort Worth Star-Telegram "A delicious page-turner! filled with both hearty chuckles and heartache.... [Kinsella] finds a way to make losing one´s memory seem refreshingly funny." USA Today From the Hardcover edition. Informationen zum Autor Sophie Kinsella is the author of the bestselling Shopaholic series, as well as the novels Can You Keep A Secret?, The Undomestic Goddess, Remember Me?, Twenties Girl, I've Got Your Number, and Wedding Night . She lives in England. Leseprobe Chapter One How long have I been awake? Is it morning yet? I feel so rough. What happened last night? God, my head hurts. Okay, I'm never drinking again, ever. I feel so woozy I can't even think, let alone . . . Oww. How long have I been awake? My head is splitting and kind of foggy. And my mouth is parched. This is the most monster hangover I've ever had. I'm never drinking again, ever. Is that a voice? No, I have to sleep . . . How long have I been awake? Five minutes? Half an hour, maybe? It's kind of hard to tell. What day is it, anyway? For a moment I just lie still. My head is pounding with a rhythmic pain, like some sort of massive concrete-breaker. I'm dry-throated and aching all over. My skin feels like sandpaper. Where was I last night? What's wrong with my brain? It's like a fog has descended over everything. I'm never drinking again. I must have alcohol poisoning or something. I'm trying to remember last night as hard as I can-but all that's coming into my head is stupid stuff. Old memories and images from the past, flashing by in random order, like some kind of iPod shuffle in my brain. Sunflowers waving against a blue sky . . . Amy as a newborn baby, looking like a little pink sausage in a blanket . . . A plate of salty french fries on a wooden pub table; hot sunshine on my neck; my dad sitting opposite in a Panama hat, blowing out cigar smoke and telling me, "Eat up, sweetheart" . . . The sack race at school. Oh God, not this memory again. I try to block it out, but too late, it's rushing in. . . . I'm seven years old, it's sports day, and I'm winning by miles, but it feels so uncomfortable to be out front that I stop and wait for all my friends. They catch up-then somehow in the melee I trip and wind up coming in last. I can still feel the humiliation, hear the laughter, feel the dust in my throat, the taste of bananas . . . Hang on. Somehow I force my brain to hold steady for a moment. Bananas. Through the fog another memory is glimmering. I'm desperately trying to retrieve it, to reach for it . . . Yes. Got it. Banana cocktails. We were drinking cocktails at some club. That's all I can remember. Bloody banana cocktails. What on earth did they put in them? I can't even open my eyes. They feel heavy and stuck down, like that time I used false eyelashes with dodgy glue from the market, then tottered into the bathroom the next morning to find one eye glued shut with what looked like a dead spider on top of it. Really attractive, Lexi. Cautiously, I move a hand up to my chest and hear a rustle of sheets. They don't sound like the ones at home. And there's a weird lemony smell in the air, and I'm wearing some soft cottony T-shirt thing I don't recognize. Where am I? What on earth- Hey. I didn't score, did I? Oh wow. Was I unfaithful to Loser Dave? Am I wearing some hot guy's oversize T-shirt which I borrowed to sleep in after we had passionate sex all night and ...

Auteur
Sophie Kinsella is the author of the bestselling Shopaholic series, as well as the novels Can You Keep A Secret?, The Undomestic Goddess, Remember Me?, Twenties Girl, I’ve Got Your Number, *and Wedding Night*. She lives in England.

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With wicked humor and delicious charm, the author of the #1 "New York Times" bestseller "Shopaholic & Baby" returns with an irresistible new novel and a fresh new heroine who finds herself in a life-changing and utterly hilarious predicament.

Résumé
When twenty-eight-year-old Lexi Smart wakes up in a London hospital, she’s in for a big surprise. Her teeth are perfect. Her body is toned. Her handbag is Vuitton. Having survived a car accident—in a Mercedes no less—Lexi has lost a big chunk of her memory, three years to be exact, and she’s about to find out just how much things have changed. Somehow Lexi went from a twenty-five-year-old working girl to a corporate big shot with a sleek new loft, a personal assistant, a carb-free diet, and a set of glamorous new friends. And who is this gorgeous husband—who also happens to be a multimillionaire? With her mind still stuck three years in reverse, Lexi greets this brave new world determined to be the person she…well, seems to be. That is, until an adorably disheveled architect drops the biggest bombshell of all. Suddenly Lexi is scrambling to catch her balance. Her new life, it turns out, comes complete with secrets, schemes, and intrigue. How on earth did all this happen? Will she ever remember? And what will happen when she does?

Échantillon de lecture
Chapter One

How long have I been awake? Is it morning yet?

I feel so rough. What happened last night? God, my head hurts. Okay, I'm never drinking again, ever.

I feel so woozy I can't even think, let alone . . .
*

Oww. How long have I been awake?

My head is splitting and kind of foggy. And my mouth is parched. This is the most monster hangover I've ever had. I'm never drinking again, ever.

Is that a voice?

No, I have to sleep . . .
*

How long have I been awake? Five minutes? Half an hour, maybe? It's kind of hard to tell.

What day is it, anyway?

For a moment I just lie still. My head is pounding with a rhythmic pain, like some sort of massive concrete-breaker. I'm dry-throated and aching all over. My skin feels like sandpaper.

Where was I last night? What's wrong with my brain? It's like a fog has descended over everything. I'm never drinking again. I must have alcohol poisoning or something. I'm trying to remember last night as hard as I can-but all that's coming into my head is stupid stuff. Old memories and images from the past, flashing by in random order, like some kind of iPod shuffle in my brain.

Sunflowers waving against a blue sky . . .

Amy as a newborn baby, looking like a little pink sausage in a blanket . . .

A plate of salty french fries on a wooden pub table; hot sunshine on my neck; my dad sitting opposite in a Panama hat, blowing out cigar smoke and telling me, "Eat up, sweetheart" . . .

The sack race at school. Oh God, not this memory again. I try to block it out, but too late, it's rushing in. . . . I'm seven years old, it's sports day, and I'm winning by miles, but it feels so uncomfortable to be out front that I stop and wait for all my friends. They catch up-then somehow in the melee I trip and wind up coming in last. I can still feel the humiliation, hear the laughter, feel the dust in my throat, the taste of bananas . . .

Hang on. Somehow I force my brain to hold steady for a moment.

Bananas.

Through the fog another memory is glimmering. I'm desperately trying to retrieve it, to reach for it . . .

Yes. Got it. Banana cocktails.

We were drinking cocktails at some club. That's all I can remember. Bloody banana cocktails. What on earth did they put in them?

I can't even open my eyes. They feel heavy and stuck down, like that time I used false eyelashes with dodgy glue from the market, then tottered into the bathroom the next morning to find one eye glued shut with what looked like a dead spider on top of it. Really attractive, Lexi.

…