PROLOGUE
THREE WEDDINGS AND A CAREER CHANGE
If you’d told me at my first wedding that I’d divorce my gorgeous husband-to-be within two years, then marry and divorce twice more before turning thirty-two, I’d have told you to shut the hell up, sit your arse down, and stop ruining my big day.
But that’s exactly what happened – three weddings, three husbands, three spectacular failures.
But, despite suffering through varying degrees of heartache, my marriages made me who I am today – the Divorced Diva. Not just a blogger-turned-influencer, but a brand ambassador, break-up whisperer, and champion of divorced singletons everywhere.
Ironic, really, because once upon a time, I believed in love – head-over-heels, sweep-you-off-your-feet, happily-ever-after love.
Now I believe in sex positivity, emotional boundaries, and sleeping slap bang in the middle of the bed.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Before I tell you a bonkers story involving two of my ex-husbands (yes,two), I should probably explain how I became the poster child for divorce – make thatthrivingafter divorce – and the owner of three unopened air fryers (apparently, toasters aresolast century).
It all started with Tommy – brilliant mind, charming dreamer, sexiest man I’ve ever known.
We met in our final year at Oxford, falling fast and hard into the kind of love where a few hours apart felt like a lifetime. Against everyone’s advice, we got married straight out of uni – because when you’ve found the love of your life, why wait?
Wrapped in Tommy’s arms, I felt safe, cherished, and utterly adored. And we had plans – a big life filled with love, adventure, and making the world a better place. For a while, I believed we’d last forever.
But then he took a job that whisked him off to disaster zones for weeks at a time – sometimes months. At first, I missed him. Then I resented him. Eventually, I barely recognised the moody stranger who came home between projects – or myself, now a clingy, miserable woman pining for what we’d lost.
When I begged Tommy to choose our marriage over his career, he didn’t. So, I chose me.
Seventeen months, three weeks, and two days after our wedding, I signed the divorce papers with a shattered heart and a shaky hand.
Which is how I ended up with husband number two: Rick – American rockstar, objectively unattractive, subjectively sexy.
Well into my post-divorce, throw-caution-to-the-wind phase, I met Rick in a London pub while his band was touring. After one night together – the first time I’d laughed in ages – I was convinced I’d found the one. Again.
Three days later, we married in the bar at the Ritz, his tour manager officiating.
But it didn’t take long to realise that Rick was more into his fans than he was into foreplay, and by the end of the band’s European tour (and our forty-seven-day marriage), I was done with life on the road, mediocre sex, and being elbowed aside by screeching groupies.
From rockstar chaos to silver-fox sophistication, enter husband number three: Julian – tech genius, filthy rich, fifteen years my senior.
Julian wooed me over oysters and Champagne, proposed with a vintage Cartier ring, and whisked me around the world on his yacht. I was dazzled – and, honestly, a little drunk on the lifestyle.
Then I caught him in the captain’s cabin, canoodling with a gorgeous Swedish steward called Ebba, wearing a sheepish grin and trying to hide his naked erection.
I kept the ring, the car, the Chelsea flat –andmy dignity. Julian kept the yacht and I have no idea what happened to the steward.
So, there you have it: three husbands, three divorces, and less than three years in wedlock.
And somewhere between blogging about heartbreak and landing my first endorsement deal, I ditched the PR job and started building the Divorced Diva empire.
Life was ticking along nicely – the campaigns, the causes, the blissful singlehood – until the day I came face to face with two of my ex-husbands. At the same time.
And that was just the beginning of the madness. Trust me, you’re going to want to hear this.
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Thought of the day…
You divorced your ex for a reason.
