‘Since the day we met?’ My brain was fizzing and my jaw was somewhere near the floor, ‘You…we…’
‘Why do you think I really turned Bernice away?’
‘I thought it was because you were private and just…’
He was shaking his head. ‘I just wanted to see you again. In all your sensational haughtiness.’
‘I am not haughty!’
He took his seat back on the arm of the chair and pulled me to him, my legs in-between his splayed ones, his arms wrapped around my waist.
‘Oh, but you are. And it’s sexy as hell.’ His voice roughened as he said it, causing a bolt of heat to sear through me, frazzling whatever was currently left of my thoughts. His day old scruff grazed my face tantalisingly as he kissed along my jawline before finally, finally finding my mouth again. His arms tightened around me and I pulled him closer, my hands at his neck, wanting him more than I had ever thought possible. His eyes glistened when, eventually he pulled away.
‘Katie Stone I love you. I know that you’ve had a hard time with things, that you’ve been hurt, and I know I’m a long way from perfect, but spending time with you has made me a happier man than I ever thought it possible to be again. You’ve made me a better man too and I want to continue to improve on that. But I can’t do that without you.’
I didn’t say anything. The words were there, in my head, but I couldn’t get them out.
‘Of course, if you refuse, I’m just going to have to go right home and mess up that house again. And keep messing it up until you realise that we’re meant to be together. That we were always meant to be together.’
Those damn words in my head still wouldn’t come out so I curled my fingers into his jacket, pulled him towards me and kissed him instead. He got the message.
***
Last night, on Christmas Eve, the whole family had descended on Michael’s house and turned it into chaos, a wonderful, warm, loving chaos, which I was absorbed into immediately. It seemed that the rest of the family had been kept informed on the progress of The Christmas Project through Janey. Ostensibly, this was meant to refer to the transformation of the house where the festivities were planned to take place. But as Janey relayed this, there was a little twinkle in her eye. I saw Michael give her an amused, but suspicious, look before turning that gaze on me.
‘I have a feeling we may have been set up.’ His arm curled around me, pulling me in against his hard body.
‘I have a feeling you may be right.’ As I rested my head against his broad chest, watching children and adults smack the daylights out of imaginary sports balls on the television, I realised that sometimes not being in total control of everything wasn’t such a bad thing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Michael held my hand as we padded down the stairs. Outside the light had yet to show itself and despite splashing his face with water and cleaning his teeth, Michael still looked half asleep. And so damn beautiful that I was severely tempted to turn straight around and back upstairs. Except that was half the reason we were so tired already.
‘What are you smiling at?’
He’d caught me.
‘You.’
‘Do I amuse you?’
‘Yes.’
He cocked an eyebrow.
‘In a good way.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He snuggled his face down into the hollow of my neck and just held me for a moment, taking advantage of the fact that I was still a step or two behind him. And then I felt his fingers splay around my waist and his lips move slowly up my neck.
‘Michael,’ I whispered, not for a moment wanting him to stop.
He dropped his forehead onto my shoulder and made a low groan. Lifting his head, he gave it a brief shake, grinned and tugged me onwards down the stairs.
‘Katie! Uncle Mikey!’
An assortment of nieces and nephews charged towards us as we entered the living room, and, at a glance, all of them far more awake than any one of the adults present. Pilot, already adorned with a collar of red tinsel, stood waiting patiently for his master’s morning greeting. Michael and I both gave him a big cuddle and head rub before he went bouncing happily back to sit by the tree, and was soon further decorated by a giggling nephew popping a sticky bow on the top of his head. Merry Christmas hugs and kisses were then exchanged between everyone else and a corner of sofa freed up. Michael flopped down on it, pulling me onto his lap, cuddling me into him as fresh coffee was poured for us from the steaming pot on the sideboard.
I rested my head on Michael’s shoulder, watching the children, listening to the banter between the adult siblings and the pretend remonstrations of them from their own parents and grandparents. The only light came from the delicate white fairy lights Michael and I had fixed all around the picture rail and those on the tree. The soft illumination, devoid of any other, lent it a perfect magical Christmas air.
As Michael gratefully took the mug from his brother, the clock on the mantelpiece gave out its gentle musical chime. Michael looked over at it, squinted, then groaned.
‘It’s 6 a.m. On a day off.’
Ripples of laughter washed through those around us.
‘Welcome to our world!’ they laughed.
And as I sat there, in the arms of the man I loved, in the midst of it all, I thought that it really was the most wonderful world to be a part of.
Loved The Christmas Project? Then turn the page to enjoy another Christmas treat from Maxine Morrey in her debut snowy novel
Winter’s Fairytale
Out now!
Chapter One
There were whole chapters dedicated to the throwing of the bouquet in the very many books I had pored over in the run up to this day, all instructing me on How To Have The Perfect Wedding. Oddly enough, there wasn’t one sentence referring to the appropriate etiquette involved in throwing your first ever punch instead. In fact, there was also a conspicuously absent chapter on what to do if your spineless fiancé decides that the actual wedding day is the best time to tell you he doesn’t want to get married. Not that it mattered. It turned out I didn’t need tuition on how to punch – I was a natural, apparently. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on whose perspective you were looking at it from – my ex Groom To Be hadn’t even had the guts to turn up to the church at all. Which is why Rob, the best man, a perfectly nice bloke, was sat on his backside on the vestry floor, holding a hastily acquired wodge of tissues to his now bleeding nose.
‘I’m so sorry!’ I held out my hand to help him up and he, understandably, looked at it warily before opting to push himself up. I let my hand fall back down to my side.
‘I don’t know what came over me. That obviously wasn’t really meant for you. But honestly? It was either you or the vicar.’
We both glanced over at the vicar who had paled and was now the same colour as his crisp white robe.
Rob nodded. ‘You probably made the right choice,’ he pulled the tissues away and looked at them briefly before shoving them back on his nose, ‘I think.’
An awkward silence settled on the three of us.
‘I really had no idea.’ Rob said, his voice muffled and thick through the barrier of tissues.
I looked up at him from where I’d been staring at the crystals on my dress. Each one painstakingly sewn on by hand. My own hand. Rob looked wretched. Almost as miserable as I did. Almost. If he was lying then he deserved an Oscar. I didn’t think he was that good of an actor.
‘No. Me neither.’ I smiled, sadly.
Again there was silence. Eventually the vicar gave a polite cough. We both looked at him. He was looking at me.
‘How would you like to proceed, my dear?’
He was a sweet man. Steven, my fiancé, and I had met with him several times, going over everything, confirming to him that we were serious about our intentions. We’d sworn (not literally) that this was what we wanted, and that both of us knew that it was not something to be undertaken lightly. And yet, here we were. Groo
m-less.
How did I want to proceed? I’m pretty sure that the vicar didn’t really want an honest answer to that question as, right now, it involved a pair of nutcrackers, Steven and a soundproof room.
‘I don’t know. How do you, I mean, what happens normally if…’ I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question.
‘Well, I can go out and make an announcement that there has been a change of plan, and request that everyone be kind enough to understand. Or if you wish, you can do it. But only if you want to.’
Oh God. What I wanted to do was throw up.
Rob answered before I could. ‘I’ll do it. It’s supposed to be the best man’s job to get the groom to the church. I seem to have failed spectacularly in that task, so it should be me that goes out there to explain.’
The vicar nodded sympathetically.
‘What will you say?’ I asked, quietly.
‘I don’t know yet,’ Rob shrugged his shoulders, ‘it’s not exactly the speech I had prepared.’
I nodded, feeling numb. It all felt weirdly unreal.
‘I’ll think of something. Don’t worry.’ He gave me a half smile, trying to lighten the moment. An almost impossible ask right now, but I appreciated the effort. The vicar moved towards the door and Rob followed. I touched Rob’s arm.
‘Thank you.’
His hand reached out to mine and took it, squeezing gently, ‘I’m so sorry.’
That was a phrase I was going to have to get used to hearing a lot…
Chapter Two
‘I’m so sorry. How awful for you!’
The friend of an acquaintance of an acquaintance was passing on her condolences on my failed wedding. Even though I had absolutely no idea who she was.
‘And in front of all those people too!’
Yes. In front of pretty much everyone I know. Thanks for bringing that up. Again.
‘Mmm.’ I made a non-committal noise and tried to change the subject. ‘So, are you looking for a dress for yourself or someone else?’
‘A dress?’
‘Yes, I mean, I assume you’re looking for a dress. Is it for a wedding, a prom or another special occasion?’ I tried again.
‘Oh I’m not looking for a dress, dear. I just popped in to tell you how sorry I was when I heard he’d just left you standing at the altar.’
Why is it when someone makes a comment you’d rather no one else heard, absolutely everyone in the vicinity hears it? The three other customers turned and peered at me.
‘Oh right. Well, that was very kind of you. Now, I’d better see to my clients. Thank you for dropping in.’
I turned my back on her and did my best to find a confident stride and a happy smile with which to greet the other people in my studio, hoping that they had actually come to discuss occasion wear rather than my nuptials, or lack thereof.
***
I glanced up at the old-fashioned station clock hanging on the wall. Nine p.m. My assistant had gone home hours ago but I’d declined the offer to walk to the station together tonight in favour of catching up on some paperwork and social media updates. I’d actually finished everything over half an hour ago but still I stayed. I loved my studio but even I knew it wasn’t that healthy to be here quite as much as I was. Working had been my salvation after the whole wedding hoo-hah. It was the one thing I could rely on. Even with a ropey economy, there were still plenty of people in London with money, and weddings were still big business. Luckily.
My studio had been doing pretty well for a couple of years and I knew I wanted to do more, but with the planning of the wedding and having a relationship, I just hadn’t really had the time to sit and think about exactly what and how. Now, thanks to Steven, I didn’t have to commit time to either of those things – which is why, the day after everything had happened, or more precisely, not happened, I had lain on my studio floor surrounded by spreadsheets, brainstorm pictograms and a plethora of other paperwork. By the end of the day, I had created a five-year plan for my business. Amongst other things, I wanted to expand so that I could take on a couple more seamstresses – this would allow me not only to take on more commissions, but also to get those that I did take on, done quicker. Without the bother of a relationship to get in the way of things, I had spent the weeks following my non-nuptials burying myself in my work, and determined to follow my neatly planned out path.
‘Hello?’ a voice called out as the bells above my door tinkled. Damn. I thought I’d locked that after Tash had left. I got up and walked across the studio space, my one indulgent pair of Louboutins clicking hurriedly on the wooden floor.
‘Hi!’ I greeted Natayla as she turned back from closing the door against the wind that was once more howling down the street outside my cosy studio.
‘I’m sorry to bother you. I wasn’t sure you’d still be here at this time but we were passing.’
‘Oh I’m often here late.’ I smiled, ‘No bother at all. It’s lovely to see you! How was the honeymoon?’
‘Amazing!’ Natayla gushed, ‘Sunsets, sandy beaches, cocktails and relaxing by the pool. We didn’t really do much else.’ she said, then blushed and smiled shyly.
I smiled back at her and touched her arm gently. ‘I’m glad it all went so well, Natayla.’
‘Thank you again for making me look so beautiful.’
‘It was my pleasure.’ I answered, honestly.
‘I brought you something.’ she said, and handed me a large envelope.
Opening it, I pulled out a black and white eight-by-ten photograph of Natayla and her new husband. The photo not only screamed at me how much in love they were, but also showed her dress off perfectly.
‘Oh Natayla! That’s beautiful. Thank you so much. I shall put it up first thing tomorrow.’
My client smiled her shy little smile again and I wavered.
‘Only if you’re happy with that, of course.’
‘Yes! Yes, I am happy. Very happy.’
‘Wonderful. Thank you.’
We exchanged a hug and I walked her over to the door, pausing whilst she pulled on her gloves and hat before I opened it. She stepped out and waved again, before hurrying off to a waiting car and disappearing inside. I shut the door, this time throwing the bolt before turning back.
I looked at the clock once more, and once more thought that I really should be making a move to go home. That was the problem with living somewhere you didn’t like. You never really wanted to go there. Instead I picked up my tea and wandered over to the wall covered in beautifully framed pictures. Sipping at my drink, I let my gaze drift over the happy smiles and gorgeous dresses. I lay the latest acquisition on Tash’s desk. There was no need for a note. Tash would know what to do with it. She’d been a great find and she was excellent at all the admin side of the business, and with clients, but I still wanted to increase the number of staff. Part of my business plan was to accept an intern. I’d learned so much when I’d done the same thing after getting my degree – about all different aspects of the job, things you just can’t learn in college – and I wanted to give someone else the chance to have that same experience. The thought of going to watch Final Collection shows with the view to employing someone, and then helping to nurture and develop that talent, gave me something to look forward to. My gaze went back to the photograph lying on the desk of the happy couple. The look of joy and love on their faces radiated out of the picture. I touched it briefly, almost as if by doing that I could experience that same joy, just for a moment.
Taking a deep breath, I took my mug and rinsed it out in the little kitchenette at the back of the studio. I slipped on my coat and belted it before grabbing the oversized leather tote bag I carried everywhere, and headed to the door.
***
‘When’s it going to stop?’ I asked my best friend, Mags, as I relayed the surprise visit I’d had during the week, ‘Honestly, I feel like the prime exhibit at a zoo! I have absolutely no idea who this woman was. I didn’t even know any of the people she reeled off as
having told her the “devastating news” of my being jilted at the altar.’
‘Just ignore the old bag.’ Mags said sagely as she refilled my empty wine glass.
‘She even pointed out the irony of someone who makes wedding dresses for a living being left at the altar on her own wedding day. I mean, seriously! I felt like suggesting that she should join Mensa because, of course, that thought hasn’t crossed my mind once!’
‘Have you heard anything more from him?’
‘What, since he left me that thoughtful note saying he was going to go on the honeymoon alone as it “seemed a shame to waste it” and it would be good to “have some space between us”?’ I’d definitely had too much wine as I was doing finger quotes in the air. I never did finger quotes.
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
That was the good thing about living in London. It was big. You were much less likely to bump into people you knew than if you lived in a village. Of course Steven knew all our old haunts, and seemed to be having the good sense to stay out of them. I imagine he’d heard about my reaction in the church. I knew Rob wouldn’t have said anything out of choice but announcing that the wedding was off whilst trying to stem a steady flow of blood from his nose, together with the obvious lack of a groom, had probably meant that there wasn’t a whole lot of explanation required. Steven was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d likely worked out pretty quickly that going to the places we used to frequent together may lead to the possibility of the term ‘regular haunt’ becoming more literal than figurative for him.
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