by Fiona Harper
Family-oriented Juliet is a Christmas-dinner cook extraordinaire and is trying to keep it together in the wake of her marriage breakdown two Christmases ago, but the cracks are beginning to show.
Her bright and vivacious sister Gemma was always the favorite daughter. Gemma has no qualms about escaping the festive madness and the pressures of her glamorous job by jetting off somewhere warm and leaving Christmas in Juliet’s capable hands.
When Gemma shirks responsibility one too many times and announces she’s off to the Caribbean (again!), Juliet finally snaps. Gemma offers her sister the perfect solution—to swap Christmases. She’ll stay home and cook the turkey (how hard can it be?) and Juliet can fly off into the sun and have a restorative break.
In the midst of all the chaos, there’s Will, Juliet’s dishy neighbor who’s far too nice to float Gemma’s boat and may secretly harbor feelings for her sister; and Marco, the suave Italian in the villa next door who has his own ideas about the best way to help Juliet unwind.
Will the sisters abandon caution and make this a Christmas swap to remember?
Make My Wish
Come True
Fiona Harper
Author Note
Thank you to both Anna Boatman and Anna Baggaley, who are both brilliant editors and lovely to work with. To all the team at Harlequin UK, for giving me the chance to write the kinds of books I’ve always dreamed of writing. Also, to my very first editor at Harlequin, Kim Young. I know I wouldn’t be taking the next step in my career if it hadn’t been for her support and belief in me. I’d also like to say a big thank-you to my amazing agent, Lizzy Kremer.
I’d especially like to thank Daisy Cummins for allowing me to pick her valuable brains on the work of an assistant director and for the invaluable insider information on the film industry. I’d also like to say a cheeky thank-you to my sister, Kirsteen, my stepsisters, Justine and Alexandra, and to both my daughters for helping to give me plenty of insight into the complicated, wonderful, exasperating but ultimately inspiring world of sisterhood. I love you all, and I couldn’t have written this book without you.
Dedication
For my go-to girls—
Donna and Barbara, and Heidi and Daisy
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Christmas 1981
JULIET SAT ON THE brown velour sofa, her arms folded across her chest, and watched her sister play amidst the wreckage of wrapping paper and discarded curling ribbon. Gemma’s fair curls bounced as she chatted away to her new dolly and brushed its hair. Juliet glanced at her digital calculator, still in its packaging, sitting beside her on the sofa and felt a little bit sick.
That doll had been on her Christmas wish list, not Gemma’s. Mummy must have got mixed up somehow. But Daddy said Mummy was a bit sad at the moment, and it made her do strange things.
Gemma stopped brushing the doll’s hair and looked up. ‘When’s dinner?’ she asked. ‘I’m hungry.’
Juliet looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It said ten past four. She was hungry too. Christmas lunch should have been hours ago. She wanted to go and ask Daddy, but last time she’d ventured into the kitchen he’d been hunched over the table, crying softly.
‘Soon,’ she told Gemma, trying to smile.
Her sister nodded and returned to fussing with her doll. Juliet just sat there, feeling even sicker.
After a few moments, Gemma stood up and picked up the doll. ‘I’m going to go and show Mummy what I’ve done with Georgina’s hair,’ she said.
Juliet jumped off the sofa and stood in the doorway. This is what she’d been dreading. ‘Not right now,’ she told Gemma softly. ‘Mummy had to go out for a bit.’
Gemma’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but she didn’t question her older sister’s words. That was because she was five. Juliet was nine and she was a big enough girl to know the truth. Daddy had said so. He’d also said Gemma was too little, that she wouldn’t understand, and that it was Juliet’s job to make sure she didn’t find out.
A sudden image of her mother running from the house, raw stuffing still clinging to her fingers, then jumping into the car and driving away left Juliet feeling breathless and shaky, but Gemma glanced back up at her, eyes so large and trusting, and she covered it all over with a smile.
‘Is she coming back soon?’ her sister asked, only half-interested in Juliet’s answer as she started twisting the doll’s hair, attempting her own five-year-old version of a plait.
Juliet kept smiling, even though it felt like her insides were being sucked into a big dark hole.
‘Yes,’ she said, and blinked back the moisture that had gathered in the corner of her eyes.
She bent down a little bit so she was on Gemma’s level. ‘If you want, I’ll show you how to plait Georgina’s hair
properly, and then you can show Mummy when she comes home.’
Gemma threw her arms round Juliet’s neck and squeezed her hard. ‘You’re such a good big sister, Juliet! I love you.’
People liked Gemma the best because she was cute and ‘bubbly’. Juliet didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she suspected it meant not shy and nervous, like she was. Sometimes she wished Gemma was different, but right now she understood why people liked it when her little sister directed all that enthusiastic affection at them.
She was a good big sister, wasn’t she? And she would keep on being a good big sister, the best she could be.
She sat down cross-legged on the carpet and Gemma sank down beside her. Juliet took the doll and with a frown of concentration began to braid its hair. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘this is how you do it...’
And once she’d shown Gemma, she let her have a go too. And while her sister chatted and plaited, her chubby little fingers almost tying themselves in knots, Juliet glanced towards the living-room door.
Maybe while Gemma was busy she ought to go and see if Daddy needed help cooking the dinner. Somebody had to do it. And she didn’t know if Mummy was ever coming back.
CHAPTER ONE
JULIET STOPPED AND LET the shoppers flow round her as she reached into her handbag and pulled out her Christmas notebook. She got a rush of warmth, of comfort, every time she picked it up, and this occasion was no different. She smiled as she looked at the pretty botanical print of poinsettia on the cover.
Other people had Christmas wish lists, but Juliet didn’t
go in for wishing much these days. Wishing didn’t get you anywhere. If things were going to be perfect, you needed to plan, make lists, research. Juliet was very keen on making Christmas perfect, and this book was her road map, her shining beacon in the midst of all the festive chaos. It was diary, organiser, address book and To Do list all rolled into one, and once November came around it hardly left her side. She flipped it open and quickly found the page with today’s shopping list, marked with a colourful sticky tag.
Ah, yes.
Glacé cherries for the Rudolph cupcakes she’d promised to make for the Christmas Fayre, cinnamon sticks and cloves for mulling apple juice after the church carol service, two more rolls of Sellotape and a metre of red velvet ribbon.
She slid her book carefully back into her bag and began to dart through the Christmas shoppers with nimble ease, spotting gaps before they properly appeared, judging who was going to keep moving and who was going to stop and marvel at the pretty Christmas lights.
And marvel they should. Juliet was very proud of her hometown, and Tunbridge Wells was at its prettiest this time of year. No wonder so many of the supermarket chains and department stores filmed their big-budget Christmas adverts here every October. The Pantiles was the location of choice—one of the town’s oldest streets with its Victorian and Georgian buildings, its little shops nestling beneath the two-hundred-year-old colonnade. White lights hung between the white pillars and twisted round the branches of the trees that ran down the centre of the paved street, and every shop window was immaculately decorated with greenery and tempting Christmas fare. The scent of mulled wine and roasting chestnuts drifted from the traders in the market.
But Juliet really didn’t have time to stop and stare, to marvel or smell anything this afternoon. Her Christmas notebook was calling to her from inside her bag, tugging at her consciousness, reminding her of all the unticked boxes on her To Do list that were waiting hungrily to be filled.
She glanced at the old-fashioned clock mounted above one of the boutiques. Ten past two, and she had to be at the boys’ school by three twenty. Once she’d got her shopping, she needed to post a parcel for her elderly neighbour and then she’d just about have enough time to dash to the butchers and order the turkey.
That lovely plump bird was the linchpin to Christmas dinner. Crossing off that item would start a chain reaction throughout her To Do list, leaving it awash with little ticks. The thought made her slightly giddy. However, she was distracted from the image of all of those satisfied little boxes by strains of ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ belting out from inside her handbag.
Gemma?
Juliet stopped walking and rummaged for her mobile.
Not Gemma.
Just St Martin’s primary, sending out an all-parent alert that head lice were rife in the school again. Great. With four heads to check she’d be spending the whole evening with a nit comb in her hand. A complete time suck. Just what she needed at the moment.
She closed the message and searched the display for a hint of any other new communication, but nothing flashed, nothing beeped. No new icons had appeared. She tucked the phone back inside her bag, angrier at her sister than she’d already had been. What had she expected?
Oh, she knew what Gemma’s working day was like, how difficult it was to make or receive personal calls, that she often only got a few seconds to reply to texts late at night. She bragged about it often enough when she made one of her ‘flying visits’ home.
No, that was being unkind.
Gemma didn’t really brag. It was just the way she told her stories about working on film sets, meeting exciting people, visiting exotic locations... Well, it was probably hard not to let it sound as if you were the kind of person who was much more interesting than the average suburban housewife.
The last time she’d seen Gemma had been at the bank holiday barbecue in August. Juliet had finally managed to corner her and ask her to pull her weight this Christmas. Much to her surprise, Gemma had agreed, but now there was total radio silence. Once again, Gemma was AWOL when anything family-related was on the cards.
The whole situation was starting to give Juliet a horrible sinking feeling. With the promise of extra help, she might have gone a bit overboard once the Christmas preparations had got underway. Now it wasn’t just a case of wanting her sister to display some sisterly loyalty; she might actually have to rely on her, and that was a very scary thought.
No need to panic yet, though. It was still only the first Friday in December and Gemma was due back in just over a week. She could manage until then. But maybe she’d send her sister another little reminder, just to make sure she didn’t forget there were things they needed to discuss...
She stared at her phone. What she really wanted to ask was why Gemma did everything she could to stay away from her family, even at Christmas, but she feared that it might only make Gemma run away faster and harder. Juliet exhaled slowly. Now was not the time to confront that issue, so instead she just fired off a jaunty little text—no demands, no pressure—and then she slid her phone back into her bag and started walking in the direction of the post office.
She’d only gone a dozen steps when her phone rang a second time. Now this was probably Gemma. When you wanted her she was nowhere tobe found, and when you gave up waiting and carried on without her, suddenly she’d appear and throw all your careful plans into chaos. Typical.
‘Yes?’ she said, perhaps a little too sharply.
‘Mrs Taylor?’
The voice was low and rich, with the timbre of authority to it. Definitely not Gemma.
‘Yes?’ she said again, trying to sound more like an upstanding citizen than a fishwife.
‘This is PC Graham from Tunbridge Wells police station.’
Oh, God! Was everyone all right? The kids! Had there been an accident with the twins? Or had Violet bunked off with some of those new friends she’d started hanging around with? And she couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of scrape too-independent-for-her-own good Polly might have got herself into.
She couldn’t seem to speak. Couldn’t seem to ask the police officer any of that. She just made a tight little croaking noise that he must have taken as an invitation to carry on.
‘It’s regarding Sylvia Wade... She’s your great-aunt, I believe?’
Juliet cleared her throat and forced down her panic. Somebody needed her. This was no time to get all hysterical.
‘Can you tell me what’s happened? Is she hurt?’
‘Don’t worry, she’s...fine.’ She heard the officer take a deep breath. ‘Fighting fit, actually,’ he added with a wry hint to his tone. ‘I just think you need to get down to the Leisure Centre as soon as you can.’
* * *
GEMMA RAPPED ON THE trailer door—loud enough to be heard, but not so firmly it might be interpreted as a demand. As she waited the icy wind cut into her cheeks and her knuckles froze into a fist. Glamorous job? Hah! Don’t make her laugh. She pulled the hood of her waterproof closer round her face and got ready to smile brightly.
He wouldn’t open the door himself, of course. Too used to having a faceless someone to do it for him.
She knocked a second time and her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it. Even if it was the director, ranting and raving about the whereabouts of his A-list actor, answering it would only slow her down.
It seemed an age before she heard a muffled ‘Yeah?’ from the other side of the trailer door. If she’d gone by tone of voice alone, she’d have guessed he was soaking up the sun on a Caribbean beach, not freezing to death on the fringes of Western Ireland in December.
Awall of heat hit her when she stepped inside. No wonder he sounded so relaxed. The temperature in here really was verging on tropical. It was certainly warm enough for the six-foot hunk of blond gorgeousness she’d come looking for to only be dressed
in a faded T-shirt and a pair of shorts as he lounged on a sofa further down the trailer. She closed the door behind her and instantly started to sweat in her layers of thermals and assorted woolly things.
‘Hey, Gemma,’ he said, and smiled, revealing his far too white teeth. For some reason she found all that symmetry slightly irritating.
Even more irritating was the state of his undress. He was supposed to be wearing the dark garb the wardrobe department had carefully selected to suggest a tortured hero on the verge of saving the world. However, she let none of her annoyance bleed through to her tone of voice. ‘They’re ready for you on set now, Toby.’ Her face was a mask of calm as she re-jigged times and schedules in the back of her head.
If she could hurry him along, they might not lose any filming time before the light went. She’d had to change the call sheet for the following day three times already. The last batch of A4 sheets sat ready and waiting in her makeshift office and she really didn’t want to dump them and start all over again.
She glanced around. Where was the girl from wardrobe? She’d seen her come in here not half an hour ago, and she could have sworn she hadn’t seen her leave. ‘Has Caitlin gone to fetch something from the truck?’ she asked innocently.
Toby just smirked and his eyes darted towards the back of the trailer where the bedroom was situated. ‘Something like that.’
Gemma’s stomach sank and she visualised dropping her call sheets into the waste-paper basket one by one, calling Tobias Thornton, action star and sex god, every name under the sun as she did so.
As great as her job was, she occasionally wished she didn’t work in the film industry. It spoilt all the fantasy. When this film came out, her friends would make her go and see it with them so she could tell them all the gossip and inside secrets, but while they sat in the dark and sighed at Toby’s drop-dead smile and killer abs, all she’d be thinking about was how many times she’d come close to wiping that smile off his face with her clipboard.
What she wouldn’t give for a real hero, the kind of man these actors pretended to be, but never were. The problem was that she always chose men who seemed dynamic and exciting, but eventually turned out to be a little...well, flaky.