CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The last few days before Christmas Eve was an exhausting blur of holly, mistletoe and festive wreaths as customers flooded in following Nick’s announcement to the press. The news had been greeted with almost universal relief, for it meant owners could sell their shops to Thimblerig Holdings, yet still retain the option to reopen a shop on site after the apartments had been built. Some shopkeepers were happy not to take up the option, preferring to move their business elsewhere or close their doors forever.
But Rose knew what she wanted, and it was certainly not to close the business her green-fingered grandfather had founded so many years ago.
Not only was the unique Mistletoe Flower Shop to be saved in the redevelopment of the Christmas Parade site, but she had already given an exclusive interview to the Guardian in which she’d outlined plans for the new florists’ shop she envisaged coming out of this deal. Local interest had grown after her interview, curious new customers had popped in for festive bouquets, Poinsettias in pots decorated with bows, and spiky miniature Mahonias, plus the usual cluster of gold-sprayed allium stalk requests for floral arrangements, while some big orders had been turned away, sadly, down to an inability to process them before the Christmas break.
At last, it was five o’clock on Christmas Eve, and over a few celebratory glasses of Prosecco and some brandy-filled chocolate truffles, Rose exchanged gifts with Shantelle. She had bought the girl an iTunes voucher, knowing how much she loved listening to music on her headphones while she worked. Meanwhile, Shantelle had bought her a gorgeous pink cushion embroidered with daisies and buttercups, perfect for Rose to lean against when reading in bed late at night.
Though, in fact, she had been daydreaming in bed more than reading recently, before falling into a restless sleep usually punctuated by dreams in which she and Nick relived their romantic tryst in the turret room at Ben Glassie Castle. Only much more thoroughly, and with some shocking variations that made her question her lust-ridden subconscious …
‘Something to keep you warm at night,’ Shantelle said brightly.
‘Thanks,’ she said, embracing Shantelle with a big smile, and hoping the girl would not notice her cheeks, now almost as pink as the cushion. ‘Merry Christmas!’
Such wicked thoughts!
Once Shantelle had left for Christmas, hurrying home to download some new music to her iPhone, Rose checked round the shop for the last time, grabbed up the pretty festive bouquet she’d made up herself for Barbara, and then set the alarm. As she locked up the outer door, the sound of an engine idling at the curb caught her attention, and she turned, seeing Ebba there, holding open the back door of the limousine for her.
‘Ready, madam?’
Her heart leapt and she felt her mouth curve into the most ludicrous smile. Good grief, she was in love with Nick Grimsby. What else could this be? And now she had to try and conceal it over the Christmas break, in case he did not feel as strongly as she did. Which was going to be a terrible strain on her acting abilities, which had never been strong, leading to her only ever being in the chorus in school pantos. Ironically enough, since she now felt rather like Cinderella faced with Prince Charming’s carriage. She only hoped the sleek black limousine would not turn back into a pumpkin before they reached their destination.
Her father had already been picked up at noon, with Ebba on hand to carry out their cases to the car, so she was not surprised when she found only Nick in the back of the limo.
‘Merry Christmas, darling,’ he said deeply.
‘Hi, Nick,’ she said, suddenly self-conscious, and climbed into the limousine, loving that gorgeous smell of expensive leather. She held out the flowers. ‘Merry Christmas. These are for your mother. I hope she likes – ’
He took the flowers without even looking at them, tossed them onto the seat opposite, then grabbed her like a starving man, pulling her across his lap and kissing her until she felt her senses swim. ‘Do you know how bloody much I’ve missed you these past few days?’ he asked, his mouth close to her ear. ‘This much.’ He kissed her again, stroking up and down her spine in the tunic dress and warm leggings she was wearing. ‘And this much.’ His hand cupped her breast unapologetically. ‘No point trying to hide it. I’ve been going totally crackers, thinking about you. Have you been thinking about me too? Please say yes.’
‘Erm …’
He kissed her again before she could even speak, and for a long while there was only silence in the limo, Ebba driving carefully through the busy Christmas traffic and, Rose hoped fervently, not spying on their activities.
Thank God for that smoked glass panel between them!
She dragged up some courage from her boots, whispering, ‘What are we doing, Nick? I mean, what is this?’
Nick’s hands stilled at once, and he drew back slightly, understanding what she had asked without needing it to be spelt out. She appreciated that in him: both his quick intelligence and his honesty. Many men in his position might have flinched from a question like that so soon into a relationship. But she had no time for messing about with a man. She had a career, and her future to think about, not to mention a heart that didn’t want to end up cracked in two or more pieces.
‘I don’t know,’ he said simply, and met her gaze. ‘It could be happy-ever-after. Or it might be something we both need right now, but won’t last.’
‘Right.’
‘But … ’ Nick broke off, his reluctance obvious. He closed his eyes briefly as though steeling himself to some mighty task, then opened them again to study her face. ‘Okay, to hell with it. I’m looking for the former. How about you?’
She stared. ‘The f-former?’
‘Yes.’ He ran a slow hand up her thigh under the tunic dress. She was wearing thick leggings against the cold, so he wasn’t exactly invading naked flesh, but it still felt like a sensual gesture. ‘Rather than the latter.’
Her brain would not seem to work properly. It was probably something to do with the way he was looking at her so intently, his fingertips high on her legging-clad thigh, warm and provocative. She struggled with his words, piecing them together with painful deliberation, upside-down and back-to-front. ‘The former … rather than the latter … ’
‘Happy-ever-after,’ he said softly. ‘Rather than a quick fix.’
She licked her lips, and saw his gaze narrow on the movement. Her own eyes dropped instantly to his mouth, and that was a mistake. He leant closer, rocking her in his arms, and they kissed like there would be no tomorrow, and no quick fixes ever again, only the happiest-ever-after imaginable.
‘Nick?’ she whispered, after another long interlude of kissing and groping and some rather heated shuffling about on the leather seat.
‘Mmm?’
‘I’m not wearing a seat belt.’
‘Huh.’ He linked both arms about her possessively, drawing her even closer on his lap. ‘I’ll be your seat belt.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ she murmured, flipping a swathe of red hair out of her eyes that had escaped her unruly mop. ‘Though I’m not sure how effective your arms would be in the event of a road traffic accident.’
‘Well, if I hold you extremely tightly – ’
At that exact moment, making Rose suspect that Ebba could definitely hear their conversation in the back, the brakes were abruptly applied and forward motion ceased, sending her shooting off Nick’s lap and onto the floor.
‘Not again,’ she moaned.
But to her surprise, Nick undid his seat belt and joined her on the floor. There was certainly plenty of room down there, she thought, turning with surprise. Then was unable to think anything much at all, as he started trying to undress her.
‘Oh no, not in the back of your limo … ’
‘But all the top rock stars – ’
‘You’re no rock star, mate,’ she said tartly, sitting up and beginning to button her tunic dress up again. ‘Hands off.’
Nick made a face but did not press her for more canoodling, climbing back onto the smooth leather seat and grinning down at her instead. She thought she had never seen such an easy smile. It was a smile that made her feel all warm and cosy inside, like they had known each other for years, not mere days. Perhaps there was such a thing as a soul-mate, she thought wonderingly. She had never expected to find one who had so little in common with her though. But maybe the old age that opposites attract was also true.
What a strange world it was turning out to be.
He stretched lazily, watching her. ‘You staying down there until we get to my place?’
‘How far is it?’
‘Not far.’
‘Probably yes, then.’ She gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘If I’m going to spend Christmas with your mum and my dad, I’d like to turn up looking reasonably unmolested. I know what parents are like.’
The traffic seemed more clogged up than usual. Nick peered out of the window, then shook his head. ‘Accident ahead, it looks like. Champagne while you wait?’
‘Maybe one glass.’ Rose paused. ‘For you, that is. I’d better not, or I’ll need the toilet before we get there. I have a bladder that gets twitchy as soon as traffic snarls up.’
He laughed, and sat back, arms folded. ‘In that case, I’ll keep you company. And do let me know if you get really desperate. I never like it when ladies have accidents in the back of my limo.’
His town house was enormous, of course. She did not know why she had envisaged some tiny flat, except that he was a bachelor and all the bachelors she’d ever met had tiny flats – unless they still lived at home with their parents. But after wandering through brightly-lit room after room in search of a toilet, practically hopping up and down like a kangaroo, she became suspicious that Nick had deliberately sent her in the wrong direction to mess with her head.
Thankfully her dad appeared in a bedroom doorway, and directed her to the nearest loo. His ensuite, in fact. ‘Though there are several bathrooms that way, love,’ he said, not very helpfully, pointing back the way she had come. ‘Did you miss them?’
‘Clearly.’
He had disappeared when she emerged from his ensuite bathroom a few minutes later, thankful and relieved, but Barbara was there instead, looking pale and beautiful in a white linen knee-length dress with a chunky gold necklace.
‘Merry Christmas, Rose.’ Barbara kissed her on the cheek, and then hugged her warmly. ‘Nick gave me your flowers. Thank you so much, they look and smell totally gorgeous. Come on, we’re just sitting down to dinner. I hope you like Scottish salmon.’
‘I absolutely adore salmon,’ she said promptly. ‘Scottish or any nationality, in fact. I’m not prejudiced.’
Barbara laughed. ‘Excellent.’
They had a marvellous meal that evening, followed by wine and chocolates and charades, and next morning the four of them exchanged gifts, her dad having brought their pre-wrapped presents from home.
Her dad seemed almost as happy as she was, reunited with an old friend in Barbara, the two of them constantly swapping old stories and reminding each other of former acquaintances.
It was hard not to keep smiling, Rose thought, her lips permanently stuck in a bow shape all Christmas Day. But how could she not be floating on air? Nick had knocked quietly on her door after midnight, and she’d let him in with pleasure, their love-making just as passionate as it had been in Scotland, but several decibels lower. Having a parent a-piece in the house with them cramped their style, but Rose thought it was rather nice, biting her lip to stifle her cries, like they were teenagers again …
Later that evening, when her dad and Barbara had sneaked off to some other room to play strip Scrabble – that was what Barbara’s suggestion sounded like, at any rate, though after all the champagne the four of them had consumed, it was possible Rose had misheard – Nick dragged her down onto the rug in front of the Christmas tree, its fairy lights flashing cheerily in the semi-darkness.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he whispered before he kissed her, cradling her in his arms again, just as he had done during the long night.
‘Merry Christmas.’
‘I know this is probably far too soon for you, and this isn’t the most comfortable place in the world for a lengthy conversation, but … I think you may be my happy-ever-after, Rose Mistletoe.’ He tucked a wayward strand of red hair behind her ear, and smiled a little uncertainly. ‘Do you think you could ever feel the same about me? I mean, I know you think of me as an ogre – ’
She was horrified, though her mind was still reeling from what he had just said. I think you may be my happy-ever-after.
‘Good grief, who … who told you that?’
‘Your dad.’ His smile was wry as he lifted a hand to touch the cruel-looking scar on his cheek. ‘Henry’s quite forthright, isn’t he?’
‘Oh God, what did he say to you?’ she whispered, dreading his answer. She was going to kill her dad if he’d said something to Nick that might interfere with this relationship. It wasn’t as though she were seventeen any more, for goodness’ sake, and in need of some fatherly protection. Sweet though it was to have a dad like that, she would probably be tempted to wrap his intestines twice round the Christmas tree if he’d put Nick off her.
‘Nothing I wouldn’t have done in his position. He took me aside in the kitchen earlier; read me the Riot Act on how to treat you, and then detailed exactly what would happen to me if I made you unhappy, et cetera.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Nick smiled, shaking his head. ‘No need. It was rather touching.’
‘Really?’ She nodded to his scar. ‘You, erm, never did tell me how you got that,’ she said, trying to distract him from the whole embarrassing ‘Dad talk’ thing.
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Come on, then. Don’t keep me in suspenders.’
He grinned. ‘Hmm, sounds interesting.’
‘Tell me!’
‘I’m afraid it’s nothing glamorous or shocking,’ he said, with a touch of chagrin. ‘Not a bar fight or a car crash. I decided to climb a tall pine at Ben Glassie, that’s all. It went pretty well. Until I missed my footing on the way down and reached the ground rather faster than intended.’ He made a face, touching his scar again. ‘I hit my face against a branch, cut my cheek open. There was a lot of blood, and I needed stitches. I could have had plastic surgery, but frankly, I thought I’d keep the scar.’
‘Why?’
He hesitated, then said slowly, ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps because surgery would have felt too much like cheating? Whatever else I may be, I’m not a cheat.’ His lids partly dropped over his eyes, hiding his expression. ‘For the same reason, perhaps, that I stood and let your father berate me like that. Not entirely a pleasant experience. But his rant made me stop and think seriously about what we’re doing.’
‘Did it?’ She could barely breathe now, watching him. ‘And what did you decide, Nick? Wh-what are we doing?’
‘I think we’re falling in love. Or maybe that should be a past tense. I think that we’ve fallen in love.’ He kissed her lips very gently. His nose touched hers as he whispered, ‘And I’m ecstatic about it.’
Rose wanted to speak, but she was so happy, her chest hurt and her eyes were like tiny watering pots, one joyful tear running down her cheek and rolling saltily into the corner of her mouth.
‘Oh.’
‘Is that all you can say?’
‘Oh … Oh …’
His eyebrow crooked. ‘Rose Mistletoe, I demand a more comprehensive and satisfying response than that feeble “Oh!” And if you can’t furnish me with one in the next sixty seconds, I may be forced to take steps.’
‘Steps?’ Her hand was stroking the back of his head for some reason. ‘That sounds … extreme. What kind of steps?’
‘There may be squeezing involved. And cuddling. And possibly some strenuous foreplay.’
‘Goodness.’
‘Followed promptly by intercourse.’
‘Social intercourse?’
‘Sexual.’
‘Oh.’
That dark brow flicked upwards again in mock displeasure. ‘I’m warning you now. I’m serious about this.’
‘How serious?’
‘To have-and-to-hold; for better, for worse; in sickness … ’ Nick paused, staring down into her eyes.
‘And in health,’ she finished in a whisper.
‘Precisely.’
She blinked, suddenly aware that he was very still and no longer smiling. ‘Nick Grimsby, are you … Is it possible that you’re asking me to … ?’
‘Rose Mistletoe,’ he said solemnly, ‘will you marry me?’
‘But we hardly – ’
‘I’m in love with you. And I’m pretty sure – arrogant, tycoon narcissism aside – that you’re in love with me too. Aren’t you?’
She could not deny it. Nor did she want to. She nodded silently.
‘So why wait?’ he asked softly, one finger stroking her damp cheek and wiping away her tears.
She thought about it.
‘Why indeed?’ Rose said in the end, her voice a little unsteady, and smiled at Nick like she had never smiled before. ‘Yes.’