Fiona Harper - Blind-Date Marriage

Long-stemmed candlesticks flanked

an arrangement of fresh flowers in the

center. Never in Serena’s wildest dreams

had she imagined a man would pamper

her so. Jake must be really serious about

her. The ramifications of that thought

made her heart skip a little faster.

The most she’d ever got from a boyfriend before was a packet of peanuts thrown across the pub table after he’d been to the bar. In her experience, musicians who knew she had a rich father didn’t bother frittering their hard-earned cash on her. Quite the opposite. But it wasn’t the quality of Jake’s chinaware that impressed her. It had taken time and careful thought to create all this—just for her. It was utterly seductive.

Jake was shaping up to be Mr. Right.

FIONA HARPER

As a child, Fiona Harper was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book or living in a dream world. Things haven’t changed much since then, but at least in writing she’s found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer, before trading in that career for video editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started preschool she found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten love—writing.

Fiona lives in London, but her other favorite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland and the Kent countryside on a summer’s afternoon. She loves cooking, good food and anything cinnamon flavored. Of course, she still can’t keep away from a good book, or a good movie—especially romances—but only if she’s stocked up with tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favorite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.

Blind-Date Marriage is Fiona’s debut novel.

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For the unknown man I soaked while driving through a puddle

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JAKE knew only two things about the woman he was going to meet: her name was Serena and her father had money.

Serena.

Sounded kind of horsey. She probably wore jodhpurs. Mel had refused to comment on whether she was pretty or not, so she probably looked like a horse as well. He could see it so clearly: the gymkhana trophies, the chintzy bedroom. Serena wore her mousy hair in a bun and had too many teeth.

He stepped off the kerb of the busy London street and zigzagged through the gaps in the traffic. Headlights lit up his knees as he squeezed between the bumpers. A horn blared.

That was why he liked to walk. It gave him a sense of freedom in the midst of the cloying traffic. He wasn’t about to take orders from anyone, especially not a pole with coloured lights on top.

Once on the pavement again, he stopped to shake the drizzle off his hair. It was more mist than rain, only visible in the orange haloes of the street lamps, but somehow he was wetter than if he’d been hit by big, splashing drops. He was going to look less than perfect when he arrived at the restaurant.

His long strides slowed as he contemplated the evening ahead. Should he be marching this briskly towards the unknown? Probably not. But he wasn’t going to be late. He speeded up to his former tempo. This evening he would be polite, he would be charming, and then he would be high-tailing it out of there as fast as possible.

As long as Serena didn’t have a horsey laugh to match her appearance, he could endure the temptation of the pocket-sized window in the restaurant toilet. At least he hoped there was a window. Just for emergencies.

He should have checked.

In future he would do a reconnaissance of any potential venues when forced on blind dates by his meddling little sister.

Not that there was going to be a next time if he could help it.

He was still a bit hazy about how she’d talked him into going on this one. Mel had rung him at work and slipped it into the conversation while he was studying a balance sheet and saying ‘mmm’ and ‘yup’ at suitable intervals. Before he knew it, he was meeting a total stranger for drinks and dinner at Lorenzo’s.

One day he would have to put his foot down with Mel. She’d been able to wind him round her little finger ever since she’d bestowed her very first smile on him. He was pretty sure she knew he hadn’t been listening when she’d arranged this date. Most likely she’d planned the exact timing of her call to maximise his suggestibility.

He cut through a little park in the centre of the square rather than keeping to the busy street. It was a refreshing change from the unrelenting grey of the city. Not that there was much green within the park’s wrought-iron railings at this time of year.

At least it smelled like November—acorns and rotting leaves. He took a deep breath and savoured the warm, earthy aroma. That was when he became aware of the tramp, more noticeable by his body odour than his appearance. He might easily have taken him for a forgotten coat on the bench otherwise.

The old man was oblivious to the rain. Saliva trailed from his open mouth down his chin, and the wind rolled an empty beer can to and fro beneath the bench. Jake removed the copy of the Financial Times from under his arm and spread a few pages over the man’s shoulders and torso, making sure he didn’t accidentally touch his coat. Hopefully, by the time the pages were wet through, the old guy would be sober enough to move himself somewhere drier.

He hurried through the park gate and re-entered the rush hour. The restaurant was only a few minutes away now. He didn’t go in for that kind of place much. Lorenzo’s was an odd choice for horsey old Serena.

According to the brief review he’d read on the internet, the restaurant was a small, family-run affair—nothing special in his book. He preferred places that were obviously exclusive now he could afford them. Give him women with diamonds, men with fat wallets and waiters that bowed any day.

However, the food was supposed to be tasty, and the critic had raved about a cannelloni dish. Not that it would make any difference to Serena. She was probably going to push a couple of lettuce leaves drenched in balsamic vinegar round her plate and complain about how everything went to her rather expansive hips.

The escape window was sounding more tempting with every step. Perhaps he should pop round the back and check the exact dimensions before he went inside?

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t see the blocked drain. He didn’t see the deep puddle that had collected over the top of it. He also didn’t see the sports car driving up behind him.

He did, however, see the great tidal wave as car met puddle. He watched, helpless, as in slow motion tendrils of spray reared up and soaked him from head to foot.