Scarlet Wilson - A New Year Bride

But the truth was nothing helped. Nothing filled the aching hole that her grandmother’s death had left.

A card had arrived from her mother. The irony killed her. It was a personalised card with a photo of her mum with her new husband, Ken, and their two sons on the front. They were suitably dressed for a Christmas in Florida. It wasn’t meant to be a message. But it felt like it.

Her mother had moved on—playing happy families on another continent. She’d found her happy ever after. And it didn’t include Grace. It never had.

She received the same store gift card each year. Impersonal. Polite. The sort of gift you sent a colleague you didn’t know that well—not the sort of gift you sent your daughter.

As she rode the Tube this morning people seemed to be full of Christmas spirit. It was Christmas Eve. Normally she would be full of Christmas spirit too.

But the sight of happy children bouncing on their parents’ knees, couples with arms snaked around each other and stealing kisses, only seemed to magnify the effect of being alone.

Tonight, she’d go home to that dark flat.

Tonight, she’d spend Christmas Eve on her own. There was no way she could speak to any of the girls. They were all too busy wrapped up in their own lives, finding their own dreams, for Grace to bring them down with her depressed state.

The train pulled into the station and she trudged up the stairs to work.

This time last year her stomach had been fluttering with the excitement she normally felt at Christmas. Christmas Eve was such a special day.

It was for love, for families, for sharing, for fun and for laughter. Tomorrow, she would probably spend the whole day without speaking to a single person. Tomorrow, she would cook a dinner for one.

She’d pushed away every single thought about how she might spend Christmas Day. It had been easier not to think about it at all. That way she could try and let herself be swept along with the spirit of Christmas without allowing the dark cloud hanging above her head to press down on her.

But now, it seemed to have rushed up out of nowhere. It was here and the thought of being alone was just too much.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled. ‘Clio? Are there any shifts tomorrow?’

She could almost hear the cogs whirring in Clio’s brain at the end of the phone. ‘Grace? What’s wrong?’

Grace sucked in a deep breath to try and stop her voice from wobbling. She couldn’t stop the tears that automatically pooled in her eyes. ‘It’s just the time of year…it’s hard,’ she managed.

‘Your gran. You’re missing her. I get it. But do you really want to spend Christmas Day working?’ The compassion in Clio’s voice made her feel one hundred times worse.

‘Yes.’

There was a shuffle of papers. ‘You can work at The Armstrong as normal. There are always lots of shifts at Christmas. I can put you on for that one.’

‘Great, thanks.’ The words came out easier this time; it was almost as if a security blanket had been flung over her shoulders. ‘And, Clio? Congratulations on your engagement. Enjoy your time with Enrique.’

She hung up the phone and sighed. She meant it. She really did. Clio was over the moon with her new relationship and she deserved to be happy.

She changed quickly and started work. The Christmas themed music that she’d chosen was playing quietly in the background everywhere.

Other members of staff were smiling and whistling. No one was rushing today. The whole work tempo seemed to have slowed down for the festive season. And Grace noticed a few sideways glances from people who’d attended the staff party.

Her list was long. Lots of people had the day off. But Grace didn’t care; it would keep her busy and give her less time to think.

It was surprising the amount of guests who checked in and out around Christmas. Something panged inside her again. People coming to visit families and friends.

Eight hours later her hair was back to its semi-normal dishevelled state and she really wanted to get changed. One of the staff called her over. ‘Can you do one more before you knock off tonight? I’m in a bit of a rush.’

Grace pressed her lips together. She knew Sally had four kids and would want to get home to them early. She held out her hand. ‘Of course I will. No problem.’

Sally gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, Grace. Have a great Christmas.’

Grace glanced at the list and her stomach did a little flip-flop. She had The Nottingdale Suite to clean—Finlay’s place. She glanced towards the office. He’d be in there right now. If she was quick—she could get things done and get back out before he knew she was working.

It was a weird feeling. When he’d held her in his arms last night she’d felt…she’d felt…special. A tiny little fire that had been burning inside her for the last few days had just ignited like a firework—only to sputter out again.

The Nottingdale Suite didn’t feel quite so empty as before. One of her Christmas snow globes was sitting on the main table, with a wrapped parcel on the slate kitchen worktop.

Grace couldn’t help but pick it up. It was intricately wrapped in silver paper with curled red ribbon and a tag. The writing was copperplate. Grace smiled. She recognised it immediately and set it down with a smile. Mrs Archer had left a present for Finlay. How nice.

She made short work of cleaning the penthouse. The bathroom, kitchen area, bedroom and lounge were spotless in under an hour.

She stared out for a second over the dark London sky. In a few hours Christmas Eve would be over. By the time she got home, she could go straight to bed then get up early for her next shift. She squeezed her eyes closed for a second.

Please just let this Christmas be over.

‘Grace?’ She was the last person he expected to see at this time of night. ‘What are you doing?’

The words were out before he even noticed the cart next to the doorway.

She jumped and turned around. ‘Finlay.’ The words just seemed to stop there.

She was wearing her uniform again. But in his head she still had on the silver dress from the last night. That picture seemed to be imprinted on his brain. Seared on it, in fact.

She still hadn’t spoken. The atmosphere was awkward.

He wasn’t quite sure how to act around Grace.

That kiss last night had killed any ounce of sleep he might have hoped to get.

His brain couldn’t process it at all. There was no box to put it in.

It wasn’t a fleeting moment with someone unimportant. It hadn’t been a mistake. It wasn’t a wild fling. It hadn’t felt casual. So, what did that leave?

Grace’s eyes left his and glanced at the outside view again—exactly where she’d been staring when he came in. He heard a stilted kind of sigh. She moved over towards the cart.

This wasn’t going to get any easier. Neither of them seemed able to do the casual and friendly hello.

He had a freak brainwave. This was Christmas Eve. Grace was the woman that loved Christmas. No—she lived and breathed Christmas. What on earth was she doing still working?

Grace picked up some of the cleaning materials and shoved them back in her cart. ‘Merry Christmas, Finlay.’ The words were stilted. Was this how things would be now?

‘Merry Christmas, Grace.’ His response was automatic. But something else wasn’t.

The feelings that normally washed around a response like that. Normally they were cold. Harsh. Unfeeling and unmeant.

This was the first time in five years he’d actually meant those words as he said them.

He wanted Grace to have a merry Christmas. He wanted her to enjoy herself.