Maxine Morrey - Winter's Fairytale

Acknowledgement I would like to thank the team at HQ Digital UK/Harlequin, especially Victoria Oundjian, for their support and incredible enthusiasm for this book, and for the validation that this has given me. I’d also like to say thanks to Emma Dellow for her continual support and wise words in my moments of panic and insecurity during the process of writing this book – they were very much appreciated. And finally, I’d like to thank my husband, James, who always had complete faith that I’d get there and because without his support and belief in me, none of this would have happened.

Dedication For James

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

Endpages

About the Publisher

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. Groom-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.