Fairytale Christmas: Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto / Her Holiday Prince Charming / A Princess by Christmas

‘You’ve got a proper job,’ he reminded her, ‘at least until Christmas. I’ll sub you until the end of the week.’

‘You’re really going to let me work here?’

‘Why not? You seem to have nothing better to do and an elf with a close personal relationship with Rudolph is a real find. Besides,’ he pointed out, ‘you owe Pam.’ It wasn’t playing fair, but he was prepared to use every trick in the book to keep her safe. Keep her close.

‘Pam might have other ideas if she knew the truth,’ she reminded him as she opened a carton of milk, poured a little into each mug. ‘What is the going rate for an elf?’

He told her.

‘Sorry…’ she was going to turn him down? ‘…that’s actually not bad, but even so I wouldn’t be able to afford your prices.’

‘There’s a generous staff discount,’ he said.

‘For temps?’

‘I’m a temp, too.’ Long-term, until death us do part…

‘Are you?’ For a moment it was all there in her eyes. The questions that were piling up, but when he didn’t answer all she said was, ‘I bet you’re on a better hourly rate than me.’

She handed him one of the mugs and turned to lean back against the counter to sip at her tea. He could feel the warmth of her body and he wished he’d taken her advice, taken off his jacket so that there was only his shirt sleeve between them.

‘I wonder what happened to the real elf?’ she said after a moment. ‘The one from Garlands.’

‘Maybe, given time to think about it, she didn’t want to spend December in a windowless basement,’ he said, sipping at his own tea and deciding there were more interesting ways of heating up his, her lips. How close had they been to a kiss on the stairs? An inch, two?

‘Maybe. Or maybe, when it started to snow, she decided she’d rather go home and make a snowman.’

‘Is that what you’d have done, Lucy?’

‘Me? Fat chance. Every minute of every day is fully booked. Or it was. This afternoon I had a meeting with a wedding designer to explore ideas for my fantasy wedding.’

‘It may still happen,’ he said, glancing down at her, the words like ashes in his mouth.

‘Nope. The word “fantasy” is the clue. It means illusory. A supposition resting on no solid ground.’

He wanted to tell her that he was sorry. But it would be a lie and actually she didn’t look that upset. The brightness in her green eyes was not a tear but a flash of anger.

‘So what should you be doing this evening? If you weren’t here, tearing my life’s work to shreds.’

‘Now?’ She pulled a face. ‘I should be gussied up in full princess mode for a gala dinner at the Ritz, to celebrate the unveiling today of Lucy B.’

‘With you as the star? Well, obviously, that would have been no fun,’ he teased.

‘Not nearly as much as you’d think. Speeches, smug PR men and endless photographs,’ she said. ‘Being an elf beats it into a cocked hat.’

‘So you’re saying that your day hasn’t been a total write-off?’

‘No,’ she said, looking right at him. ‘Hand on my heart, I’d have to say that my day hasn’t been a total write-off.’

Any other woman and he’d have said she was putting a brave face on it, but something in her expression suggested that she was in earnest.

‘Shame about the snowman, though,’ she said, turning away as if afraid she’d revealed more of herself than she’d intended. She abandoned her mug. ‘It doesn’t often snow in London, not like this. I hope the missing elf did seize the day and go out to play.’

‘It’s not too late.’

‘Too late for what?’

‘To go out to play.’ And where the hell had that come from? ‘Build a snowman of your own.’

‘Nathaniel!’ she protested, but she was laughing and her eyes, which he’d seen filled with fear, mistrust, uncertainty, were now looking out at the falling snow with a childlike yearning and, crazy as it was, he knew he’d said the right thing. And, as if to prove it, she put a hand behind her head, a hand on her hip, arched a brow and, with a wiggle that did his blood pressure no good, said, ‘Great idea, honey, but I haven’t got a thing to wear.’

‘Honey,’ he replied, arching right back at her. ‘You seem to be forgetting that I’m your fairy godmother.’

Before he could think about what he was going to do, he caught her hand and raced up the stairs with her.

The emptiness hit him as he opened the door, bringing him to an abrupt halt. Lucy was right. This wasn’t a bedroom, it was a mausoleum. And that hideous rose…

‘Nathaniel…’ Her voice was soft behind him, filling the room with life, banishing the shadows. Her warm fingers tightened on his as if she understood. ‘It doesn’t matter. Leave it.’

‘No. Seize the day,’ he said, flinging open the door to the dressing room with its huge walk-in wardrobe filled with plastic-covered ghosts. The colours muted. No scent. Nothing.

He pulled off covers, seeking out warm clothes. Trousers. He pulled half a dozen pairs from hangers. A thick padded jacket. Opened drawers, hunting out shirts, socks. Sweaters. Something thick, warm…

As his hand came down on thistledown wool, it seemed to release a scent that had once been as familiar as the air he breathed and, for a moment, he froze.

Carpe diem.

The words mocked him.

When had he ever seized the day? Just gone for it without a thought for the consequences; been irresponsible? Selfish? Maybe when he’d been eighteen and told his father that he wasn’t interested in running a department store, that he was going to be an architect?

Had it taken all the courage, all the strength he possessed to defy, disappoint the man he loved, that he had never been able to summon up the courage to do it again?

‘Nathaniel, this is madness,’ Lucy called from the bedroom. ‘I can’t go outside. I don’t have any shoes.’

He picked up the sweater, gathered everything else she was likely to need, including a pair of snow boots that he dropped at her feet, doing his best to ignore her wiggling toes with their candy nails.

‘They’ll be too big,’ she protested.

‘Wear a couple of pairs of socks.’ Then, ‘What are you waiting for? It’ll all have disappeared by morning.’

‘Madness,’ she said, but she leapt to her feet and gave him an impulsive hug that took his breath away. She didn’t notice, was already grinning as she began to tug the tunic over her head, offering him another glimpse of those full, creamy breasts, this time encased in gossamer-fine black lace.

Breathless? He’d thought he was breathless?

‘Downstairs in two minutes,’ he said, beating a hasty retreat.

Chapter Eight

LUCY scrambled into a shirt that didn’t quite do up across the bust. Trousers that didn’t quite meet around the waist, were too long in the leg. It was crazy stupid. But in a totally wonderful way.

She picked up the thistledown sweater, held it to her cheek for a moment, trying to catch a hint of the woman—thinner, taller than her—who’d owned it. What was she to Nathaniel? Where was she?

Nothing. Not even a trace of scent.

Relieved, she pulled it over her head. It was baggy and long enough to cover the gaps. She tucked the trousers into a pair of snow boots that swallowed the excess and the feather-light down-filled coat, the kind you might wear on a skiing holiday, had room enough to spare.

Hat, scarf.

She didn’t bother to check her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t need confirmation that she looked a mess. Some things it was better not to know. Instead, she picked up the gloves and, leaving behind her a room that no longer looked cold but resembled the aftermath of a jumble sale, she stomped down the stairs in her too-big boots.

By the time she’d re-applied lipstick to protect her lips from the cold, picked up her phone and purse, Nathaniel was impatiently pacing the living room.

‘Two minutes, I said!’

About to reiterate that this was madness, the words died on her lips. He’d abandoned the pinstripes for jeans, a jacket similar to the one she was wearing. The focused, controlled businessman had been replaced by a caged tiger scenting escape.

‘Yes, boss,’ she said cheekily, pulling on her gloves as they used the private lift which took them straight to the underground car park.

He boosted her up into the seat of a black Range Rover, climbed up beside her.

‘Better duck down,’ he said as they approached the barrier.

‘You don’t think…?’

‘Unlikely, but better safe than sorry.’

The traffic was light; no one with any sense would be out in this weather unless is was absolutely necessary.

‘I think you might be optimistic about it thawing by morning,’ she said.

‘Want to risk leaving it for another day?’

‘No way!’

‘Thought not.’

Neither of them spoke again until he’d driven through Hyde Park and parked near the Serpentine Bridge.

‘Oh, wow,’ she said, staring across the utterly still, freezing waters of the lake. The acres of white, disappearing into the thick, whirling snow. ‘Just…wow,’ again as she unclipped the seat belt, opened the door, letting in a flurry of snow.

She didn’t stop to think, but slid down, spun around in it, grinning as Nathaniel caught her hand and they ran across the blank canvas, leaving their footprints in the snow.

She picked up a handful and flung a snowball at him, yelling as he retaliated, scoring a hit as snow found its way inside her jacket.

Lucy was right, Nat thought as they gathered snow, piling it up, laughing like a couple of kids. This was crazy. But in the best possible way. A little bit of magic that, like the kids visiting the grotto, was making a memory that would stay with him.

They rolled a giant snowball into a body, piling up more snow around its base before adding a head.

Drivers, making their way through the park, hooted encouragement but, as Lucy waved back, he caught her hand, afraid that someone might decide to stop and crash their snowman party.

He wasn’t afraid that she’d be recognized. They were far enough from the street lights and the snow blurred everything. It was just that, selfishly, he didn’t want to share it, share her, with anyone.

She looked up, eyes shining, snowflakes sticking to her lashes, the curls sticking out from beneath her hat, clinging for a moment to her lips before melting against their warmth.

‘Are we done?’ he said before he completely lost it and did in reality what he’d imagined in his head a dozen times: kiss her senseless. Or maybe that was him. The one without any sense. ‘Is it big enough?’

‘Not it. She. Lily.’

‘A girl snowman?’

She added two handfuls of snow, patting it into shape, giving her curves.

‘She is now.’ She grinned up at him. ‘Equal opportunities for all. Fairy godmothers. Santas. Snowmen. I wish we’d brought some dressing up clothes for her.’

He removed the pull-on fleece hat he was wearing and tucked it onto Lily’s head.

‘Oh, cute,’ she said and draped the scarf she was wearing around her like a stole. Then she took her phone from her pocket and took a picture.

‘Give it to me. I’ll take a picture of both of you.’

She crouched down, her arm around the snow lady, and gave him a hundred watt smile. Then she said, ‘No, wait, you should be in it, too. A reminder of how much trouble you can get into when you catch a stranger on the stairs.’

‘You think?’ he said, folding himself up beside her, holding the phone at arm’s length. ‘Closer,’ he said, putting his arm around her, pulling her close so that her cheek was pressed against his and he could feel her giggling.

‘We must look like a couple of Michelin men.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ he said, turning to look at her. Her eyes were shining, lit up, her mouth just inches from his own in a rerun of that moment on the stairs when the world went away.

Had it ever come back?

He fired off the flash before he forgot all his good intentions.

‘How’s that?’ he said, showing her.

‘Perfect,’ she said, looking over his arm. ‘Can I send them to my diary?’

‘As a reminder of a crazy moment in the snow?’

‘As a reminder that not all men are mendacious rats,’ she said. ‘That once in a while Prince Charming is the real deal.’

‘No…’ Not him. Wrong fairy tale. He was the Beast, woken by Beauty from a long darkness of the soul.

But she had fallen back in the snow, laughing as she swept her arms up and down to make a snow angel.

‘Come on. You too,’ she urged, laughing, and he joined in, sweeping his arms up and down until their gloved hands met. He looked across at her, lying in the snow, golden curls peeping out from beneath her hat, laughing as the huge flakes settled over her face, licking them from her lips.

‘What do they taste of?’ he asked.

She didn’t hesitate. ‘Happiness.’ And then she looked at him. ‘Want to share?’

She didn’t wait for his answer, but rolled over so that her body bumped into his, her face above him.

There were moments—rare moments, perfect moments—when the world seemed to pause on its axis, giving you an extra heartbeat of time.

It had happened when he’d caught her on the stairs and, as her laughing lips touched his, a simple gift, and cold, wet, minty-sweet happiness seeped through him, warming him with her passionate grasp on life, it happened again, more, much more than any imagined kiss.

The world stood still and he seized the moment, lifting his hands to cradle her head, slanting his mouth against hers as the warmth became an inferno hot enough to touch the permafrost that had invaded his soul.

Her kitten eyes were more gold than green as she raised her lids. Then touched her lips to his cheek, tasted them with her tongue.

‘One of us is crying,’ she said.

He rubbed a gloved thumb over her cheek. ‘Maybe we both are.’

‘With happiness,’ she declared.

‘Or maybe it’s just our eyes watering with the cold. I need to stand up before my butt freezes to the ground.’ And, before he could change his mind, he lifted her aside, stood up.

‘I’ve messed up your snow angel,’ she said as he reached out a hand to help her to her feet.

‘That’s okay. I’m no angel,’ he said.

‘Who is?’

‘If I had a Christmas tree, I’d put you on top of it,’ he said and, beyond helping himself, he touched his knuckles to her cheek, kissed her again. Just a touch, but somehow more intense for its sweetness. A promise…‘Do you want a picture of your angel?’ he asked, forcing himself to take a step back.

‘Please.’ Then, as if she, too, needed to distract herself from the intensity of the moment, ‘I don’t suppose you have such a thing as a piece of paper?’

He searched through his pockets, found an envelope. ‘Will this do?’

‘Perfect.’ And, using a lipstick, she wrote in big block capitals: LUCYB WOZ HERE!

She propped it on the front of the snow lady, put out her hand for the phone and took a snap.

‘Great. Tweet time, I think,’ she said, pulling off her glove with her teeth and, struggling with cold fingers, keyed in a message.

Thanks for the good vibes, tweeps. Here’s a tweetpic, just to let you know that I’m safe. #findLucyB LucyB, Wed 1 Dec 22:43

Lucy lifted the phone, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘What do you think? Will that have them all running around in the snow?’

‘Is that the plan?’ he asked as she pressed ‘send’.

‘I don’t have a plan,’ she said, lifting her hand to his cheek, pressing her lips against it. Then, as she looked up at him the smile died, ‘Thank you, Nathaniel.’

‘I should be thanking you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be inside going through the daily sales figures instead of finding my inner child.’

‘Inside in the warm,’ she said, turning away to give the snow lady a hug. ‘Stay cool, Lily.’ Then she looked up. ‘It’s stopped snowing.’

‘I told you. It’ll all be gone by tomorrow. Everything will be back to normal.’

‘Will it?’

She sounded less than happy at the prospect. Which made two of them.

‘We’ve still got tonight. Are you hungry?’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Absolutely starving.’

Diary update: Fun and frolics in the park with Nathaniel. I didn’t see that coming and neither, I suspect, did he. I have to admit that making a snowman—snow lady—in the park at ten o’clock at night in a blizzard is probably not the most sensible thing I’ve ever done. And it’s getting hard to top the stupid ones I’ve done today.

And then he kissed me. No, wait, I kissed him. We kissed each other. Lying in the snow.

‘I know what this is all about, you know.’ Lucy gave him a sideways grin as they stood on the Embankment overlooking the river, tucking into hot dogs. ‘Why we’re having hot dogs. You just don’t want all that nasty bright yellow eggy, cheesy stuff in your kitchen.’

‘It’s not that.’

Nat took out his phone and snapped her as she sucked a piece of onion into her mouth.

‘Hey, not fair!’

‘One more for your fans,’ he said, lifting it out of reach as she made a grab for it. ‘The truth of the matter, Lucy B, is that I couldn’t make an omelette to save my life.’

For some reason she seemed to think that was funny.

They’d laughed a lot.

She’d laughed at a couple of outrageous Santa incidents he’d shared from way back in the history of the store. He’d laughed at her stories about a day-care nursery where she’d worked. It was obvious how much she loved the children she’d worked with. From a momentary wistfulness in her look, how much she missed them.

As she’d talked, laughed, all the strain had seeped out of her limbs and her face and she’d told him enough about her character—far more than she realised—to reassure him that she was on the level.

‘Actually, this is great. Crazy perfect.’ She bumped shoulders with him. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said, wrapping his arm around her waist, wanting to keep her close. And it was. Golden curls peeped out from beneath her hat, framing a face lit up, almost translucent in the lamplight.

And, as the strain had eased from her face, the knots deep in his own belly had begun to unravel, at least until that second kiss. At which point they had been replaced by a different kind of tension.

‘I hope the missing elf had as much fun as we have,’ she said. ‘I owe her a lot.’

‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I’ll check with HR first thing to see if there were any messages. Deflect any problems.’

‘Why?’ she asked, her tongue curling out to catch an errant onion. ‘Why would you do that? Any of this?’

Good question.

She looked up. ‘What happened, Nathaniel? On the stairs.’

Another good question.

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. That something had happened—something momentous—was beyond doubt. ‘I can tell you why I noticed you.’

‘That’s a start.’

‘It was your hair…The way it seemed to float around your head like a halo. It reminded me of someone.’

Quite suddenly, Lucy lost her appetite. What had she expected him to say? That he’d been captivated at a glance. Lie to her? She’d had enough lies to last her a lifetime.

‘The woman these clothes belong to?’ she asked, pushing it.

‘Claudia. Her name was Claudia. She was my cousin’s wife.’

‘You were in love with her?’ Stupid question. Of course he was.

‘We both were. I met her at university, dated her, but when I brought her home she met Christopher and after that it was always him. It didn’t stop Chris obsessing that we were having an affair when we worked together on the store design.’

She lifted her hand to the bruise at her temple, gently rubbing her fingers over the sore spot, remembering his concern.

‘He was abusive,’ she said.

‘I believe so. She used to brush aside any concern, say she bruised at a touch. Was always walking into things. Maybe she was. She wasn’t eating properly, fighting an addiction to tranquillisers. Then one day I caught her running, terrified. I held her,’ he said. ‘Just held her, begged her to leave him. Not for me. For herself. And then Chris caught up with her, held out his hand to her and, without a word, she took it. Walked away with him. It was as if she had no will.’ He glanced at her. ‘It was just the hair, Lucy. You’re not a bit like her.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m shorter, fatter…’ He frowned and she rushed on, ‘You’re talking about her in the past tense.’

‘There was an accident. Chris always drove too fast, even though he knew it terrified her. Probably because it terrified her. It’s all about control, isn’t it?’ He looked away for a moment, but then looked back. ‘She died instantly. He’s in a wheelchair, paralysed from the neck down.’

She shivered, but not with the cold, and he turned to her, put his arms around her. Held her. Just as he’d held Claudia, she thought and, much as she wanted to stay there, in his arms, she pulled away.

‘I have no reason to protect Rupert Henshawe, Nathaniel. He does not control me.’

‘Doesn’t he?’ He shook his head, as if he knew the answer. ‘Reason has nothing to do with it,’ he said. Then, before she could deny it, ‘It was my fault. I should never have come back. Never accepted the commission.’

‘Why did you?’

‘Family. Guilt. I turned my back on family tradition and it broke my father’s heart. It was a way to make up for that.’

‘And, after the accident, you stepped in to look after things?’

‘There was no one else.’

‘No one else called Hart, maybe. Is Christopher punishing you for what happened to him?’ she asked. ‘Or are you punishing yourself for not saving Claudia?’ He didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t know the answer. ‘Who is it who leaves the rose, Nathaniel?’

‘That’s enough, Lucy,’ he said sharply.

‘It’s him, isn’t it? A daily reminder that she loved him. He can’t abuse his wife any more, frighten her, hurt her, because she’s beyond his reach,’ she continued, recklessly ignoring the warning. ‘So he’s abusing you instead.’

There was a long moment of silence.

So not bright, Lucy Bright.

Blown it, Lucy Bright.

And then he touched her cheek with his cold hand. A gesture that said a hundred times more than words.

‘Bright by name, bright by nature. Good guess, but you’re not entirely right. I’m punishing myself for failing to protect her. But I’m punishing him, too. Even while it gives him pleasure to know that I’ve been jerked back into the family business, robbed of something I loved, at the same time it’s eating him alive to know that I’m in control. In his place.’

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