The Man She Married (ARC)

by Alison James

  ‘Wow,’ he says, when I stop at the front gate. ‘Is this you?’

  ‘This is me.’

  He takes in the handsome Edwardian terrace with its ornate gable end and carved wooden porch, the ornamental cherry trees in the front garden.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind if I don’t ask you in. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course not.’ He adjusts his position so that the unsettling eyes are looking right at me, pale in the street light. With my heels on, we’re more or less the same height. ‘But is it okay if I kiss you?’

  I don’t answer, but he runs his thumb over my lips anyway before pressing his own mouth against them, not too softly, not too hard. It’s not a sloppy kiss, nor a dry one. His lips are warm and pliable, and they taste of the sweet dessert wine. Just as I’m starting to respond, he pulls back fractionally, teasing me before going in again with his lips slightly parted. His hand is just above the waistband of my jeans, and his fingers move gently across a patch of bare skin as he kisses me once more, making me shiver with pleasure. I return the kiss with more fervour now, and once again he backs off imperceptibly before reapplying pressure, sending a little coil of desire through my insides.

  Did you snog?

  JoJo texts later, when Dominic has left and I’m upstairs kicking off the heels and wriggling out of my jeans. I grin happily at my phone screen as I type a reply.

  Only the most amazing kiss I’ve ever had.

  Perhaps I should have told JoJo the kiss was life-changing. Because my life was about to change, and in ways I could never have imagined.

  Four

  Alice

  Then

  I don’t see it coming.

  Even though all the telltale clichés are there – New Year’s Eve, a rooftop cocktail bar, a waiter bringing a ‘special’ dessert over, just for me – I fail to twig.

  It’s only when the waiter has lifted off the silver cloche and I’ve dutifully hammered on the chocolate dome beneath it with the back of a spoon, urged on by Dominic, that I realise what’s going on. The chocolate splinters fall away to reveal not ice cream or meringue, but a small red velvet-covered box.

  ‘It isn’t…?’ I’m genuinely shocked. ‘It can’t be!’

  Dominic is grinning. ‘You won’t know what it is or isn’t until you open it, you silly coot!’

  I prise open the lid to reveal a sparkling object against a bed of white satin. Carefully, I lift out the ring and hold it up. The fairy lights and candles refract the shimmering diamond into a thousand dancing points of light.

  ‘Wow!’ I breathe. ‘Dom!’

  ‘You’re supposed to try it on.’ He leans over and slides the platinum band onto the third finger of my left hand.

  ‘It’s an engagement ring?’ I ask stupidly.

  ‘Of course it is. What else would it be?’

  ‘Only, I don’t remember you asking me,’ I say, with mock coyness. ‘Technically, a lady can’t say yes unless she’s been asked the question.’

  I’m relieved that he doesn’t drop to one knee in the midst of the tipsy New Year revellers. Instead, he leans forward and takes hold of my fingertips with his. ‘Alice Palmer – will you marry me?’

  I hesitate a few seconds, still reeling from the shock of it all. We’ve only been together a few months, after all. ‘Yes,’ I say, still a little uncertain, because that feels like the only possible answer, here on this roof terrace, on our first ever New Year’s Eve.

  Then he leans in and kisses me, and I surrender to it, to the whole thing. Because no one can kiss like Dominic Gill.

  Even now, that particular skill of his can take my breath away.

  * * *

  After that first, spectacular kiss, Dominic left it thirty-six hours before contacting me again. Rationally, I knew that this was a completely acceptable interval, but to my slight surprise I spent every minute of it with a constant gnawing in my stomach, feeling my heart start to pound each time I heard my phone buzz. This was the first time since Alex that I’d actually felt something – anything – and I really, really wanted to see him again.

  So when Dominic did eventually text to ask if I have plans for the following weekend, my first reaction was relief. There had been a spark between us; I wasn’t just some desperate, needy singleton imagining things.

  On our second date, we went for a walk on Primrose Hill, then cocktails and bowling in the evening, followed by more of the spectacular kissing. The third time we met, it was for a cinema trip, and this time I asked Dom back to the house. He stayed the night and, to my delight, the sex was as spectacular as the kissing.

  Over the next few weeks we saw more and more of each other until we were spending nearly every night together. Always at my house in Waverley Gardens; Dominic’s flatmate was a slob, he explained, and the place was constantly in a mess. His plans to move elsewhere were rarely mentioned, other than with a vague, ‘I guess I should start looking’. When I pressed him about it, he claimed that his hours at Ellwood Archer made viewings impossible.

  ‘We could look together, at weekends,’ I offered. ‘I’m happy to help you.’

  ‘Thanks, Ally.’ His tone was non-committal. ‘After Christmas, maybe.’

  We spent Christmas apart; me with my brother David and his girlfriend in Surrey, and Dominic up north with his mother. He messaged me frequently, claiming to be bored to death, and that his mother’s cooking was horrible. Our first meeting after the festive break was on the rooftop at New Year’s Eve.

  The night Dominic proposed.

  * * *

  ‘Bloody hell, he’s a quick worker,’ JoJo says when I summon her to an emergency debrief at Bean & Beaker. ‘You guys only met a few weeks ago!’

  ‘We’ve been dating three months, actually. And we first met a month before that.’

  She scrunches her nose. ‘Even so, that’s pretty quick work.’

  I shrug. ‘I suppose so. I certainly wasn’t expecting it.’

  I hold up the square-cut diamond, turning my hand this way and that as if to demonstrate that I, the affianced woman, can’t quite believe it.

  ‘But you said yes, though,’ JoJo observes. ‘So presumably you want to marry him?’

  ‘I do…’

  JoJo takes a mouthful of coffee, setting her cup down in the saucer and leaning forward to force eye contact. ‘I’m sensing a “but”.’

  ‘I don’t know, it all just…’ I flutter my hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘Meeting him… everything… it all just came out of nowhere. Literally. I stepped into a lift and there he was. How crazy is that?’

  ‘Pretty crazy,’ agrees JoJo, skimming the foam off her coffee and licking the spoon.

  ‘I mean, after years of being with Alex, thinking I’m going to marry him, getting almost to the altar and my whole future falling away, then one day a lift breaks down and I get talking to someone who turns out to be my future husband. Just like that.’ I drink some of my cappuccino. ‘I feel like I’m in a weird time lag where my brain is failing hard to keep pace with events. I mean me, actually planning another wedding. I don’t know, it’s all so… unlikely.’

  JoJo’s brow furrows. ‘But isn’t this what you always wanted? To walk up the aisle in a beautiful white dress? By the way, you could totally recycle the dress you bought before; I won’t tell anyone.’

  I laugh, picking up a teaspoon and stirring rhythmically, even though I don’t take sugar. ‘I think that’s considered a bad omen. Shame, because it’s such a beautiful dress… I suppose I’m freaking out because it’s all happened so fast. Call it romantic imposter syndrome.’

  ‘Listen,’ JoJo reaches out her hand and squeezes mine. ‘I’d be the first to agree that it’s been a whirlwind. But when you think about it, why should that matter? Is it just because you met someone the old-fashioned way, rather than via online dating? Surely that’s better?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And if the sex is great…’

  I give a coy smil
e into my coffee cup.

  ‘And he’s nice to you…’

  ‘Oh he is,’ I affirm with a contented sigh. ‘He’s lovely to me. And great fun.’

  ‘Then don’t spook yourself because someone let you down in the past. That was then, this is now.’

  I’m silent for a beat as I take this in. ‘I think that’s it, you know, JoJo. For so many years I assumed Alex was my forever person, but he wasn’t. Dominic is. I think it’s just hard getting my head round that. That’s what’s unsettling me.’

  JoJo gives an ‘I told you so’ shrug.

  ‘So… two questions: will you be my maid of dishonour?’

  ‘Of course.’ JoJo grins. ‘Is there payment involved?’

  ‘Only alcohol.’

  ‘Deal.’ She thrusts out a hand.

  ‘And the second thing is… will you help me choose my dress?’

  ‘Of course I will, you eejit. It’s part of the maid of honour job description. When are you going to start looking? I guess these things are seasonal… spring brides, and all those clichés.’

  ‘Exactly. The spring stuff will be in the shops now. So it’s perfect.’

  JoJo frowns at me. ‘You’re talking about spring next year, right? 2017?’

  I’m shaking my head. ‘No. This spring. Dom says he doesn’t want to wait.’

  I drain the remains of my coffee, pretending not to have noticed JoJo’s look of dismay.

  * * *

  ‘I may as well properly move in; don’t you think?’

  ‘What – you mean before the wedding?’ I stare at Dominic, not even trying to hide the fact that I’m taken aback. We’re in our favourite gastropub in Fortune Green, on the first Sunday after New Year’s Eve. A fire is blazing in the grate and we’re enjoying a glass of hot punch while we peruse the menu. It consists chiefly of roasted meats of one type or another, and I can never decide between them.

  ‘Yes, of course before the wedding. It’s not the 1950s – no need to wait until you’ve walked down the aisle.’ Dominic looks up from the menu. ‘It’s got to be the roast beef, hasn’t it? Every time.’

  I sip my punch. ‘I was thinking the guinea fowl…’ I focus on the food, unable to explain to my fiancé exactly why I don’t want him moving in straight away. Eventually, yes. But not yet. I need a bit more time to get used to the engagement.

  ‘The fact is, babe, I’m pretty much living at the house already. May as well make it official.’

  I can’t argue with this logic. ‘I suppose so.’

  Sensing my reluctance, Dominic takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers. ‘Are you sure? I’m not going to force it if you’re not ready. Or if it’s about us living together without being married, then we can just bring the wedding forward.’

  I set my glass of punch down on the table. The pub is noisy and I’m not sure I’ve heard correctly. ‘Forward? As in sooner?’

  He laughs at my seriousness. ‘Why not? It’s not like we have big families we need to consider. Tell you what – I’ll go to the registry office tomorrow in my lunch hour and sign for the first appointment they’ve got.’

  I’m already shaking my head firmly. ‘No. Absolutely not. I’m going to need a minimum of three months to organise this wedding. And, even then, we’ll have to keep it simple.’ I can see that I’m not going to be able to put off Dominic moving in, but I’m not going to marry even faster as a consequence. ‘Trust me, that’s an absolute minimum. Most people give themselves twelve to eighteen months.’

  A small wedding is fine, I tell myself. It can still be romantic and stylish.

  Dominic’s already counting on his fingers. ‘January, February, March… we’ll do it in March.’

  ‘Three months takes us to the beginning of April.’

  ‘Aw come on…’ He cuffs me playfully, ruffling my hair. ‘You should be happy that I can’t wait to be your husband. End of March, how about that as a compromise?’

  ‘Fine.’ I grin. ‘You win.’ I open the calendar app on my phone. ‘April first is a Friday. How about that?’

  ‘April Fools’ Day – perfect!’ Dominic tips his glass in a mock salute.

  The waiter comes to take our order, returning a few minutes later with two heaped plates of meat and a tray of vegetable side dishes, which he crams onto our small table.

  I spear a roast potato. ‘You know what you said about not having to worry about family… well, my brother and his girlfriend will definitely be invited. And you must ask your mother and your brother. I’m dying to meet them.’

  Dominic pulls a face. ‘I’m not sure about Mum… her health isn’t great: cardiac problems and high blood pressure. She doesn’t drive, and I’m not sure how she’d cope with the train by herself.’

  ‘Dom!’ I’m genuinely shocked. ‘You’ll have to drive up and fetch her. Take some time off work the week before or something. Or maybe your brother could bring her?’

  ‘I don’t know about that. I haven’t seen him for a couple of years; it would feel a bit weird.’

  ‘Well, ask him, at least. It may solve the problem of getting your mum here, and if he can’t come, or doesn’t want to, at least you’ll have asked.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Dominic shrugs. ‘But where will they stay?’

  ‘In the house, silly! We’ve got four bedrooms: there’s plenty of room.’ I pause midway through serving us both broccoli, taking in his expression. ‘What?’

  ‘I dunno, it would just feel a bit weird. My mum’s a dreadful fusser; it would get right on your nerves. And my brother and I are like strangers… it would make for a tense atmosphere. I don’t want you being stressed playing hostess in the days running up to your own wedding, sweetie; it’s not fair.’

  ‘Fine, then we can book them into a hotel.’

  ‘Sure.’ He nods. ‘That’s probably a better idea.’

  ‘Will you do it, or shall I? Only we ought to sort it soon: decent places in central London get booked up.’

  Dominic smiles at me and kisses me on the forehead. ‘I’ll take care of all that; don’t you worry. You just concentrate on looking a million dollars.’

  Five

  Alice

  Then

  We marry at midday on 1 April, at Marylebone Town Hall.

  Things are not straightforward, but then when does a wedding ever go without a hitch? Firstly, there’s the issue of the dress. Our time frame is too tight for me to have something made to measure, so I order from an online supplier of nearly new dresses. On 14 March I receive an email informing me that the parcel containing the dress has been shipped. Over a week later, it still hasn’t arrived. I frantically call and email the company that sold it, the courier company, and any neighbours who might have received it by mistake, but it’s no use. Four days before my wedding I’m forced to accept that my dress has gone missing. The supplier offers to ship a replacement, but I no longer trust the process and demand a refund instead. Which leaves JoJo and me frantically scouring local wedding dress shops for a sale sample, with just two days to go. I can’t find anything that I like, that’s also going to fit me properly.

  ‘You realise what this means?’ JoJo says, as I have a Bridezilla meltdown in the middle of Chiltern Street. ‘You’re going to have to dig the Philippa Lepley out of the attic.’

  ‘I can’t!’ I wail. ‘I bought that dress to marry Alex. It’s bad luck.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ JoJo says briskly. ‘If you’d actually worn it down the aisle, maybe, but you never even got as far as putting it on. And it’s a stunning dress.’

  ‘It is,’ I sigh. ‘I did really love it.’ I correct myself, ‘I do love it. That’s probably why I didn’t sell it afterwards.’

  ‘Well, there you go then: it’s meant to be. Forget all the stuff about omens and wear it. Dominic won’t know unless you tell him. And if he asks, just lie.’

  I manage a smile, inwardly resenting her suggestion that my marriage will accommodate lies so easily. But this is hard for her, I remind myself. Her be
st friend is turning her back on their joint single life. She must feel I’m abandoning her.

  The dress is disaster number one. The second comes on Thursday, the evening before the wedding itself. I’m working my way through a last-minute list while my toenails are being painted a delicate shell pink by a mobile nail technician. Dominic and I are due to meet my future mother-in-law and my new brother-in-law Simon at their hotel, for dinner. It will be the first time I’ve seen either of them.

  ‘Babe…’ Dominic appears in the doorway. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’

  I look up at him, dismayed. Another thing, on top of the lost dress. My mind races through all the things he might be about to say: that the reception venue has cancelled, that there was a mistake with the paperwork that we filed at the registry office. That he’s changed his mind, just like Alex did…

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘I’ve just got off the phone to Simon… Mum’s not going to be able to come. She’s not well.’ He sighs heavily. ‘Her heart’s playing up again.’

  ‘Oh no! Can’t she see how she feels in the morning? If they get up early, they could still make it to London for the ceremony.’

  Dominic shakes his head. ‘She’s been admitted to the local hospital for tests, so…’

  ‘But Simon can still come, though?’

  ‘He says he’s going to stay with Mum. The hospital staff seemed concerned, apparently, so he didn’t feel he could just up and leave.’

  My face falls. Meeting Dominic’s family – establishing that connection with his past – was to be an important part of the celebrations for me.