Winter’s Fairytale

by Maxine Morrey

  Table of contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Title Page

  Author Bio

  Acknowledgement

  Dedication

  Contents

  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

  Copyright

  Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…

  A few weeks before Christmas and a sudden blanketing of snow has closed the roads and brought public transport grinding to a halt, stranding Izzy miles from home and in desperate need of rescuing.

  But that doesn’t mean she’s looking to bump into Rob and spend a cosy weekend holed up in his swanky flat watching London become a winter wonderland! Because Izzy and Rob have history…

  Six months ago, they were standing in the vestry of a beautiful country church, while best man Rob delivered the news that every bride dreads on their big day…

  But at the time of year when anything is possible, can Rob and Izzy let go of the past and let Christmas work its magic? Or will this be one holiday wish that Izzy lets walk right out of her life…

  Winter’s Fairytale

  Maxine Morrey

  www.CarinaUK.com

  MAXINE MORREY

  has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember and wrote her first (very short) book for school when she was ten. Coming in first, she won a handful of book tokens – best prize ever at the time!

  As time went by, she continued to write, but ‘normal’ work often got in the way. Finally though, she really decided to go for it, and wrote. Really wrote. And after a while she had a bunch of articles, and a non-fiction book to her name. But her first love is novels, which is where Carina come in.

  In August 2015, Maxine got the call to say that she had won Carina UK’s ‘Write Christmas’ competition, with a publishing deal being offered as a result. Suffice to say, there was a whole lot of ‘can’t-stop-smiling’ going on for several days following this.

  Maxine lives in Sussex in the UK, with her very supportive husband.

  Her website is: www.scribblermaxi.co.uk

  You can also find her on Twitter @Scribbler_Maxi

  On Facebook www.facebook.com/MaxineMorreyAuthor

  On Instagram @Scribbler_Maxi

  On Pinterest @ScribblerMaxi

  I would like to thank the team at Carina 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.

  For James

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Title Page

  Author Bio

  Acknowledgement

  Dedication

  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

  Copyright

  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. I
t 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.

  ‘Hello?’ a voice called out as the bells above my door tinkled. Damn. I thought I’d locked that after Tash had left. I got up and walked across the studio space, my one indulgent pair of Louboutins clicking hurriedly on the wooden floor.

  ‘Hi!’ I greeted Natayla as she turned back from closing the door against the wind that was once more howling down the street outside my cosy studio.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you. I wasn’t sure you’d still be here at this time but we were passing.’

  ‘Oh I’m often here late.’ I smiled, ‘No bother at all. It’s lovely to see you! How was the honeymoon?’

  ‘Amazing!’ Natayla gushed, ‘Sunsets, sandy beaches, cocktails and relaxing by the pool. We didn’t really do much else.’ she said, then blushed and smiled shyly.

  I smiled back at her and touched her arm gently. ‘I’m glad it all went so well, Natayla.’

  ‘Thank you again for making me look so beautiful.’

  ‘It was my pleasure.’ I answered, honestly.

  ‘I brought you something.’ she said, and handed me a large envelope.

  Opening it, I pulled out a black and white eight-by-ten photograph of Natayla and her new husband. The photo not only screamed at me how much in love they were, but also showed her dress off perfectly.

  ‘Oh Natayla! That’s beautiful. Thank you so much. I shall put it up first thing tomorrow.’

  My client smiled her shy little smile again and I wavered.

  ‘Only if you’re happy with that, of course.’

  ‘Yes! Yes, I am happy. Very happy.’

  ‘Wonderful. Thank you.’

  We exchanged a hug and I walked her over to the door, pausing whilst she pulled on her gloves and hat before I opened it. She stepped out and waved again, before hurrying off to a waiting car and disappearing inside. I shut the door, this time throwing the bolt before turning back.

  I looked at the clock once more, and once more thought that I really should be making a move to go home. That was the problem with living somewhere you didn’t like. You never really wanted to go there. Instead I picked up my tea and wandered over to the wall covered in beautifully framed pictures. Sipping at my drink, I let my gaze drift over the happy smiles and gorgeous dresses. I lay the latest acquisition on Tash’s desk. There was no need for a note. Tash would know what to do with it. She’d been a great find and she was excellent at all the admin side of the business, and with clients, but I still wanted to increase the number of staff. Part of my business plan was to accept an intern. I’d learned so much when I’d done the same thing after getting my degree – about all different aspects of the job, things you just can’t learn in college – and I wanted to give someone else the chance to have that same experience. The thought of going to watch Final Collection shows with the view to employing someone, and then helping to nurture and develop that talent, gave me something to look forward to. My gaze went back to the photograph lying on the desk of the happy couple. The look of joy and love on their faces radiated out of the picture. I touched it briefly, almost as if by doing that I could experience that same joy, just for a moment.

  Taking a deep breath, I took my mug and rinsed it out in the little kitchenette at the back of the studio. I slipped on my coat and belted it before grabbing the oversized leather tote bag I carried everywhere, and headed to the door.

  ***

  ‘When’s it going to stop?’ I asked my best friend, Mags, as I relayed the surprise visit I’d had during the week, ‘Honestly, I feel like the prime exhibit at a zoo! I have absolutely no idea who this woman was. I didn’t even know any of the people she reeled off as having told her the “devastating news” of my being jilted at the altar.’

  ‘Just ignore the old bag.’ Mags said sagely as she refilled my empty wine glass.

  ‘She even pointed out the irony of someone who makes wedding dresses for a living being left at the altar on her own wedding day. I mean, seriously! I felt like suggesting that she should join Mensa because, of course, that thought hasn’t crossed my mind once!’

  ‘Have you heard anything more from him?’

  ‘What, since he left me that thoughtful note saying he was going to go on the honeymoon alone as it “seemed a shame to waste it” and it would be good to “have some space between us”?’ I’d definitely had too much wine as I was doing finger quotes in the air. I never did finger quotes.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’

  That was the good thing about living in London. It was big. You were much less likely to bump into people you knew than if you lived in a village. Of course Steven knew all our old haunts, and seemed to be having the good sense to stay ou
t of them. I imagine he’d heard about my reaction in the church. I knew Rob wouldn’t have said anything out of choice but announcing that the wedding was off whilst trying to stem a steady flow of blood from his nose, together with the obvious lack of a groom, had probably meant that there wasn’t a whole lot of explanation required. Steven was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d likely worked out pretty quickly that going to the places we used to frequent together may lead to the possibility of the term ‘regular haunt’ becoming more literal than figurative for him.

  ‘How are your parents doing?’ Mags asked.

  Mags and I had been friends forever. We were both army brats with our fathers serving in the same battalion, and I couldn’t remember a time when Mags wasn’t my best friend. When it had become clear that Steven wasn’t going to make an appearance at the church, she’d automatically known that the last thing I wanted, or needed, was a crowd of people fussing around me. She’d gone over to my parents, tactfully explained the situation, then sat with them whilst my dad stared at the flower display – silently, likely imagining several different ways to kill Steven with a gerbera – and my mum repeatedly asked how Steven could do such a thing, intermittently dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered linen handkerchief. Of course, had Mags known I was about to deck the best man, she might have altered her strategy.

  ‘They’re ok. Devastated. Concerned. But ok,’ I took a swig of the crisp, cool wine, ‘I think so long as they know I’m all right, they’ll be fine.’

  ‘And are you?’ Mags asked, looking at me directly, knowing I could never give her anything but an honest answer.

  I drained my glass and thought about it. Was I ok?

  ‘Yes. I think so. Now the shock’s worn off. I still have days when I don’t really want to get out of bed, but then my stubborn side kicks in and I think that I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing what a bloody mess he’s caused.’

  Mags nodded. I knew there was another question coming.

  ‘Ok. But what about how you really are? That’s the “showing the world I’m ok” bit taken care of, but how are you inside. Really?’