Lisa waved her hand. “Oh, honey. You won’t do that.” She waggled her finger at her. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I have the perfect dress for you right here.”
Lisa frowned at the packed shop. Most of the women she recognized and knew well. Some had even bought their own dresses from her. “How did you manage to pick up this bunch of ragamuffins?”
Emma shrugged. “Just lucky I guess.” She looked around. “They’re part of the Marietta family. So that means they’re the guests at my wedding.”
Lisa smiled as she picked up a dress from the rail. “In that case, come with me.” She winked at the crowd. “The family will have to wait.”
Chapter Sixteen
‡
There was only one person who could give the bride away.
Chris Krinkles looked as if he would burst with pride as he walked her down the aisle in the twilight ceremony on Christmas Eve.
Even wearing dress trousers, a shirt, and velvet jacket, he still looked like Santa Claus. “Aren’t you supposed to be busy?” Emma whispered to him.
He patted her hand. “It’s only six o’clock. Plenty of time for that.”
She was amazed. The minister had agreed to fit in a quick half hour ceremony on the most important night of the year. Both sets of parents and siblings had been disappointed not to make it at short notice, but visits to Australia, Scotland, and California were already planned.
What surprised her even more was how busy their impromptu ceremony was. It seemed as if most of the town of Marietta was crammed into the church. She recognised lots of faces. The staff from the hotel all gave her a wave – some of them still in their uniforms. The twelve ladies from the afternoon tea at The Graff were taking up the first few aisles. A number of school students were giggling near the back, with the school teachers in front of them turning around to shush them.
The townspeople of Marietta had been wonderful. Sage handed out chocolates to everyone at the front door of the church and Kaitlin from Sweet Pea Flowers had made Emma the most amazing red and green bouquet.
As for the dress? Lisa had been so right, it was positively scary. It was simple, yet she felt as if she were wearing something a movie star should wear.
With a straight neck, lace shoulders and long sleeves, a satin bodice and fitted long skirt with tiny train, it was the most elegant dress she’d ever seen – let alone wore.
She hadn’t bothered with a proper headdress or veil. She’d just swept her hair over to one side with some flowers that matched the ones in her bouquet.
Mitch was standing, waiting for her at the bottom of the aisle – exactly where a groom should be standing.
As they reached the front of the church, the minister gave them a little nod. She slipped the wedding ring back off her finger and handed it Mitch.
“Let’s make it official,” she whispered.
“You look stunning.” He smiled.
“You look pretty good yourself.” And he did.
A dark suit and crisp white shirt, finished off with a quirky tartan tie.
The minister gave a little signal. “The groom had a few unusual requests, and, as it’s Christmas, I thought we could oblige.”
The lights in the church dimmed. Emma gasped. Now, the church was only lit by flickering candles and little white stars strung up around the windows.
It made the place look truly magical.
The minister gave another little signal. The sound was sweet and succinct. The little tinkle of silver bells.
Children in the church let out little shrieks. “It’s Santa! It’s Rudolph!” they said excitedly.
Chris gave her a wink.
Mitch leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I thought that somewhere tonight, there could be an angel getting their wings.”
“Christmas magic,” she murmured.
She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.
“Hey!” the minister said. “You have to wait until I tell you to do that.”
Mitch laughed and wrapped his arm around her. “Well, hurry up. This is the Runaway Christmas Bride and I want to catch her before she runs again.”
She put her hand on his chest. “You’re safe. The only place I’m running is straight into your arms.”
The minister smiled. “Good, then let’s begin.”
And so they did to the sound of tiny tinkling bells.
The End
Enjoy an excerpt from
Christmas with the Laird
Scarlet Wilson
Copyright © 2014
It wasn’t even three o’clock and it was already starting to get dark. “Thanks everyone!” All the staff was full of the joys of Christmas thanks to the traditional pub lunch that they always held on the 23rd December – their last day before the holidays.
The tiny pub was packed. The aromas of beer, wine and Christmas lunch were still floating around. Juliette looked around for her jacket. Last time she’d seen it, it had been hanging on a chair that was looped with tinsel. She gave a wave to two of the secretaries who left clutching the obligatory office Christmas dip present of wine. It was like an unwritten rule in the office. Secret Santa = wine. All you had to do was pick a colour.
People were already piling out the door. It was one of the few perks of working for the TV company – Christmas lunch and an early finish. Usually she’d be excited as everyone else. But rushing home to an empty flat with a lop-sided Christmas tree didn’t seem so exciting. Maybe she’d take a walk down Oxford Street and admire all the Christmas decorations again. Or she could fight her way into the foodhalls in an attempt to find some extra chipolata sausages to pad out her Christmas Meal-for-One in a silver tray, oven cooked in twenty minutes. The man next to her in the supermarket last night had been a widower and had patted her hand in sympathy when he saw her purchases had matched his own.
The Christmas music around her was beginning to grate, so she pushed her way through the crowd into the ladies room and washed her hands. There was a gorgeous chocolatier just off Oxford Street. She could go there and buy some chocolates for tonight. Maybe she could even buy a box to wrap up and put under the tree? Then it might actually feel a bit more like Christmas.
There. A positive idea. She turned her head upside down and gave her curls a shake, pinching her cheeks in the mirror to give her some more colour. That was better. It might not be the same as having a tan – but since she couldn’t get the holidays to go to Barbados with the rest of the family this would have to do.
She walked back out into the still-packed pub. A group of guys at the bar had started singing Christmas carols – badly. We wish you a merry Christmas…we wish you a merry Christmas… She gave them a polite smile on the way past. There was hardly anyone left she recognised. Good. Time to escape into the just as busy Oxford Street. She picked up her Christmas present to herself. A thick red parka with a fur-trimmed hood. See? She could be festive if she tried.
Her boss, Kenny, was in the corner on the phone talking frantically. Andrew, one of the cameramen, was packing some things into a bag. Where was he going for Christmas?
She hardly knew a thing about the tall Scotsman – apart
from the fact he used words she’d never even heard of. Last month he’d had a spectacular argument with a particularly nasty director who he’d declared was an ‘eejit’. She’d had to go home and look up the word. He was right. The director was a complete idiot and she’d loved the fact his accent had got thicker and thicker as the argument had continued. He kept to himself, but under those hidden depths he seemed to have a wicked sense of humour. Who was he going home to? She couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit jealous.
She sighed and wound her scarf around her neck. Time to hit the busy streets. “Merry Christmas, Andrew,” she said as she made her way to the door. He looked up and gave her a smile. It wasn’t an in-your-face toothpaste kind of smile. It was a deep, reserved what-lies-beneath, sexy-and-you-know it kind of smile. The kind to make your toes tingle. If it had been night time and he’d been a stranger in a bar it would have made her heart rate pick up the pace.
“Stop!” Kenny’s voice sounded over the drunken singing as he elbowed his way through the crowd. His happy-go-lucky smile had vanished being replaced by something between panic stricken and heart attack material.
Andrew looked up, “What is it?”
Kenny’s head flicked from side to side. “Where is everyone? Is it just you two left?”
“Looks like it.” Han Solo’s voice echoed in her head. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
“There’s been a hitch. You’ll need to stay.”
“What do you mean we’ll need to stay?” Andrew stood up, swinging his heavy rucksack over his shoulder. It was clear he had no intention of staying.
“There’s been a problem with the schedule. We need to film another episode in the next week.”
“What?”
“What?”
Their voices joined in unison in the noisy, festive-filled pub.
Juliette flung up her hands. “That’s impossible. It takes months of research for every episode. We’ve got nowhere to film and no crew to film it.”
“This is crazy, and impossible. I’m going.” Andrew took a few steps towards the door but Kenny stood in front of his large frame.