Page 23 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
Imogen jumped, almost falling off the sofa. She realized that she recognized the voice, and also that she was still in her pyjamas.
‘Birdie said I could come in through the back.’ Dexter stood on the threshold, holding a large book. ‘But if you’re having some alone time, then—’
‘No!’ Imogen sprang up, flustered, and then, after a second of Dexter staring at her, grabbed the knitted blanket that was laid along the back of the sofa and covered herself. ‘I was giving myself a pep talk, but …’
‘I thought Brian Blessed was kidnapping you.’ He gave her a tentative smile.
‘I was projecting. It makes me feel better.’
‘Are you an actor?’ Dexter came further into the room and put the book on a side table.
‘Not really. It was my dream once, I did a few plays with an amateur dramatics society, but then … other things got in the way. And actually, it turns out I’m not very good. Voices, I can do. The rest of it – the physical stuff – needs a lot of work.’
‘What do you do – in London?’ Dexter perched on the arm of Birdie’s chair. He was wearing navy cargo trousers and a black T-shirt, and she wondered if his lack of layers was because it got so hot working in the bakery. Could she go and watch him kneading the dough, crafting his pastries and loaves and cakes? Were there tours of that sort of thing?
He would make a lot of extra money if he offered them, she was sure.
‘I’m my dad’s PA. At his law firm.’
‘That’s why the mistletoe decorating was so organized. I was amazed that anyone had managed to get that unruly bunch working so well together.’
‘Oh no, that wasn’t me. Everyone was happy to do it.’
‘You came up with the plan.’
‘It seemed obvious.’ Imogen tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear. She’d washed it every day since Tuesday, but there was still a faint shimmer of pinky-gold in the strands. So much for water-based paint.
Dexter’s eyes followed the movement, and the air in the room seemed to disappear. She pictured Edmund, standing in his best navy suit in the doorway of their London flat, the way his fair hair looked so good when it was slightly mussed. But everything was different with hindsight – it was all so muchsharpernow, and the truth was like a punch in the stomach.You never loved him, a little voice said, as Imogen’s eyes were drawn to Dexter’s curls and the short sleeves of his T-shirt, the way it put his forearms squarely on show, even though it was November and she shouldn’t be treated to such things right now. A special winter bonus.
‘You saved Harry’s bacon,’ Dexter said.
‘He could have told Sophie what happened. I’m sure she would have forgiven him immediately – they love each other so much.’
‘He didn’t want to go to her without a solution. He’s a proud guy.’ Dexter grinned, clearly fond of Harry, and Imogen felt its warmth from across the room. ‘Now everyonewill thank him for the free decorationsandfeel included in their wedding.’
‘A win-win-win, then.’
‘Is it hard?’ Dexter asked. ‘Coming here, only to find out there’s another wedding happening so soon?’
Imogen was glad Dexter had asked the question, rather than simply sayingit must be hard, as if it was a done deal. ‘No. I still think people getting married is a wonderful thing, if they’re happy and in love.’
There was a long pause, then, ‘You don’t love him?’
She pressed her lips together to ward off the sudden, impending tears. ‘It was more of an arrangement,’ she said, borrowing her dad’s word. ‘Edmund works for my father; I met him when he started at the firm. He was incredibly charming, and my parents seemed so happy we were going out, and it all just … fitted.’
‘You fitted together?’
‘I thought so for a long time, but it was never a whirlwind. It never felt …’
‘What?’ Dexter probed gently.
‘It was never passionate. It never felt like there was anus, a me and Edmund, outside of the rest of it – the family and the firm.Lawfirm, not like a gangster firm.’ She shook her head, and Dexter smiled. ‘You know I was going to be a Halloween bride because Edmund’s Mum and Dad got married on Halloween, and we had to follow tradition?’
‘You didn’t get a say?’
‘I was told why it had to happen like that.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to be seen as unreasonable, or upset anyone by suggesting a different date; summer or spring, one of those kooky options.’
‘So you have a habit of putting other people first?’
