Page 21 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
“I hope not,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the large, open doors. “Not if you dance the way you did at prom, anyway.”
“That was fifteen years ago!”
“And I’d wager he still doesn’t dance any better,” Mrs. O’Shea added with a grin.
I threw my hands in the air. “I didn’t come here for this abuse.”
“No, you came here to moan and grumble about Christmas and all the festive nonsense you don’t care about,” the older lady continued.
I sighed, dropping my head. “It’s just too much.”
“It’s making you a lot of money, dear,” she pointed out.
“That’s the point,” I replied. “It’s all about the money. It’s all commercial and happy nonsense. If I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t be.” I glanced at Danny, who’d now retreated to a back corner of the barn and was rearranging baubles on a display tree.
What was that going to cost me? Two-pound-fifty?
“You used to love Christmas.”
“Used to.” My voice was soft. “Four years ago. I’ve got plenty of reasons not to like it now.”
Mrs. O’Shea didn’t say anything else, just smiled at me sadly.
“Are you still all right with watching Danny for a while? I need to help Ryan move some trees out.”
She nodded. “Don’t you worry about us, dear. I’ve got plenty of jellybeans behind here.”
I rubbed my hand across my chest. “You’ve got plenty there, huh?”
She reached under the counter and held out a closed bag with a grandmotherly smile. “Make sure you share with Ryan.”
I tucked it into my pocket. “Absolutely not.”
Her quiet laughter was the sound I left the barn to, and as the cold air from outside smacked into my face, I turned my head just in time to see Sylvie’s car pulling out of the car park. She paused to let someone come in, and she jerked her head to the side.
Our eyes met for something that couldn’t have been any longer than a second, but there was a quiet curiosity in her gaze.
Something told me I hadn’t seen the last of her before the wedding.
CHAPTER FIVE – SYLVIE
“Ouch!” I winced when the seamstress prodded me with a needle.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “My fingers slipped.”
I looked down at the young girl with an understanding smile. “First wedding?”
“How did you know?”
“I’m a wedding planner,” I replied, tapping my nose. “I can smell it.”
She laughed quietly, switching her pin for the tape measure. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit nervous. I know this wedding is a big deal and I want to get it right.”
“What’s your name?”
“Monica.”
“Monica, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” I said softly, lifting my arms for her. “My sister is not a bridezilla. She’s not allowed to be one. She tried, and I hit her with a magazine.”
