Page 110 of A Manny for Christmas

I may have chosen my incredible dress in the tiniest, palest pink sequins from the selection of samples designer Astrid Carmichael brought over. But it was Nora’s idea—surprise, surprise—that I should wear my hair down.

Why not? It seems to make the girls happy, seeing it on display. And although Max loves having it to himself, I suspect he’ll get a kick of seeing it all properly styled, instead of kinky and messy from having been bundled into plaits as usual.

The hair stylist runs her skilful fingers through my locks, shaking out the curls. I stare at my reflection. Honestly, I barely recognise myself. The makeup makes me look fresh and dewy, which, in late December, is a bloody miracle. My blue eyes pop against the perfectly blended brown liner, and my hair cascades over my shoulders in the most perfect tumble of blowsy curls. I feel less like a frazzled mum who’s been up since five and more like a princess. Or a movie star en route to the Oscars, or something.

I thank the stylist profusely for transforming me and step out of the chair so Sadie can take her turn. Not that she needs much help. She’s in a form-fitting bronze mini-dress. Ned will lose his life when he sees her.

Evelyn draws me into the gaggle of women standing around on the plush white carpet of her enormous bedroom. ‘Looking good, future sister-in-law,’ she says with a wink.

‘Oh my gosh,’ I say. ‘Don’t tempt fate.’

‘The man’s smitten. And now he’s a viral social media star and poster-child for standing up for your kids, you’ve got no excuse not to marry him.’

‘I’ll say yes,’ I promise. God, just the idea of marrying Max makes my knees want to give out. I was thrilled to walk down the aisle with Felix. Happy, excited, hopeful.

But Max?

The mere idea of Max standing at the top of an aisle somewhere, looking insanely hot in a suit and promising to be mine and Toby and Daisy’s forever?

It’s enough to make me swoon. Hard.

* * *

If my girlfriends’reactions to Dressed Up Molly were sweet, Max’s is as gratifying as I could ever hope for. My dress is hidden under a very large black coat when I arrive for the outdoor fun and games—think fire pit and marshmallows and entertainers and choir—but my hair is on full display. And when we move indoors and I lose the coat and my boots in favour of some sleek heels, he goes quiet, and his eyes go feral.

He slides an arm around my waist and yanks me flush against him.

‘Doesn’t Mummy look beautiful, kids?’ he asks, without taking his eyes off me. I swear, the look he’s giving me right now could melt my underwear right off.

‘So pretty, Mummy,’ Toby says, sliding a hand into mine.

‘You look like a princess!’ Daisy tells me.

I beam down at her. ‘Thank you, sweethearts. You look like a princess too, Daze. And our boys look so handsome.’

‘Look the other way for a sec, kids,’ Max orders, and they turn around, squealing dramatically and covering their eyes. He may have made them do this a few times in the past week since we went public with our relationship.

And then my boyfriend gazes into my eyes, and plants his gorgeous, warm, firm lips to mine as his hand curves possessively over my bum.

‘So. Fucking. Beautiful,’ he mutters against my lips. ‘I can’t wait to peel this off you later. Spread you out so you’re nothing but skin and hair. Just the way I like you.’

I shiver at the roughness in his voice as much as the movements of his hands over my body. I suspect our behaviour is on the brink of becoming non-family-friendly, and this is a family party, after all.

We eat, drink, and make merry. We dance as a foursome, and we have a blast with the rest of this huge, crazy, loving Sorrel Farm family. The found family that welcomed me and Tobes and Daze in with so much enthusiasm when Angus first hooked me up with my job and our home. The kids are delighted to see Clara’s twins, and Daisy befriends little Rose on the dance floor, twirling her around until it’s a miracle they don’t wipe out.

It’s so odd, and miraculous, to think that if Evelyn’s prophecy comes true, Daisy and Rose will be step-cousins one day. Sadie and Ned have wisely left Isabella at home, and they’re slow dancing, her cheek against his chest, her expression more contented than I’ve ever seen. She told me they got together at this very event three years ago.

Saoirse and Miles, whose cake I designed, are here too with Miles’ daughter, Bea. They’re celebrating the anniversary of their first kiss, also at this event. Seems to me there’s something in the water at the Sorrel Farm winter party. Saoirse gushes again about the cake I made for them and says she hasn’t stopped giving my name out since the wedding. She’s sweet, and her willingness to spread the word bodes well if I do decide to take the plunge and go out on my own.

I even bump into Paul on my way to the bar. He’s with his girls, and all three of them look picture-perfect. He greets me with two kisses and a wistful glance at my hair.

‘I always wondered what it looked like down,’ he says, before pressing his lips together with a little smile, like he’s said too much.

I’m not sure what to reply to that statement, so I return his smile.

‘I saw your friend Max went viral,’ he volunteers.

‘Ah, yes.’ My mouth twists. ‘The Kent bush telegraph is alive and well.’

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