Page 32 of A Nine-Month Deal With Her Husband

‘Imagine the headlines if they knew we were married,’ Millie said. ‘There would be a firestorm of press attention.’

Ben pulled a face. ‘I manage people who find themselves the target of a camera lens, not the other way around. Extricating celebrities from their self-created dramas is,was, the least favourite part of my job.’

Millie laughed. For a guy who ran an international PR firm, he should show more enthusiasm for celebrities and their need for good PR than he did, she told him. ‘How on earth did you handle the PR for Daft Peanut and Gladys?’ she asked.

She’d caused a few headlines in her day, but the antics of the young, over-the-top DJ who’d burst on to the music scene ten years ago and the bad girl of Scandinavian music were enough to turn any PR person grey.

‘I tore my hair out with both of them,’ Ben told her. ‘The greatest day of my life was when I handed the clients over to my subordinates. I was finally able to run the business without having to stop to deal with their drama. Then, as soon as I could, I diversified and appointed an excellent manager to handle the high-value, high-drama clients. As you, as part-owner of the business, should know.’ The comment was pointed and showed Millie that her lack of interest in their jointly owned business frustrated him.

‘I have just enough interest in business practices to run my small operation, Ben. PR Reliance was my mum’s baby, not mine,’ she told him. She pointed a finger at him. ‘And, be honest, you would hate having an involved, interested partner. It suits you just fine for me to be a silent partner.’

Ben placed his empty cup on the coffee table and folded his arms. ‘Maybe,’ he conceded.

‘Maybe my foot,’ Millie retorted.

Ben tapped his index finger against his bicep. ‘We were talking about the gala concert,’ he said, changing the subject because he knew she was right. ‘Because of you, I have to smile at the cameras and people, and shake many, many hands and kiss many, many cheeks.’ Ben pulled a face. ‘And I’ll have to wear a tuxedo, which I hate.’

‘Poor baby,’ Millie gently mocked him. ‘At least you don’t have to do a speech honouring your dead mum.’

‘Touché.You’ve definitely got the tougher gig,’ he softly said. He ran his hand down her hair. ‘You’ll be fine, Mils.’

‘You’d be finer,’ she whipped back.

‘Give it up, Mils, I’m not doing your speech for you,’ Ben wearily stated, gripping the bridge of his nose.

She didn’t want an argument with him, so she rested her temple against his bicep and wound her arms around his waist. He gathered her close and placed his chin on the top of her head. ‘Didn’t you say that you had booked a spa treatment some time soon?’ he asked.

She had. ‘Mmm. At three-thirty.’

‘It’s half two, now,’ Ben told her, stepping back from her. She caught his mischievous smile as he gripped her hand in his and led her to the bedroom. ‘That means I have forty-five minutes. Between sex and your spa treatment, you’re going to need a nap later.’

Millie tried, but couldn’t find any problems with his statement.

Ben took her empty takeaway cup and asked her if she wanted another hot chocolate. Millie debated for a minute—of course she did, they were delicious!—and it took all of her willpower to shake her head. ‘I’d better not,’ she told him, ‘or else there is no way I’m going to fit into my dress for the gala concert.’

She thought of the gold, tight-fitting jersey top and the lighter gold flowing skirt she’d bought yesterday, after seeing it in the window of a small boutique on Laugavegur Street. While she didn’t think that one hot chocolate would cause her to put on weight, the pastries she was addicted to, and the other delicious Christmas foods Ben kept insisting she try, would add to her waistline.

At this rate, she might not fit into her plane seat when she flew back after New Year. Ben threw their cups into a rubbish bin as Millie took in the square. The market at Jólaþorpið was fifteen minutes from Reykjavik. It echoed the beauty of the town of Hafnarfjörður and was a typical Christmas market.

Twinkling fairy lights criss-crossed the space between the booths and jaunty instrumental music floated through the air. Millie had picked up a few Christmas gifts from stalls selling homemade jams and jewellery, Christmas decorations and woollen products. And there was food...so much food.

The long hours of dusk, that magical light, made the market extra festive, but it was cold and Millie stamped her feet, trying to get her blood flowing.

‘Cold?’ Ben asked, running his bare fingers down her cheek.

Since her nose was probably red, she couldn’t lie. ‘I am. But I’ll be fine once we start moving.’

Ben curved his hand around the back of her neck and his warm lips met hers. ‘Then let’s walk. Do you want to try to find the Huldufólk?’

The Huldufólk, or hidden people, were elves in Icelandic folklore and were said to be supernatural creatures living in the wild. They looked and acted like humans and could make themselves visible at will. So it was said.

Millie squinted at him. ‘C’mon, Ben, you don’t really believe in them, do you?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’tnotbelieve in them. It’s part of the Icelandic tradition and culture and every culture needs a little magic.’

Millie remembered talk about the hidden folk from when she was little. ‘I always thought your house had Huldufólk living in your garden,’ she admitted. ‘I loved visiting your dad, I would spend hours in the garden hoping I’d see one.’

Ben took her gloved hand in his. ‘Well, Hellisgerdi Park is not far from here and they say it’s the home of many Huldufólk. It’s also a pretty walk and decorated for Christmas. Want to see it?’

---