Christmas Ever After
Praise for Sarah Morgan
‘A gorgeously sparkly romance’
—Julia Williams
‘The perfect book to curl up with’
—Heat
‘Full of romance and sparkle.’
—Lovereading
“I’ve found an author I adore - must hunt down everything she’s published.”
—Smart Bitches, Trashy Books
“Morgan is a magician with words.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Dear Ms Morgan, I’m always on the lookout for a new book by you …”
—Dear Author blog
SARAH MORGAN is the bestselling author of Sleigh Bells in the Snow. As a child Sarah dreamed of being a writer, and although she took a few interesting detours on the way she is now living that dream. With her writing career she has successfully combined business with pleasure, and she firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic, and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times.
Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children, who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isn’t writing or reading Sarah enjoys music, movies, and any activity that takes her outdoors.
Readers can find out more about Sarah and her books from her website: www.sarahmorgan.com She can also be found on Facebook and Twitter.
www.mirabooks.co.uk
Dear Reader
Welcome back to Puffin Island!
Plenty of us have dreams. Mine was to be a writer, and I have been lucky enough to have the support of those I love as I follow that dream. Skylar, the heroine of this story, hasn’t been so lucky. She’s a free spirit, an artist and jewellery maker with big dreams, but her family don’t approve of her choices and living her dream has come at a price. When her world comes crashing down one winter’s night she receives help from an unexpected source.
I’m sure most of us have, at one time or another, discovered we were wrong about someone. That is true for Alec and Sky. With a difficult divorce behind him, Alec isn’t looking for love. He certainly isn’t looking for it with Sky. Their relationship has always bordered on the adversarial, but when he sees her in trouble he can’t walk away. These two people didn’t expect to be spending the holidays together, and they certainly didn’t expect to enjoy each other’s company. Which proves two things; that people can surprise you and that sometimes you find love when, and where, you least expect it.
Writing this book was so much fun. I loved putting these two characters together and watching them slowly discover how wrong they were about each other and it was a treat to explore the charms of Puffin Island in winter after two summer visits (First Time in Forever and Some Kind of Wonderful)
You’ll find more information on the series and extracts from all three books on my website www.sarahmorgan.com and don’t forget to sign up to my newsletter to receive news of new releases straight to your inbox. I love hearing from readers and you can email me at sarah@sarahmorgan.com or join me on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSarahMorgan)
Happy reading!
Love Sarah
xxxx
To Jill Shalvis, who is kind, warm, generous and funny and also writes brilliant books.
Table of Contents
Cover
Praise for Sarah Morgan
About the Author
Title Page
Dear Reader
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Acknowledgements
Extract
Endpages
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
SKYLAR TEMPEST STEPPED out of her hotel and lifted her face to the sky. Soft, thick flakes of snow drifted down from a sky of midnight blue, dusting her hair and blending with the wool of her white coat. It was like standing in a snow globe.
She reached out and caught a snowflake in her palm, watching as it slowly dissolved, its beauty fleeting and ephemeral.
London was experiencing a cold spell and bets were on for the first white Christmas in years. The snow had been falling for a couple of hours and the streets were frosted white. It was easy on the eye and lethal underfoot, which was why she’d decided to take a cab rather than walk the glittering length of Knightsbridge to the gallery.
She didn’t want to arrive at the most important night of her life with a black eye.
Smiling at the doorman, she stepped into the waiting cab.
Cocooned in the warmth, she watched as people bustled along the crowded streets. They walked, heads down, snuggled in layers of wool to keep out the cold. Stores with elaborately decorated windows shone bright with fairy lights, beaming shimmering silver across the snow.
Drinking in the light and color, she fought the temptation to reach for the sketch pad she always carried. In a world that often presented its ugly side, Skylar looked for the beauty and captured it in her art. She worked in a variety of mediums, dabbled in ceramics, but her first love was jewelry.
The necklace she’d chosen to wear tonight was an example of her work and the only splash of color in her outfit. She’d designed it as part of her latest collection, but she’d fallen in love with the piece and kept it. The stones were a mixture of blues and greens, Mediterranean hues that added warmth to a cold December evening.
Tonight was her big night, she was in one of her favorite cities at her favorite time of year and Richard was joining her.
They’d been an item for over a year. A year in which his entire focus had been his political career. Since he’d won his senate seat, the pressures had intensified. They’d barely seen each other in the months leading up to the election and the time they had spent together had been marred by his incendiary moods. She’d resigned herself to attending the private showing of her collection alone, so his call from the airport had been a surprise.
Now she was eagerly anticipating the night ahead.
Starting tonight, everything was going to be different. With the stress of the election behind them, they’d finally be able to enjoy quality time together and do all the things they’d talked about doing.
He’d hinted that he had a special Christmas gift for her.
A trip to Florence maybe?
He knew how much she’d always wanted that.
Or Paris, maybe, to visit the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay.
Her mood lifted.
They’d celebrate her exhibition and later they’d enjoy a more intimate celebration. The two of them, her luxurious hotel suite and a bottle of champagne. Tomorrow, they’d visit the ice rink at Somerset House. She’d walked past it the day before and spent a happy hour people-watching. Her creative brain had soaked up the kaleidoscope of color and smiling faces. She’d absorbed it all; the uncertain, the wobbly and the graceful. Twirling teenagers, parents holding eager children, lovers entwined. After that, they’d visit the London Eye at night. She’d watched the slow, graceful rise of each capsule over the dark ribbon of the Thames and decided she wanted to experience that.
It would be romantic, and she and Richard needed to spend more time on their relationship.
She stared out o
f the window, thinking about it.
Was this love?
Was this it?
She’d always assumed that when she finally fell in love she’d know. She hadn’t been prepared for all the doubts and questions.
“Christmas party, love?” The cab driver glanced in the mirror and Skylar gave him a smile, glad to be distracted from her thoughts.
“Not exactly. A private showing. Jewelry, pots and a few pieces of art.” A series of watercolors she’d painted on a trip to Greece to visit Brittany. Having a best friend who was an archaeologist had expanded her horizons. That trip had been the inspiration for her collection. Ocean Blue.
“Where are you from?”
“New York, and it’s pretty cold there right now.” She chatted freely, loving how friendly the cab drivers were in London.
“I hope you brought your credit card. Prices are high in this part of London. Whatever you buy is going to cost you.”
“It’s mine.” Excitement mingled with pride. “My collection.”
He glanced at her in his mirror. “I’m impressed. To have your work on display in these parts at any age would be something, but for someone as young as you—well, you’re obviously going somewhere. Your family must be really proud.”
Her good mood melted away like the snowflake she’d held in her palm.
Her family wasn’t proud.
They were exasperated that she persisted with her “hobby.”
She’d invited them. Sent them a pretty embossed invitation and a catalog.
There had been no response.
Turning her head, she focused on the snowy scene beyond the windows of the cab. She wasn’t going to let that ruin her evening. Nothing was going to ruin the evening.
The cab driver was still talking. “So you’ll be flying back home for the holidays? Family Christmas?”
“That’s the plan.” Although not the reality. “Family Christmas” sounded cozy and warm, like something from a fairy tale. It conjured up images of prettily wrapped gifts stacked beneath a tall tree festooned with twinkling lights and homemade decorations, while excited children fizzed with anticipation.
Christmas at her parents’ house felt more like an endurance test than a fairy tale, more corporate than cozy. The “tree” would be an artistic display of bare twigs sprayed silver and studded with tiny lights, part of a larger display planned and executed every year by her mother’s interior decorator. Stark, remote and not to be touched at any cost. The “gifts,” artfully stacked on various surfaces for effect, would be empty boxes.
Any child hoping to find something magical under her family tree would be disappointed.
Those gifts summed up her family, she thought.
Everything had to be shiny and perfectly wrapped. Appearances mattered.
Leaning her head against the cool glass of the window, she watched as a man and a woman, loaded down with bags, struggled through the snow with two bouncing, excitable young children. She imagined them arriving home and decorating the tree together. They’d write letters to Santa and hang stockings, counting the number of sleeps until Christmas Day.
The most important things in life, she thought wistfully, couldn’t be wrapped.
She watched as the family disappeared down a side street and then looked away, impatient with herself.
She was too old for Christmas fantasies and with Richard arriving and her exhibition she had plenty to celebrate.
Her phone rang and she tugged it out of her bag, expecting Richard again.
It was her mother and surprise mingled with warmth.
She remembered.
“Mom? I’m so happy you called.”
“I shouldn’t have to call—” her mother’s crisp, cultured tones came down the phone “—but your father and I need to know when you’ll be home.”
Bridging the gap between hope and reality gave her whiplash. “You’re calling about my schedule?”
“Stephanie sent you an email. You didn’t respond.”
Stephanie was her mother’s assistant and Sky knew the email was probably sitting in her inbox, along with all the others she’d ignored while burning the midnight oil to get ready for this week.
“I’ve been busy, Mom. It’s my private viewing tonight, and—”
“We’re all busy, Skylar, and I’d appreciate not having to chase my own daughter for a response. Particularly when you’re the only one without a job.”
Sky thought of the commissions she had lined up. She had enough work to keep her busy through most of next year. “I have a job.”
“I mean a proper job. I’m doing the seating plan for Christmas Eve. We’ll be eighty for dinner. Lunch is more intimate—forty. When will you be arriving?”
Sky leaned her head back against the seat, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Forty? Intimate?
So much for a cozy family Christmas.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Then decide.”
Skylar imagined her mother seated at her elegant Queen Anne desk, ticking off the items on her to-do list.
Phone dreamy, wayward daughter.
“Christmas Eve.” At the last possible moment. “I’ll be home Christmas Eve, but I’ll make my own arrangements so you can cross me off your list. I’ll talk with Richard and see what works for him.”
“Richard has already sent through his plans.”
Without sharing them with her? “He emailed you? I was assuming we’d travel together.”
“You need to stop assuming and take action, Skylar. Richard’s career is on the rise, but he still found time to respond to my email personally. Your father is impressed, and we all know he’s not easy to impress.”
Sky’s fingers tightened on the phone.
She knew. She’d been trying to impress her father for years, so far with no success.
Something tugged deep inside her.
In third grade she’d painted him a picture. It had taken days of hard, painstaking effort to produce something she thought he’d like. She’d been excited by the result.
Look at this, Daddy. I painted it for your office.
He’d barely glanced at the picture and the next day she’d noticed it in the trash, buried beneath empty cans and juice cartons.
She never drew anything for him again.
She watched as snowflakes swirled and danced past the windows and tried not to mind that Richard had apparently succeeded where she had failed.
“He’s smart,” her mother was saying. “Persuasive. Charming.”
Except when he was under pressure. Then he was short-tempered and far from charming. But that wasn’t a side he showed to the voting public or her family.
She stirred in her seat, feeling guilty for not being more understanding.
This was his dream, and she knew how it felt to have a dream.
Richard Everson had nurtured ambitions of running for office since childhood. The occasional burst of irritability at this point was understandable.
Her mother was still talking. “You’re lucky to have found a man like him, but you won’t hang on to him if you’re dreamy and romantic. Relationships require application and hard work.”
And that, Skylar thought, was exactly how her parents’ marriage had always seemed to her. Work. More corporate merger than loving union.
Was that really what love was?
She hoped not.
“When is he arriving?”
“Christmas Eve, in time for lunch. He’ll be excellent at this sort of event.”
Event? “It’s Christmas, Mom.”
“I thought you would finally have grown out of romanticizing the holidays.” Her mother sounded impatient. “Your father has given a great deal of thought to the guest list. There are influential people attending. People who will be useful to Richard’s career.”
Not friends or family. People of influence.
“Anyone I know?”
“The list was attached to the email Stephanie
sent. I hope you take time to prepare.”
“Preparing” involved absorbing and memorizing pages of notes on each individual. Likes, dislikes, topics to be avoided at all costs.
Even at Christmas it was all about networking.
A wild idea flitted into her mind. Christmas in a cottage on Puffin Island. Log fire, good wine and the company of her friends. She and Richard together without the pressures of the outside world.
It was a dreamy idea.
It was also heresy and it was never going to happen.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t be here, Mom.”
“You couldn’t have picked a worse time. You’re putting a great deal of pressure on Richard. As your father said when he spoke to him earlier, expecting him to fly to London right now is unreasonable.”
“Richard spoke to Dad?”
“He called this morning.” Her mother paused. “Choosing that man is the one thing in your life you’ve done right. Don’t make a mistake tonight, Skylar.”
Make a mistake about what?
“Wait a minute—what are you talking about?”
“I’ve said enough. The rest is up to you. Make good choices.” Her mother ended the call and Skylar sat for a moment, staring out of the window.
Make good choices.
Her family had never understood that, for her, art and the process of creating something tangible and beautiful, whether a pot or a necklace, wasn’t a choice. It was a need, maybe even an obsession. It came from deep inside. She had images clamoring in her head, ideas crowding her brain. Inspiration was everywhere, there were days where she was dizzy and dazzled by possibilities.
Choice wasn’t part of it.
She could no more have given up what she did than she could have given up breathing, but her family had never understood that. Their approach to life was analytical. Their appreciation of art was limited to its cultural significance or financial value.
Growing up, there had been days when she’d wondered if her parents had brought the wrong baby home from the hospital. They were good people, but she felt as if she was in the wrong house.
The phone rang again. This time it was Brittany and Emily, her friends who were both back on Puffin Island, in Maine.