A Wedding in December Read online

  For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, or how she’d ended up in this much pain. She remembered Nick handing her a drink in the departure lounge, and she remembered not confessing that she’d already had two gin-with-very-little-tonics before leaving home, so as not to cause raised eyebrows at her alcohol consumption while in midair. The rest of the journey had been a blur.

  She wasn’t a big drinker at the best of times. On top of that, she’d been starving herself for three weeks in order to be able to look better in her clothes. The combination of gin, champagne and an empty stomach hadn’t been good.

  She groaned and buried her face in the pillow. It was the softest, fluffiest pillow she’d ever laid her head on and the duvet folded around her like a cloud. She didn’t want to move, but she knew she needed water. And painkillers. Also, very possibly a doctor and access to an intensive care unit.

  This couldn’t possibly be the alcohol, surely? Maybe she’d caught flu on the plane.

  She felt as if she had hours to live.

  “Good morning.” Nick appeared in the doorway, a glass of water in one hand and a mug in the other. The aroma of fresh coffee was enough to persuade her to lift her head from the pillow.

  The movement was agonizing.

  He set the mug down next to her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Do you mind not shouting?” Even the comfort of the pillow couldn’t neutralize the pain in her head.

  “That bad?”

  “Worse. I think maybe I need a doctor. And a lawyer so I can write my will.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and held out the glass of water. “What you need,” he said, “is fluid, and then breakfast.”

  Her insides churned. “My stomach disagrees.”

  “Trust me, it’s the best thing. I’ll make it while you take a shower.”

  Was she capable of walking to the shower?

  Gingerly, she sat up. And realized she was naked.

  With a squeak of embarrassment, she pulled the duvet across her breasts. “Why am I naked?”

  “You insisted that was how you wanted to sleep. You said it made you feel sexy and at one with nature.”

  “What?” She never slept naked. She favored snuggly pajamas that kept out the winter chill. “How did I get to bed?”

  “I put you there.”

  “Oh this is bad.” She took the glass in both hands and took a mouthful. Why did it feel awkward that he’d seen her naked, when they’d been together for more than thirty years? “Did I—I remember that we met Dan.”

  “Yes. And you liked him. You liked him a lot.”

  She stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t ‘nothing’ me. Was I rude to Dan?”

  “No, you were very—affectionate and welcoming.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that. And what about us?” A horrid thought struck her. “Did they guess that we’re getting a divorce? Did I say something? I intended to show them how much in love we are.”

  “You definitely did that.” Humor flickered in Nick’s eyes. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out two painkillers. “I thought you might need these.”

  She swallowed them without arguing. “Was I embarrassing?”

  “Entertaining would be the word I’d use. I’ve ordered a crate of champagne from Dan’s mother. We’re having a bottle a night for the rest of our stay.”

  How could he joke about it? And how could he look so disgustingly good after that long flight? He obviously hadn’t drunk as much as she had.

  He was wearing a navy cable-knit sweater and a pair of heavy-duty hiking pants that had survived the rigors of his job. No matter where he was, Nick always looked at home in his surroundings.

  She handed back the glass. “You’ll be drinking it by yourself. I am never, ever drinking again as long as I live.”

  After a few sips of coffee, she felt a little more human. Human enough to take in her surroundings. She was in a tree house. An actual tree house. The bedroom was suspended high above the living area, the open aspect allowing access to the same forest and mountain views through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The remaining three walls were made of glass. They were enclosed by jagged peaks, and all around them was forest, trees stretching high, branches bending under the weight of snow. As she watched, the snow tumbled off a branch and drifted past the window in a gentle avalanche of white.

  Everything in the room blended with the surroundings, from the carved wooden bed frame to the luxurious cream throw draped over the bottom of the bed. It was the feather-soft bedding that had presumably kept her warm while she’d slept naked.

  “This place is incredible.” She glanced at Nick and noticed now that his eyes were tired and he hadn’t shaved. “Where did you sleep?”

  “On the couch. Luxury compared to some of the places I’ve slept in my time.” He stood up. “The bathroom is downstairs.”

  “Thank you. Where’s my suitcase?”

  He paused. “You don’t remember?”

  “What am I supposed to remember?”

  “The airline lost your suitcase.”

  “What? No! The presents. My gifts for the girls were in there.” And not only the gifts. Maggie thought about all the shopping trips she’d endured trying to find exactly the right dress to wear at the wedding. She didn’t love what she’d found, but it was the best of all the options she’d tried. And now it was gone, and if it didn’t turn up she was going to have to start again. Not only that, but her research had told her that anything she bought here in Aspen was going to cost her a fortune.

  But it wasn’t only her dress that was the problem. Apart from the ones she’d worn for the journey, all her clothes had been in that suitcase. Her favorite red sweater that she always wore at Christmas. Her pajamas.

  “I’ve left a shirt and a sweater in the bathroom for you. Put those on for now, and we’ll make a plan to replace your luggage later.”

  “Replace it? Why can’t we wait for it to arrive?”

  He hesitated. “I called the airline an hour ago. At the moment they haven’t managed to locate your case.”

  “How is that possible? I thought everything was electronic these days. Can’t they track it?”

  “Something went wrong with the tracking. We don’t know if, or when, it will arrive.”

  Some women loved shopping. Maggie loathed it. The thought of doing it all again, and in an unfamiliar place like Aspen, almost made her slide back under the covers. “What am I supposed to wear to go and buy new clothes?”

  “Rosie is coming by in a minute with some things she hopes will fit. She and Dan have a meeting with the florist this morning, so Catherine has offered to take you shopping and out for lunch.”

  “Catherine? Are you coming, too?”

  He gave a half smile. “I’m not invited. Apparently, it’s a girls’ trip.”

  This day was getting worse by the minute. She wasn’t a girl. She hadn’t been a girl for a few decades. And shopping with someone as poised and elegant as Catherine was going to do very little for her fragile self-esteem. “What are you going to do?”

  “Dan’s uncle is taking me on a snowmobile around some of the trails that lead from Snowfall Lodge into the forest.”

  “How come you get to do the fun stuff? Can we swap? A snowmobile ride sounds so much more fun than shopping.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Even with your current headache?”

  She imagined bumping over frozen ground. “Maybe not. But shopping doesn’t go well with a headache, either.” But she couldn’t think of an excuse. And she did need clothes. “I suppose I can’t get out of it?”

  “Why would you want to? It’s the perfect excuse to spend time with Dan’s mother before the wedding.”

  “Seriously? I thought y
ou said you knew me.”

  He frowned. “I do know you.”

  “Then how do you not know that the last thing I want to do is meet Dan’s mother when I’m hungover and without clothes?”

  “The hangover will pass, and we’re going to lend you clothes.”

  “Clothes I won’t look good in.”

  “Well—” he floundered. “As long as they fit, I’m sure you’ll look fine. And since when did you need clothes for confidence?”

  “Since my daughter’s mother-in-law turned out to be this super successful, slim, elegant, perfect person.” Somehow her thoughts came out of her mouth. “And if you truly knew me then you’d know I’m intimidated by successful people! How do you not know that, Nick? How do you not know?”

  She rarely saw Nick lost for words, but he was lost for words now.

  “But—” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You’re a successful person, Mags.”

  “Me? How am I successful? I don’t run my own business. I’m not a world-renowned university professor. I haven’t rebuilt my life from the ground up having lost my husband. I haven’t re-evaluated my life after a minor trauma, let alone a major one. I’m not a doctor like Katie, or a student at Harvard like Rosie. I—I don’t know what I am. I’m someone who trundles along, wiping dust off the same surfaces, sitting at the same desk I’ve sat in for most of my working life, doing the same job that frankly anyone could do. And I’m not even thin.” As she hurled that final sentence into the air she saw a wild look of panic appear in Nick’s eyes. He had the look of a man who suddenly realized he was holding an unstable, volatile substance.

  “I happen to like the way you look.”

  “We’re getting divorced, Nick. So you can’t like it that much.” She flopped back against the pillows and then wished she hadn’t opted for a movement so violent. Or a conversation like this one. She was never drinking again. “Forget it. Forget I said anything.”

  He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Not easy to forget.”

  “Well, try. And now if you’d leave me alone, I’d like to take a shower.”

  He didn’t move. “You’re saying you’re intimidated by Dan’s mother?”

  “Goodbye, Nick.”

  “But you haven’t met her. She’s a human being, probably struggling like the rest of us.”

  Maggie sat up. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m the type of woman that makes someone like Catherine Reynolds roll her eyes.”

  “Why would she roll her eyes?”

  “Because I’ve spent most of my life building a home. I make curtains and grow vegetables. I know a hundred different ways to cook with carrots. Do you honestly think that will impress her? She’ll think I’ve sold out the female sex by not having a glittery career with an upward trajectory.”

  He blinked. “You don’t think you’re being a little hard on yourself here?”

  “No, I don’t. Because these days women are supposed to be able to do all of it providing they are goal focused and own a great planner.”

  He gave a choked laugh. “Mags—what the hell is going on?”

  “Nothing is going on. Probably because I’ve never been a planner type of person. Maybe, if I’d had a planner, I would have been able to cram more into my life.”

  “Is that the goal?” He looked bemused. “To cram more in? Is this about work? I thought you loved creating a home. You said you wanted the kids to grow up in a different environment than you.”

  “I did. I do.” So why, suddenly, was she questioning it all? Why did she feel lost and—irrelevant? If Catherine had managed to reinvent her life, why couldn’t she?

  “If you love it, then it can’t be wrong.”

  “You just don’t get it.”

  “No, you’re right. I don’t.” He sounded exasperated. “Why do you need to impress her anyway?”

  “Only a man would ask that question.”

  “At least wait until you’ve met her to start making judgments. You might like her.”

  But would Catherine like her?

  “Could you leave the room?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d like to get dressed now.”

  “I’ve seen you without clothes before.”

  “Not for a very long time.”

  “Well, you don’t appear to have changed significantly.”

  “What’s changed is that we’re not together anymore.” She knew it was ridiculous for it to feel awkward, but it did. A part of her had pulled away. For protection. Clothes were protection, which made it all the more unfortunate that she didn’t currently appear to own any.

  He shook his head, muttered something under his breath that she didn’t quite catch but was sure wasn’t flattering, then left the room.

  Maggie waited until she heard him clattering around in the kitchen and slid gingerly from the bed. She took the stairs carefully, holding tightly to the curved wooden rail that appeared to have been carved from the branch of a tree. If she’d trusted her legs not to give way under her, she might have taken the time to admire it.

  She stepped into the bathroom, purring as the under-floor heating warmed her bare feet. So much better than Honeysuckle Cottage where a nighttime trip to the bathroom came with a risk of frostbite.

  There was a large tub and a walk-in steam shower enclosed in glass.

  By the time she emerged ten minutes later, she was deeply regretting her outburst.

  Wrapped in a soft white robe, she found Nick in the kitchen. “I don’t suppose I can wear this for the rest of our stay?”

  “It might raise eyebrows. On the other hand I’ve always believed in the importance of expressing one’s individuality.” Nick was frying bacon and the sizzle and smell made her realize how hungry she was.

  When had she last eaten? On the plane, presumably.

  He tipped it onto a plate, added slices of toasted sourdough and scrambled eggs. “Eat.”

  She sat on the stool at the kitchen counter and picked up a fork. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For the things I said. Ignore me.”

  “I’m not going to do that, but the rest of the conversation will have to be postponed because Rosie texted to say she’s on her way.”

  She’d already said more than she wanted to. She took a mouthful of food. “This bacon tastes so good.”

  “Maple cured locally according to the packaging.”

  She cleared her plate and realized he was looking at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m thinking you look twenty in that robe with wet hair.” He drank his coffee. “Where did the years go, Mags?” Was that a literal question? How was she supposed to answer?

  “Don’t get sentimental. I can’t handle it with a hangover. Is there any more toast?” She hadn’t eaten carbs for three weeks and she was so hungry she was willing to eat anything that wasn’t nailed down.

  He sliced the loaf. “Next time we’re on our own and not about to be disturbed, I also want to talk about what happened in the car yesterday—”

  “We agreed we were going to pretend to be in love. Don’t panic, I wasn’t trying to seduce you.” Was it possible to seduce someone you’d been married to for three decades?

  “I wasn’t talking about the flirting.” He put the toast in front of her, along with a slab of creamy butter and a pot of homemade plum jam. “I was talking about the fact that you don’t like your job.”

  Maggie stuck the spoon in the jam. Had she said that? Her feelings about her job weren’t something she usually voiced aloud.

  “You should know better than to believe the ranting of an inebriated woman.”

  “That’s what I said to myself, until you said all those things this morning.”

  “You shouldn’t believe the ranting of a woman with a hangover, either.”<
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  He topped up his coffee. “So you don’t hate your job?”

  She took a bite of toast. Chewed. “It’s fine.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement. If you don’t like it, why haven’t you moved on?”

  She put her toast down. “Because it suited our lifestyle. One of us had to be there for the girls. Your job involved so much traveling. You weren’t always there for the school run, parent-teacher meetings and those middle-of-the-night emergency runs.”

  “But Rosie left home four years ago. If you wanted to do something different, you could have done it.”

  She pressed at the toast crumbs with her forefinger. Should she tell him? “I applied for a job a month before she left. I thought it would do me good to be occupied with something.”

  He stared at her. “You applied for a job? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Maggie shrugged. “Because I was afraid I wouldn’t get it. And I didn’t.”

  “But you didn’t even tell me you were going for it. Why?”

  “Why do you think?” She fiddled with the crust of her toast. “I was protecting myself from humiliation.”

  “We’re married, Mags. I love you. Why would it be humiliating to tell me about it?”

  She decided not to point out that he’d said I love you, when what he’d meant to say was I used to love you.

  “Because you always succeed at everything. You get every promotion and every job you apply for.”

  “But—” He looked flummoxed. “What was the job? Was it another publishing role?”

  “No. I applied to be a garden designer.” It sounded ridiculous now. How had she ever thought she’d stand a chance getting a job with no qualifications? And yet she’d felt so hopeful when she’d applied. She’d put together a portfolio of photos of her garden, and friends’ gardens she’d worked on, sure she’d be able to prove herself in an interview. But she hadn’t been offered an interview. Instead she’d received an impersonal email telling her that she didn’t have the experience they were looking for.

  She’d printed out the email and put it in her file. And never mentioned it to anyone until today.