The Wedding on Mistletoe Island

by Sophie Pembroke

Genres: Holiday Romance

Synopsis

One week before Fliss' wedding and all her old friends are back on Mistletoe Island to celebrate....

Fliss cannot wait to get married, but before she says 'I do' she needs to clear up one little thing. Because now she's finally ready for her future, she won't let the past get in the way.

Ten years ago, Lara broke Jon's heart. Now back at Holly Cottage, it's the first time they've been together in years. If only seeing him again didn't make Lara wonder, what if....

Ruth didn't want to go away with Alec's friends to a remote and snowy Scottish island just before Christmas, but could this be her last chance to save her marriage and find their happily ever after?

It's only a week — what could possibly go wrong?

Release date: October 31, 2019

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 384

Sample

2009

Fliss

‘Fliss, this place is incredible!’

Fliss grinned as she watched Lara spin around in the entrance hall of Holly Cottage. Her long, wavy blonde hair fanned out behind her, coloured red and green and gold by the streams of sunlight pouring in through the panes of stained glass that framed the front door.

‘I knew you’d like it,’ she said. Mostly it was great to see Lara outside of the university library where she’d seemed to live for weeks before finals. She needed sunshine and fresh air and fun, Fliss had decided. They all did.

And she’d even managed to convince her parents to help them do just that.

Holly Cottage had been in Fliss’s family since she was a baby. So many wonderful family holidays had been spent in the cottage on Mistletoe Island, right off the western edge of the Scottish coast. But Fliss had a feeling this holiday would be the best.

As long as you don’t let any of those friends of yours get too wild, her father had said, reluctantly handing over the keys to the cottage. I know we can always trust you to behave, but I’m not so sure about some of the rest of them.

Her mother had talked him round, reminding him of how hard Fliss had worked to get her degree, and how this would be the friends’ last chance to blow off steam together, before they settled down and got real jobs.

It helped that Fliss had never once done anything to make them think that there was any risk in letting her stay at the cottage with her friends for a week. It helped even more that her parents hadn’t heard the stories of what her friends had got up to at university.

Fliss shook her head clear of such thoughts. Her parents weren’t here; she didn’t have to worry about disappointing them. It was just the seven of them, for seven whole days. She looked around. ‘Where are the others?’

‘Coming, coming.’ Neal appeared in the doorway with two suitcases and a huge grin. Apparently, Caitlin’s feminist sensibilities didn’t go as far as actually carrying her own suitcase when her boyfriend was there to do it for her. That, or Neal was still trying to make up for something. Probably the latter. ‘Look at this. An actual holiday cottage. Not a hostel or tent. We must be grown-ups at last.’

‘Apart from Harry,’ Jon said, leaning his own suitcase against the wall by the old grandfather clock that had chimed every hour since before Fliss was born. ‘He’s taken a vow of eternal childhood. He’ll never age past twenty-one.’

Fliss thought that was entirely possible. Harry was their joker, their player. The Viking-like rugby star who could drink them all under the table. The one who never revised until the last minute at uni – and even then, only when Lara forced him – but still never worried about passing his degree. He probably figured he’d talk his way into a better result if he needed to. Harry always could charm anyone into anything – even examiners.

She could hear him outside right now with Alec trying to find the best place to house the mini-kegs of beer they’d brought with them. At least she could count on Alec to make sure nothing exploded. Alec was solid. They all knew they could rely on Alec for a pint in the evening, to score the winning try on the rugby pitch, to get a proper job straight out of uni. Alec always shrugged and said he wasn’t anything special when they complained about his constant winning at life. But Fliss had figured out Alec’s secret: he just got on with it. Whatever needed doing, he worked and made sure it happened.

Well, mostly, anyway. He never did seem to master girlfriends. Or cooking.

Her gaze finally settled again on Lara, beaming up at Jon and looking more relaxed than she had in months. If Harry was the party animal, Lara was their workaholic. The one who always had her essays planned and researched almost as soon as they were set, but still ended up working all night the day before the deadline to make sure her work was absolutely perfect.

Of course, all that studying meant that when Lara did cut loose and relax, she really knew how to party.

Maybe that was why Jon was such a good match for her. Steady, serious and studious enough to suit that side of Lara, but he also loved to get outside – hiking or climbing, usually – and he tended to drag Lara with him, to make sure she at least saw sunlight. He was the fixer of the group – the one they yelled for when the shower wasn’t working, or the front door of their shared student house wouldn’t lock.

But all that seriousness fell away when he was with Lara. Fliss had watched them over the last year of their relationship, a little envious of the way they fit together. The quiet, private jokes they shared, her blonde head pressed against his dark curls as they whispered to each other. Or the way that Lara really seemed to listen when Jon went off on one of his drunken, philosophical, deep and meaningful rambles.

They were good together. Happy. Her gaze strayed back to Neal, just as Caitlin appeared behind him in the doorway, nudging him forwards with her handbag.

‘I’m glad to be staying somewhere with a working toilet,’ she said, running her usual critical eye over the hallway as she tossed a mane of red hair back over her shoulder.

Fliss hid a grin. Ah, yes. That was what Neal was making up for. She’d heard all about Neal’s attempt at a romantic weekend away in a B&B in Norfolk. Caitlin had been more upset at the state of the plumbing than the ‘serial killer vibe’ Neal said the place had.

Caitlin and Neal were the grown-ups – together since first year, and basically married already at this point. They were university mum and dad to the whole group. When they’d all decided to move in together for second year, Caitlin had been the one to ring around all the estate agents and find them the perfect house. The one who decided who owed how much rent each month based on their bedroom size. The one who kept the shopping list updated on the fridge.

And Neal . . . Neal was the one who got sent to do the shopping, or whatever else it was Caitlin decided needed doing.

Caitlin had a plan for life – several, actually. They all knew the details of Caitlin’s three-year, five-year and ten-year plans. She knew exactly where she was going and how she was going to get there.

And, it seemed, she planned to take Neal with her.

That was the group. Her friends. The joker, the reliable one, the workaholic, the serious one, the mum and the dad. And her.

She knew exactly what her role was.

‘Miss Fliss!’ Harry yelled, forcing his way past the others to press a kiss to her cheek. ‘This place is perfect! I see wild parties, skinny dipping in the sea . . .’

Fliss raised her eyebrows to cut him off. Harry grinned, sheepishly. ‘Sorry, forgot who I was talking to. Obviously, we’ll all be on our best behaviour, and only have respectable, non-wild fun.’

She rolled her eyes, knowing he was lying. But worse than that was knowing that was what he thought she wanted to hear – rather than what her parents expected of her.

That was who she was. Miss Fliss. The nice one, whatever that meant. The baby of the group, who needed protecting from the real world. The naive one, who didn’t even understand Harry’s smutty jokes. The one who smiled and baked cakes and tried to make everyone happy.

And maybe that was who she had been, three years ago, when they all met her in Freshers’ Week. But hadn’t she moved on at all? She caught Neal’s eye, and he gave her a sympathetic smile.

‘Come on, Miss Fliss,’ Alec said, appearing behind Harry. God, how she hated that nickname. ‘How about you show us around?’

Fliss smiled and forced herself to focus on the here and now. They were all done with university, at last. Those old roles they’d filled no longer applied.

She didn’t have to be Miss Fliss any more, if she didn’t want to, once she got out into the real world.

The whole point of this holiday was to let their hair down. All seven of them, together – freed of the pressures of exams and essays and university in general – celebrating graduation before they moved on to the next stages of their lives.

It would, Fliss decided, be the perfect week. She’d make sure of it.

‘I propose a toast!’ she said, pulling a bottle of supermarket own-brand cava from her bag. She led the others into the kitchen, holding the bottle high.

With a cheer, Lara went to a kitchen cabinet and brought out seven champagne saucers, passing them to Jon, who handed them along the line until everyone had one.

Fliss tore off the foil and thumbed out the cork with a pop, not caring that this wasn’t the sensible way to open sparkling wine. She distributed the cava as evenly as possible, and waited for each of her friends to raise their glasses as she held her own in the air. ‘To graduation!’ she announced, finally.

‘To making it through!’ Harry added.

‘To Mistletoe Island!’ That was Neal.

‘To indoor plumbing!’ Caitlin, of course, making them all laugh.

‘To graduation!’ Alec cried.

‘To all of us!’ Lara, leaning against Jon, smiling up at him.

‘To the future!’ Jon, smiling back, like she was the only person in the room.

Fliss let the rightness of them all being together, here, settle into her as they clinked glasses. And as she sipped the cava, bubbles tickling her nose, she knew deep in her gut that they would all remember this holiday for the rest of their lives.

Fliss

Fliss reached up to the top shelf, her phone clamped between her ear and her shoulder, the chair she stood on tilting perilously. Above her, the champagne saucers glittered in the hazy winter sunlight misting through the cottage’s high windows. She remembered those glasses. Remembered the toasts they’d had the day they arrived at Holly Cottage ten years ago. Remembered Jon buying more bottles of fizz to celebrate an engagement that never happened. They’d drunk every last drop of it later that night in an attempt to cheer him up, once Lara had fled into the night after turning him down. Remembered Harry building a leaky champagne fountain out of the glasses. Remembered Alec making stupid toasts to them all, until they couldn’t help but laugh at themselves and the others. Caitlin had laughed so hard at Alec’s toast to Neal that she spilt champagne all over her boyfriend and he sulked outside until Fliss took him more alcohol to cheer him up.

Fliss bit her lip. She wasn’t going to live in the past. This week wasn’t about ten years ago. It was about her future.

She focused on the champagne saucers again. Who’d moved them to this ridiculous high cupboard where they’d never get used? Well, they would use them this week. She could almost reach them . . .

‘Felicity, darling, are you listening to me?’ Her mother-in-law-to-be’s voice had a slight edge behind the endearments, but Fliss was used to that.

‘Of course, Martha. You want to change the centrepieces.’ Again. ‘I agree. If we can get snowdrops they’d be perfect accents to the winter greenery.’ Honestly, it was as if Martha thought she had no experience of weddings at all, despite working for one of the most sought-after bespoke wedding cake designers in London. She’d talked themes and colours and flavours with brides every working day for the last nine years or so, after her degree in English Literature proved to be less than useful, and she’d decided to pursue her other passion instead.

Although, given all the wedding knowledge she had, organising her own had been considerably more of a trial than she’d anticipated. Mostly due to all the other people involved, who apparently felt they needed to be consulted and kept happy. Her parents, Ewan’s parents, the bridesmaids, Ewan’s gran, her friends, the guests . . . oh, and Ewan, her fiancé. And maybe, at the end of that long list, even herself.

But none of that mattered now. In four days, on Christmas Eve Eve, she’d be marrying Ewan. Four days of celebrations and fun. Four short days, and her whole life would be different. That was what mattered.

‘Good.’ Fliss could hear Martha’s efficient nod down the phone line. ‘And maybe we could echo them on the cake . . . I was talking with your mother, and we do think a wedding cake needs flowers, don’t you?’

No.

She rested her forehead against a shelf and took a deep, calming breath. Fliss knew exactly what her wedding cake needed, thank you very much. She’d been picturing it ever since Ewan had proposed, and they’d started planning a Christmas wedding. She’d had the snowflake designs ready for weeks. She’d briefed the staff up at the hotel where the wedding was being held on the actual baking of the cake, but the decorations would be all her.

Martha was not messing with her cake.

‘The wedding cake is all in hand, don’t worry,’ Fliss said, as soothingly as she could manage in the circumstances. As long as she could keep Mum and Martha focused on all the other aspects of the wedding, the cake would be fine. Mum had already dismissed her choice of bridesmaids’ dresses as ‘too casual’ and insisted on helping to choose new ones. What were a few centrepieces at this point? But the cake was hers.

‘In that case, let me pass you on to my son.’ Not ‘Ewan’, not ‘your fiancé’, but ‘my son’. Just in case Fliss had forgotten who had loved him first – as if she ever could forget, with Martha around to constantly remind her.

Sometimes, Fliss missed the early days of her relationship with Ewan, when they stayed in eating takeaway Chinese and watching movies, and never had to meet each other’s families.

‘Hey. You okay? Is the Christmas tree still standing?’ Ewan’s warm voice in her ear made her smile, as she remembered decorating the tree for the cottage with him the night before. It had been just the two of them again, for the first time in what seemed like ages, and probably the last time until after the wedding.

Holding onto the lower shelf, she stretched up on tiptoes again and reached for the champagne glasses one last time. Her fingers wrapped around the delicate twisted glass stem of the nearest one, and she carefully lowered it – and herself – back down. She placed the glass on the nearest counter, and reached back up for the next glass before answering her fiancé.

‘The tree is fine, and so am I. Just getting everything ready for the gang arriving.’ Seven of them, again, so seven glasses. Except this time it would be Alec’s wife, Ruth, making up the seven, with Jon living over in the States and unable to get back for the wedding. ‘It’ll be strange without Jon, though. Although, you know, I totally understand why he can’t come.’

On the other end of the line, Ewan paused for a moment. Then he said, ‘I know you’re sad he can’t be there. But, under the circumstances . . .’

‘You mean Lara,’ Fliss guessed.

‘Maybe it’s for the best.’

Fliss sighed. ‘You’re probably right. But it’s going to be weird, having everyone here without Jon.’

Jon. She needed to talk to Lara about Jon. Or maybe Caitlin would do it . . .

She stretched up again and carefully lifted another glass down. They weren’t champagne flutes; that would have been boring. No, these were proper, Gatsby-esque champagne saucers, and if they’d survived this long Fliss was damned if she was going to break them now. ‘Guess what? I found these champagne glasses we used last time we were here. I mean, they have ten years’ worth of dust covering them from being hidden away in the top cupboard, but with a bit of a scrub . . .’ She stopped. ‘You don’t care about glassware, do you?’

Ewan chuckled. ‘After a morning of my mother and yours deliberating between several identical choices of napkins, even glassware sounds interesting.’

‘Napkins?’ Fliss frowned. ‘But I already picked the napkins. The white ones with the silver snowflake pattern to match the ribbons on the chairs.’

‘Ah. About that . . .’

Deep breaths, Fliss reminded herself as she closed her eyes. ‘We have new napkins?’

‘And ribbons.’

‘Right.’ This was the problem with deciding to spend the last few days before the wedding down at Holly Cottage with her friends. It meant her mother and Martha were unsupervised up at the hotel, half a mile or so away. Her mum had caused enough trouble on her own; how much more could she cause now she had help? With four days left, Fliss wasn’t sure she’d recognise her own wedding when it actually came round.

The Mothers, Fliss had learned over the last eleven months, both had very firm ideas about what a wedding should be. And they were both determined to prove to the other that their knowledge of exactly what Fliss and Ewan’s big day should look like was superior.

As long as they don’t touch my cake.

‘Well, that’s fine. Whatever they want.’ She made an effort to sound cheerful, to find the sunshine and silver linings she was famous for. As long as everyone was happy, she could deal with new napkins and centrepieces. ‘All that really matters is that I’m marrying you on Monday. Right?’

She’d wanted a Christmas Eve wedding, but with no ferry running off the island on Christmas Day, and no flights home from Glasgow either, she’d settled for Christmas Eve Eve, knowing everyone would want to get back to their own families for the big day itself.

‘Right.’ Ewan sounded relieved. He always hated a disagreement or fight as much as she did. It was probably why their relationship was so relaxed. They’d fallen together so easily, after being introduced by one of her colleagues two years ago, that Fliss had barely even noticed they were a proper couple until she realised the fridge in her flat was entirely filled with his favourite foods. Normally, her boyfriends let her down gently before they ever got to that point.

‘And now, if you don’t mind, I’m off to play a rather chilly round of golf with our fathers. Are you sure you don’t want to toss again for “babysitting the parents” duties?’ Ewan asked.

Fliss rolled her eyes. ‘No, thank you. I’m babysitting our friends instead.’ They’d split up the wedding tasks fairly evenly, according to the giant Wedding To Do spreadsheet Caitlin had emailed her the day they announced the engagement. Well, after they’d deleted all the most ridiculous tasks. Did people really host bridal teas? She hadn’t thought so, until the Mothers got involved.

‘Your friends,’ Ewan corrected her. ‘My friends are flying in the day before, like normal people.’

‘Are you suggesting my friends aren’t normal?’ Fliss asked, eyebrows raised.

‘I’ve met Harry,’ he said, and Fliss laughed. ‘So, I’ll see you all in the Griffin for dinner tonight?’

‘Yes, please. I miss you.’ Since they’d got engaged and moved in together, almost a year earlier, she’d never had a night apart from Ewan – and she didn’t really want to start now. The idea of Ewan staying up at the Mistletoe Hotel tonight, when she was lying alone in her bed at Holly Cottage, felt wrong.

‘After Monday, you’ll never have to miss me again.’

He was right, Fliss realised as she hung up. By Monday evening she’d be Mrs Ewan Bennett. Her future, her life, would be settled, approved and celebrated by all her loved ones. She wouldn’t just be designing and making cakes for other people’s happy endings, she’d be living her own. Her mother could move her expectations on from ‘When will you ever get married?’ to ‘When are you going to give me grandchildren?’ instead.

She could picture it in her head: her wedding day, and everyone smiling. No one was going to be disappointed about the napkins or the ribbons on the chairs. They’d all be happy and excited to be there sharing it with them. She was marrying a good man who her parents adored and whose family seemed to like her. And she was doing it on the island that had been a major part of her life – and her parents’ lives – since she was a child.

Everyone would be happy. That was what mattered most.

And next to that . . . her own, secret wish for that day.

That it would give her the chance she needed to start over again. A new person, with a new name. A wife.

Not Miss Fliss, the university nickname she still hated. Not her parents’ perfect only child, with every expectation on her shoulders. Not the unsettled single girl trying to find where she belonged in London, the one who could never make a relationship last more than six months. Not the dreamer who created beautiful wedding cakes for other people’s big days. Or at least, not only all those things.

She’d be Ewan’s wife. Someone new, who didn’t even exist until she said ‘I do.’

She couldn’t wait.

Fliss stepped down from her chair, adjusting her top – a powder pink jumper with sprigs of mistletoe and holly embroidered all over it – and counted the glasses. Seven dusty champagne saucers all safely on the counter. Satisfied, she ran hot water into the butler’s sink, smiling at the fairy lights twinkling above the window behind it. Squeezing in a good measure of washing-up liquid, she reached for the first glass, when a flash of movement out the window caught her eye.

A car.

As quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared again behind some trees. Her heart seemed to stutter and stall, waiting to beat again until the car emerged back into view down the twisting road.

The first to arrive.

Ten years gone in a blink, and soon they’d be together again – apart from Jon. But otherwise, it would almost be a re-run of their graduation trip after university.

Only this time, everything was different.

It had to be.



Lara

Ten years on, the ferry port at Mistletoe Island still felt like the portal to a magical new land. One totally apart from everyday life, and ordinary little worries. A place full of fun and adventure and freedom.

Only, this time, the island was full of memories, too.

Jon.

Lara stared out at the island through her windscreen, waiting for her turn to drive along the single-car-width bridge from the ferry to the shore. Last time, Jon had driven; last time, everything had been different.

Mistletoe Island wasn’t far from the Scottish mainland, and Fliss said that since the tourist industry had really taken off over the last decade they’d even increased the number of daily ferry sailings across to the island. With its stunning scenery and island walks – and the development of the Mistletoe Hotel under Fliss’s father’s company – it was a popular summer destination for those who could bear the midges. But apparently it was Christmas and Hogmanay that really drew in the crowds. Lara didn’t like to imagine what they’d all be paying to stay here, the weekend before Christmas, if Fliss’s parents didn’t own Holly Cottage.

But despite the uptick in the island’s fortunes since their last group visit, Lara thought that Mistletoe Island still looked the same. Same craggy, cliffy coastline. Same picturesque white cottages sitting above the harbour, and the tiny stone chapel where Fliss and Ewan would be married the day before Christmas Eve; the same local village they’d bought their food and alcohol in; same pub where they’d monopolised the pool table. The Griffin probably still had the same stained upholstery, and that dent on the wall where Harry had misfired the cue ball.

Maybe it was just her that had changed.

A horn sounded, and she realised it was her turn to move forwards. Carefully, trying to look everywhere at once, she eased the car off the ferry and onto the bridge, driving down towards the village then veering right before she reached it, taking the road that circumnavigated the island, leading away towards the woods.

It was practically impossible to get lost driving on Mistletoe Island. Walking, sure – there were hundreds of tiny paths that wound their way around and inland, through the woods or along the cliff paths, down to the coves. But there was only one main road, riddled with pot holes, that made a full circuit of the island’s six-mile circumference, far enough inland that there was little risk of cars losing control and going over the cliff, but close enough to the coastline that Lara could still keep the sea in the corner of her eye as she drove. Maybe there were other, smaller tracks that led inland, but everything Lara needed was on the one road – something she was very grateful for.

The road twisted around, showcasing the scenery of the Scottish islands to perfection, even in the chill of a December day. Banks of gorse and heather that edged the inside of the road still held frost in the patches the sun couldn’t reach. Beyond them, the land rose again towards the middle of the island, and there were peaks of snow reaching up into the low, grey cloud. Somewhere up there, Lara knew the animals she’d loved seeing before – the deer, the rabbits, the incredible variety of birdlife – must be hiding from the winter, unless they’d flown south. Last time they’d been there it had been high summer, the August after their graduation, when everything had seemed possible and the future open and endless. Yes, this time, everything was different.

Lara smiled to herself. They’d been so young, then, even if they’d felt old enough to own the world. It was the last time they’d all been together that way, and for that, the island would always hold a place in her heart.

Although, to be honest, there wasn’t a chance she’d have even considered going back there for anything less than Fliss’s wedding. Because even now she couldn’t think of that week without remembering how it had ended.

Five days on the island that had already changed her life once, with the five people who knew her better than anyone else in the world – plus the one who’d once seen even deeper inside her. Did she really expect to make it through the week without any new scars – or at least some old wounds reopening?

At least Jon wouldn’t be there to do the reminding. She’d felt a flood of relief when Flis. . .