The Wedding Pact

by Isla Gordon

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Would you marry a stranger to live the life of your dreams?

'A fun and refreshing read! I couldn't put it down!' HEIDI SWAIN

'The best book I've read in 2021. I LOVED it, it made me smile so much. Fresh, funny and utterly wonderful' HOLLY MARTIN

'Original, funny and so, so romantic, The Wedding Pact is a breath of fresh air that you should add to your summer reading list immediately' CRESSIDA MCLAUGHLIN

August Anderson needs somewhere to live. Dumped by her boyfriend who would rather be alone than move in with her, she has almost given up on happiness. Until she notices that the beautiful Georgian townhouse she's long admired (ahem, *obsessed over*) is looking for a new tenant, and suddenly it seems like things might be looking up . . .

There's just one catch - the traditional, buttoned-up landlord is only willing to rent to a stable, married couple and August, quite frankly, is neither. Competition for the house is fierce and August knows she'll have to come up with a plan or risk losing her last shot at her happy ending.

Enter Flynn, the handsome, charming and somewhat unsuspecting gentleman who August accidentally spills her coffee over. Flynn is new to the area and is looking for somewhere to live, and August thinks she knows just the place, but only if he's willing to tell a little white lie . . .

The perfect feel-good summer read from reader favourite Lisa Dickenson, writing as Isla Gordon. Perfect for fans of Heidi Swain, Sarah Morgan and Anna Bell

Don't miss the brand-new hilarious and heart-warming romcom from Isla Gordon, A New York Winter, available to pre-order now!

Praise for ISLA GORDON:

'Heart-warming and full of hope. I loved it' HEIDI SWAIN

'The most beautiful, heart-warming story. Gorgeously cosy, uplifting . . . utterly lovely book' HOLLY MARTIN

'Sunday afternoon bliss!' FABULOUS magazine

Release date: August 19, 2021

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 464

Sample

August

There is a starting point for all our dreams, and a tipping point where we, and sometimes fate, decide if it’s time to follow them, or walk a different road. For August Anderson, the starting point had happened many years ago, nearly twenty-five in fact, but the tipping point had only just arrived.

When it finally came, August hadn’t expected it to be marred with tears and disappointment, and she resented James for that.

Her dream had begun in the same spot she now sat, outside a four-storey Georgian townhouse on the crest of a hill at the edge of the city of Bath. The ribbon of properties that ran all the way up one side of the hill and down the other formed Elizabeth Street, and at the very centre was Number Eighteen.

Across the road from Number Eighteen was a spacious opening between the houses, allowing for a courtyard with a low wall to showcase the views that swept down across the city of Bath and the green fields beyond. At golden hour, the setting sun would pick up the honey tones in the Bath stone architecture, casting a warm glow over every building and every steeple, while liquid gold would drift by in the distant river.

Taller and grander than the neighbouring homes, Number Eighteen sparkled from within thanks to glittering chandeliers framed by long, rectangular windows. It sat proudly behind a wide pavement, with a wrought iron railing painted a rich black, and a matching archway, in front of the fanlighttopped door, from which a gas lamp hung.

If you pictured a character from a Jane Austen novel colliding into her roguish lover while out for a stroll, Elizabeth Street is a safe guess for what you might be picturing. Number Eighteen, in particular, had a Regency air, which hung around it like an invisible mist, and it was somewhere very special for August. A thousand memories bound her to this house, and this dream.

Over the years, August had climbed to the top of this hill and sat in this very spot many times. The house on Elizabeth Street had become a sort of Pole Star for her, a place to come to escape into her imagination, to dream about her future, to wallow in heartbreak, or to celebrate her achievements. One day she’d hoped to finally live here, and it had briefly felt as if that day might be just a whisper away.

Until James had kicked the idea to the immaculate curb with his stupid, too-clean trainers.

It was Friday evening, the summer sun having lowered so far beyond the skyline that the only light now visible came from streetlamps and from behind windows, and August was sitting on the wall in front of the house on Elizabeth Street, feeling very alone. Tears had dragged mascara down her face, her lipstick, once a quirky, neon pink, was now subdued, partially wiped off by her sleeve.

‘Arsehole,’ she muttered into the night, mainly directed at the long-gone James, but also a little bit to herself.

She’d waited so long for a chance to move into the house she now sat in front of. As a little girl she’d dreamed of the day she would somehow be wealthy enough to own it, and as she grew up – and her expectations lowered – she watched as it was converted into flats, which then became rentals, and still she waited. Though August had left the Bath area for a while, first for university and then to London to dip her toes into the world of professional acting, she had now returned. And she knew that with a little motivation she could transition from dipped toes to diving right in.

Last week, August spotted an advert in the paper, and it had felt as if fate had sensed she was back in town. The next day it was there again, and then again the day after, begging her to take notice. The first-floor apartment of Number Eighteen was vacant, and a tenant was required as soon as possible. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, only a smidge unaffordable as long as she had a flatmate to share it with. It was vacant.

She’d felt it: her dream could come true. This could be the start of the life she longed for.

Earlier that evening, she’d met up with her boyfriend James for a pre-dinner drink at a coffee shop at the bottom of this particular hill.

‘This is such a random place; do they even serve alcohol?’ James had said when they’d sat down, cleaning a speck of dirt from his shoe, before she’d launched into her proposal.

August had delayed until her date with James this evening to share the news with him. Sure, they’d only been seeing each other for four months, but they were serious enough, and it made sense to her: if she was going to move into a new flat and needed someone to share the rent with anyway, why not move in together?

‘Why don’t I want to move in with you?’ he’d asked, letting a laugh escape like he wasn’t even sure if she meant it. ‘August, we’ve only been seeing each other for, what, three months?’

‘Four months,’ she corrected him. ‘I know it’s soon, but we spend lots of nights over at each other’s homes anyway, and believe me, this house is amazing. Let me take you over there.’

James shook his head. ‘I can’t move in with you,’ he said. ‘Come on,’ she said, trying to twist his arm. He usually liked this impulsive, spontaneous side of her, though lately he’d seemed a bit off. Maybe he just needed to know that as playful as she was, she could be serious when it came to the two of them. ‘If you don’t move in with me I’ll need to find a flatmate, and who knows how long that will take. I can’t afford this place on my own, even for just a matter of weeks. And really, how long would it be before we wanted to live together anyway? I think we should just go for it!’

‘I know that’s what you think we should do, but I don’t think we should. And it’s not all about you.’

She did understand his hesitation, of course she did. It was sudden, and he hadn’t had any warning she was thinking of asking him to move in with her. Hey, August hadn’t had any warning herself, but the flat was available now. Not in six months’ time, not next year, but now. But while August had leaned in with every inch of her heart, James had leant so far away that he fell right out of her life.

And it felt like her dream had fallen right out of reach along with him.

Flynn

That night, a hundred miles east of where August stood watching the lights make a bokeh effect over Bath through her tears, an aeroplane touched down at London Heathrow. Flynn Miyoshi sat in his seat until directed to unclip his belt, his belongings – headphones, a water bottle, his phone, glasses and a well-read book – piled upon his lap. He watched England pirouetting outside the window, showing him her runway, her terminal and her skies, as much as was possible at this dark, late hour and thanks only to strings of bright, uniform lights.

He was home. Though it felt like nothing of the sort.

Flynn, born Fujio Flynn Miyoshi but who went most commonly by his middle name, was born and raised in the UK by his British mum and Japanese dad. But for the past four years, he had lived in Japan, following his parents when they’d moved back to Tokyo after spending the best part of their married life in England.

Now, after three delays, one change, one emergency stop and zero sleep for almost thirty-three hours, Flynn had British soil under his feet once again.

As he waited to exit the plane he checked his phone. He checked it again before he entered the immigration hall and again at baggage claim. Aside from two missed calls from the owner of the house he was to be lodging in from tonight onwards – no doubt checking on his journey and letting him know where they’d left the keys – there was nothing. Flynn decided he would return the owner’s calls once he was settled on the coach.

He yawned. It would be a long journey from Heathrow to Bath, nearly two hours according to his itinerary, maybe longer now due to the knock-on effects of all the delays he’d faced.

It was the height of summer, but this particular night time was cool, and Flynn felt a chill creep under his stained sweatshirt as he stepped out of the arrivals hall and took his first breath of fresh air. He couldn’t wait to get to his new home and shower, change into PJs and have a good sleep. He felt as if he’d been in the same clothes for a week, his skin was dry, and someone’s baby had thrown up on him on the flight during some turbulence.

Eventually his coach arrived, packed with tired holiday-makers either arriving home or just arriving, piling themselves on in a herd of elbows and overhead bags, neck pillows and separated children.

Flynn found a seat near the back, his eyes drooping before the coach had even pulled away from the airport.

He didn’t wake again until he was forty-five minutes outside Bath.

With a stiff neck and a parched mouth, he reached for his phone to see if she’d messaged him. Not with a declaration of love or a plea to return to Japan, he didn’t expect that, not really. But maybe a small question, a ‘How was your flight’; something that might have made him feel like he hadn’t just been erased.

But still nothing, at least from her. He had a text and a voicemail now from his new landlord, the text containing an address he didn’t recognise. He’d forgotten to call back and it was now approaching one in the morning. Grabbing a pen and the back of a magazine from his bag, ready to note down any instructions in the message, he pressed play, the volume low so not to disturb the nearby sleeping passengers.

‘Hello, this is a message for Flynn Miyoshi,’ the voice said on the end of the line. ‘Flynn, this is Chris, of Chris and Donna. I’m very sorry to tell you this in a message, mate, and I hope you pick it up before you hit Bath.’

Oh no, what more could go wrong on this journey? Flynn was beginning to wish he’d never left Japan.

‘Donna and I have just made the decision, the very difficult decision, to separate. It’s not good, mate, it’s not good, and we just can’t play host to someone else in the house at the moment, as much as we were looking forward to the extra money.’

Flynn’s mouth fell open. Did he hear that right?

‘Anyway, we need the spare room now and I don’t know what’s going to happen, but … Listen, we’ll … ’ There was a pause on the line, then a sigh. ‘We’ll pay for you to stay in a hotel until you find something, all right? It’s our fault for messing you around. We’ve booked you into a place near the bus station for your first night; I’ll text you the address now, and the directions. It’s not a great hotel but we can move you tomorrow if you want. I’ll swing by and sort the bill in the morning. Text me or something just to let me know you got the message, yeah?’

The line went dead but Flynn had to listen to it again to make sure he had heard right. That poor couple. They’d seemed so lovely on email, after he’d responded to their advert on the rental website looking for a lodger. They’d seemed happy when he FaceTimed with them a few weeks ago. They’d talked about how it would be nice having him in the house and how he was really helping them out because they could do with some extra cash. Donna especially had looked so lovingly at Chris as she talked about how maybe they could finally take a holiday together again, as they hadn’t had one since their honeymoon. He remembered that because it had made him wonder at the time if Yui ever still looked at him in that way. What had happened to rock Donna and Chris’s world so completely? It seemed likely he’d never know.

The coach quietly sliced its way through the night, following the ribbon of the M4 before it would turn off towards Bath, and Flynn sat back in his seat.

Although he was surrounded by fellow passengers gently sleeping or lit by the glow of their phones, he’d never felt more exhausted, unanchored and very, very alone.

August

August woke early on Saturday morning after a light and troubled sleep. She rolled over and pushed aside the half-drunk bottle of San Miguel on her bedside table to reach for her phone.

‘Good morning, sunshine!’ a chirpy voice said on the end of the line.

‘I broke up with James.’ August declared, her voice raspy.

Bel paused and then said, ‘I’m on my way.’

‘No, don’t, thank you, though. I’m a festering stink bomb at the moment and my flat is a tip. I just want to lie face down in my beer-soaked duvet cover. In other words, I’m not quite ready for company.’

‘What happened?’ asked Bel. Thank god for Bel, August’s favourite person and best friend.

August rested the phone on her cheek so she could flop her heavy arms back down beside her. ‘The most amazing flat came up for rent, so I suggested we move in together and he suggested I take a hike.’

‘I didn’t know you were flat-hunting?’

‘I’m not, but this wasn’t just any apartment, it was in the house on Elizabeth Street.’

‘Ohhh,’ replied Bel, having heard August make passing comments and declarations of love about that house for years. ‘So he freaked out because you suggested living together?’

‘I am unlovable.’

‘You are dramatic. And very lovable.’

‘But the thing is, couldn’t he have just said no? That he wasn’t ready to live together? We didn’t have to split up over it.’

‘What exactly did he say?’ Bel probed.

‘I told him that the perfect flat had become available, and that I really wanted to live there, with him, and that it would be a perfect next step in our relationship. Although, maybe instead of “our relationship” I might have said “our blossoming love”, but I was clearly only joking.’

‘ … And what did he say?’

August sniffed. ‘Well, he said no, that he wasn’t ready to live together. Then we got into a huge argument and I think … that’s when I started acting like a toddler being told I couldn’t have what I wanted.’

August could practically hear Bel rolling her eyes at her over the phone.

She continued. ‘I said something about how, if he didn’t want to live with me I’d find someone else who would, and move in without him. And he said, “Okay, sounds great,” and then somehow things escalated, and the last thing I remember screaming at him was how clearly he had a problem with the way I buttered my toast in the morning, and if he couldn’t get past that he could just fuck off for ever.’

Bel sighed on the end of the phone. ‘Wow. How did your weird toast buttering come into it?’

‘I do not have weird toast buttering!’

‘Who else in the world slices lumps of butter and presses it between two slices of blackened bread?’

‘Whatever,’ grumped August. ‘I just felt like he was always judging me for it.’

‘Are you sure you’ve split up completely? This isn’t just a fight?’

August knew. She was glossing over the details to her best friend, but they’d said some mean things to each other. The flat had just been the catalyst, a reason for James to put the brakes on like he’d been intending to before things went any further. They’d been on different pages and that was painfully clear now. Yes, four months was early to ask to move in with someone, but August had felt ready. Or, at least, she was willing to be ready if it meant having someone to help split the cost of living in the flat on Elizabeth Street with.

August picked the phone off her cheek and pulled herself into a sitting position. ‘Yes, we’re done. But it’s fine. What are you doing today?’

‘Steve and I had been planning to pop out to Marshfield to visit his mum, but I can come over to yours if you like? We could go to the spa? Or the Pump Room for an afternoon tea, because we haven’t played at being tourists for months?’

‘No, that’s fine, let’s do that soon, when I’m feeling a bit stronger, but for now, you and Steve go ahead to Marshfield.’

Bel paused. ‘Would you like to come to visit Steve’s mum?’

‘No really, I’m fine. I just needed a little vent. Thanks, though.’

‘Okay, sugarplum. Well, take care today and call me if you need another vent,’ said Bel.

‘Will do,’ answered August, and she bid Bel goodbye.

August sat on her bed staring into space, feeling like she wouldn’t look out of place as a background player in a sad music video right now.

Something was bothering her, and it wasn’t just the break-up.

Her eyes scanned her bedroom, resting briefly on the shadows James had left behind on his last visit: a notepad with a message scrawled in his handwriting, a pair of his headphones, a book of hers which he’d taken off the shelf and not put back (stupid prick). Try as she might, she couldn’t convince herself that James, or rather his departure, was what was needling her. It was the loss of an opportunity; the feeling that her long-held dream, which she’d always believed would be a catalyst to her other dreams coming true, was slipping away from her grasp, after being so close.

August’s grandmother’s voice entered her head, as clear as it was before she’d passed away. ‘One day you’ll grow up to be successful enough to live in that house,’ she’d told her, pointing at Number Eighteen, Elizabeth Street while August’s six-year-old self looked ahead in awe.

August stood up. She didn’t need James, not at all. Why the hell should she tangle her dreams up with him? Sure, it would have been easy to rent with him, and logical, she thought, but she could probably, somehow, string together enough rent to keep her going until she did manage to find a flatmate. Perhaps her temp job in the press office of a historical holidays company, which wasn’t actually so temp, if she were honest, would fancy giving her a raise? Or maybe she could try and get some more acting work …

Either way, all she’d need was a little creativity and a stroke of luck that somebody would materialise who would be ready, and willing, to move in with her at the drop of a hat. It would be fine. Where there’s a will there’s a way, and all that.

This had been August’s dream home since she was six years old, and now, aged thirty-one, she had a chance to make that dream real. She wouldn’t let it drift by; she would grab it and force it to become her real life. ‘Come back!’ she said out loud.

Flynn

Elsewhere in Bath, Flynn woke up, if that’s what you call it when a zombie takes its first parched gasp as it comes back from the dead. That’s how Flynn felt when he came to, following a night – more like half a night – on the lumpiest of all the hotel beds in the world. The hotel wasn’t as close to the bus station as he’d imagined, so he’d ended up wheeling his large case up and down several streets for a good fifteen minutes in the middle of the night, passing a number of more appealing accommodations, before he found it.

His room was hot, but with the window open it was noisy. Inside it was no better, with the people next door shouting at the TV until at least four in the morning. Then, when he finally sank down onto his pillow, he’d not been able to switch his brain off.

His original plan had been to arrive in Bath early evening yesterday, try to stay awake at least a couple of hours before turning in for the night safe in the comfort he was home, even if it was a brand-new home. The jet lag would be beaten almost immediately, and he’d wake bright and fresh on Saturday morning ready to spend the weekend getting to know his new city, picking up some extra homely goods, some additional clothes, stretching his legs. All ready for an early start at his new role at a law firm on Monday, and ready for what he already knew would be two full-on weeks at work, including an all-weekend conference starting on the Friday.

Like many plans that are made, that one had whooshed its way out of the window in record speed, doing a runner at the first sign of delays on the plane. And now he was not bright, he was not jet lag-free, and he was distinctly homeless.

As he made himself a cup of tea in the hotel room, in a tiny white china mug with a crack in it, using warm, long-life milk, he scrolled through a property rental website on his phone.

Studio in city centre, available in two months’ time.

One-bed basement flat, available in December.

Fourth floor apartment in the next town over, over-budget and would cost him a fortune travelling into work every day.

He bookmarked the handful of places available immediately, and once he’d forced down the watery tea, he started making phone calls, setting up viewings throughout the day with all the enthusiasm his zombie brain would allow him.

Flynn showered under a cold drizzle of water and made his way to reception, ready to get out of here and get some decent coffee before his first flat viewing. The receptionist eyeballed him as he got closer.

‘Hello,’ he said, while she ran her eyes up and down him. ‘I’m in room twenty-eight, but I wondered if I could move rooms. My neighbours are a bit loud and there seems to be something wrong with the water temperature.’

She regarded him for a second or two, sizing him up, and eventually she answered with a, ‘No more rooms, sorry, we’re booked out.’

‘You are?’ he couldn’t contain the incredulity from his voice.

‘It’s the summer holidays now, Saturday night, town centre,’ she stated by way of an explanation.

‘Oh. I don’t seem to have any hot water – could someone come in and fix that at least?’

‘No,’ she offered, and added with a shrug, ‘Sorry.’ After the two of them stared at each other for a moment she followed it up with, ‘When the hotel’s full the hot water just runs out. Maybe get up earlier tomorrow?’ Flynn was about to protest when she leaned in closer and lowered her voice. ‘Or I could come up to your room and make you appreciate that cold shower, if you know what I mean—’

‘Lorna!’ yelled a voice from behind a Staff Only door.

Lorna, the receptionist, stepped back and sighed, shaking her head.

As Flynn was weighing up whether he had time to pack up his things and find a new hotel – one with some availability and thicker than two-millimetre walls – the receptionist plonked a paper bag on the counter.

‘What’s this?’

‘Breakfast,’ she replied, and turned back to her computer.

Flynn took the bag and opened it up to find a bruised apple and a box of apple juice. His stomach growled at him fiercely, and he left in search of a good bacon sandwich.

He looked back at his hotel and thought for a moment that even Yui, who was always trying to encourage him to be more adventurous, would agree this place was crossing a line. Nevertheless, finding a home had to take priority over finding a new hotel in the city.

A decent coffee and a decadent amount of bacon later, Flynn felt revived enough to head to his first appointment. Just about.

Flynn looked at the list of property appointments he’d made on his phone this morning with despair. He’d just seen his seventh flat of the day, and it was almost like Bath didn’t want him to find somewhere to live. He didn’t mean to be a Goldilocks about the situation, and actually he hadn’t told any of the agents a flat-out no, just in case, but if he had to pick between the damp basement studio under the pub, with the hole in the ceiling, or the creepy room inside the terraced house where all the shelves and cupboards were filled with dusty lifeless dolls (that the landlord would like to not be moved, thank you), it would be a tough call.

Bath seemed beautiful – at least what little he had seen of it while he was rushing between appointments. He had no doubt there were many wonderful places he could call home … if he had the luxury of time. And if he’d picked a better time to move over – rather than after the start of the British summer holidays – then maybe he could have got a short-term Airbnb to keep him going, but even those were in short supply unless he considered moving as far as Bristol. It might well come to that.

The business hours of today were drawing to a close. He had one more place to see, which, like the others, sounded maybe promising. But also like the others, it turned out to be a non-starter.

‘Hello, mate,’ the agent greeted him as he got to the top of the hill, the other side of the town from his last viewing.

‘Hi,’ Flynn panted in response.

‘You’re here to view number four Elizabeth Street? I’m afraid that one got let this morning.’

‘This morning?’ Flynn’s mouth hung open. ‘But I only made the appointment this morning.’

‘I know,’ the agent replied. ‘But it got snapped up, it’s a popular road, this one. You sounded keen though so I wanted to show you another place we have that’s not even made it online yet, just in case. It’s a short walk away from here. It’s more than your budget, if I’m honest, but it’s not available until October, so maybe you could look into your finances and see if that would be doable by then.’ The agent started to walk away, expecting Flynn to follow him.

‘So it’s over budget and not available for three months?’ he clarified.

‘Erm … yep.’

If he could have given up, got back on a plane, and pretended that this whole ‘adventure’ had never happened, in that moment he would have. ‘I think I’ll leave it,’ he told the agent. ‘I need something now.’

The agent nodded. ‘Slim pickings for something immediately, I’m afraid. Come back to us on Monday? You never know.’

Monday he would be at work, all day, but he nodded nonetheless, tiredness pulling him to sit on a low wall at the top of the hill.

The agent went to leave before turning to Flynn and shielding his eyes from the dipping sun. ‘I shouldn’t say this because it’s not one of ours, but I saw in the paper this morning that there’s another flat on this street having an open house tomorrow, looking for tenants ASAP. I didn’t pay attention to which place it was, or if it was in your budget, but you won’t find a lot else to go and look at tomorrow so it might be worth a try?’

‘In today’s paper?’ Flynn asked.

‘Yeah, the local one. You’ll find it in all the newsagents.’

He sat on the wall for a little longer, taking in the view before he lost it to the shadows. Then he straightened out the cracks and crumples from his back, and allowed one last trickle of hope back in at finding a place to call home.

August

On Sunday morning, August arrived on Elizabeth Street early for the open house. Not a little early, but three hours early. It was 7 a.m.

August lifted her face to the sunshine, which beamed strong over Bath, a warm pool of summer light even at this time. She sat on the wall at the top of the hill in front of the house and pictured herself coming out through the front door of a morning, coffee in hand, slippers on feet, and breathing in the city. Before her, Bath, yellowed by the dawn, stretched and yawned. The cream stone of the buildings wove like threads beside wide, nearly empty streets and green flashes of parkland. And where the city blended into countryside, the green became denser and took the eye on a journey to the horizon.

This view had always soothed her, in the way that a feeling of home often does. August glanced back at t. . .