Two Purple Gloves (A Pear Street Christmas #2)

CHAPTER THREE

“Why would you two have a Christmas themed wedding?”

LISA

Lasagne. Cooked.

Garlic bread. On the table.

Salad. Dressed and on the table.

Table. Laid.

Wine. Breathing.

Homemade ice cream. Ready in the freezer.

Toppings. In serving bowls and ready to be brought out.

Waffles for breakfast tomorrow. Batter made and in the fridge.

Waffle maker. Out of storage.

Fruit for breakfast. Cut and prepped.

Dishwasher. Empty and ready to be filled with tonight’s dishes.

Milk for Mary. Formula made up, in the fridge, and ready for her feed tonight.

O kay, I think I’m ready. Donning my festive oven-gloves with dancing Christmas puddings, I move the huge dish of lasagne to the trivet in the middle of the table and tweak the placement of a couple of the knives and forks so everything is perfectly symmetrical. The good thing about not being able to breastfeed anymore is that I can have a guilt-free glass of wine with dinner, which I definitely feel like I need. I take a deep breath in the solitude of my kitchen-diner before shouting, “Dinner’s ready!”

It’s like a stampede, the rumble of sock muffled footsteps coming up the hall before Lucas and Oscar are first through the door. “Oh, man,” Lucas groans. “I don’t like lasagne.”

I roll my eyes. “And yet, you’ll eat your dinner without a fuss because I’ve worked hard to make it for you.”

“If you’d made it for me, you wouldn’t have made lasagne,” he mumbles with all the attitude of the teenager he isn’t yet.

Before I can respond to that, Harry is behind our eldest and lightly flicks the back of his ear, startling him more than hurting him. “If I hear you cheek your mother again, you’ll be sent to bed with nothing but a stick of celery lining your stomach before we’ve played games. No one else here would get away with speaking to my wife like that, you are no different.” I don’t know what it is about Harry referring to me as your mother to the boys, or my wife in general, but it’s always done something to me, and I feel the flutters in my belly that only Harry gives me.

“Okay,” Lucas pouts.

“Apologise, please,” Harry rumbles quietly.

“Sorry, Mum,” Lucas says somewhat sheepishly.

“Thank you for apologising,” I say. “Now up to the table with you both.”

The boys run to their chairs opposite Rhiannon and Luke’s twins. Harry steps forward and kisses my cheek. “Everything looks great, babe. What can I do?”

“There’s a bottle of red on the table but we’ll likely need another one opened and I haven’t got the white from the garage.”

“I’m on it, sit down and relax a little, yeah?”

“Okay,” I smile up at him and he kisses the tip of my nose before disappearing toward the garage.

“Sweetheart, everything looks wonderful,” my dad says, beaming at me as I come to the head of the table .

“Thanks, Dad.”

“It smells even better,” Rhiannon adds, her hands resting on her small baby bump. “I’m starving.”

“Mummy’s always starving.” Margot giggles.

“She eats so much food,” Freddie adds with his own laugh.

“Sometimes there’s none left for the rest of us,” Luke says with wide eyes, conspiring with his children. Rhiannon sticks her tongue out at the three of them, making us all laugh.

Harry comes back in and starts filling glasses with wine, teasing Rhiannon by going to fill her glass and pulling away before the first drop can spill. She sticks her tongue out at him, too, earning herself a wink.

“So, Jake, Nel, have you two thought about the wedding you want?” my Aunt Hen, Rhiannon’s mum, asks.

“Well, we only got engaged yesterday,” Nel says by way of an answer.

“Nel seems to think we won’t be married by this time next year,” Jake says as though waiting for us all to contradict that thought.

Instead, Rhiannon and I make twin snorting sounds while my mum and aunt look at Jake like he’s an adorable child who’s just said something ridiculous but sweet. “Darlin’, you think you’re going to plan and pay for a wedding in less than twelve months?” I ask, fully amused.

“That’s what I said!” Nel holds her hand out toward me in an agreeable gesture.

“Dresses alone can take months to find and then order and then you’ve got to get it fitted,” Hen explains to our clueless Jake. “And Nel is a fashionista, she’ll want to find the perfect dress.”

Jake turns to his bride-to-be with an adoring smile that makes all of us melt. “She’ll be beautiful in whatever she wears.”

Nel’s responding blush is too cute.

“Of course she will,” Hen agrees .

“Oh, wedding dress shopping is just magical,” my mum muses wistfully. “The champagne, the dresses, the tiaras…” She’s in some sort of dream world and I smile at her. “And let me tell you, as a mother, there is nothing quite like seeing your daughter in a wedding dress for the first time.”

My eyes catch on Harry’s, the two of us sharing a wince before we look to Nel who stares at her still empty plate, her smile gone and the colour high on her cheeks as she swallows. I try to catch Mum’s eye, but she’s still spouting with a dreamy smile.

“You raise a little girl who loves dressing up and princesses, then you get to see her in that dream dress and be happy knowing she’s getting the day and the life she deserves. It’s all any parent wants, to see, their children happy and watching them fall in love and start their own family is one of life’s greatest joys.”

Oh, dear Lord. Stop, please stop . I watch as the first tear falls on Nel’s cheek and how Jake squeezes her shoulder in comfort. I see Harry watch his sister helplessly, with his own eyes glazing over, a sad look all over his face that breaks my heart. I see my mother, God bless her, open her mouth to keep going but I can’t let her.

“Mum,” I hiss, angrily. Maybe if I could have thought more quickly, I would have swiftly changed the subject rather than bring everyone’s attention to what was happening, but I just have to make her stop before either one of the siblings have a full-blown meltdown.

Mum looks at me, confused by my heated interruption, before looking across the table at poor Nel. Mum’s face drops, mortification written in the part of her lips and the crinkle of her eyes. “Oh, Nel, I’m so sorry.” Nel shakes her head as if to say the apology isn’t necessary, but she doesn’t say anything. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I wasn’t thinking,” Mum continues, and now she needs to stop apologising and bringing more attention to my poor sister-in-law.

“You know, I reckon you two should have a Christmas themed wedding,” Rhiannon saves the day, chirping happily, waving her fork between Jake and Nel .

I throw her a grateful look down the table and she winks at me as Jake laughs. “Why Christmas themed?”

“Well, you know, you guys got together at Christmas, and you got engaged around Christmas.” She shrugs.

“Maybe we should have had a Christmas themed wedding,” Harry says, after clearing his throat.

Mum still looks crushed; Dad gently squeezes her shoulder where his arm rests along the back of her chair. “Why would you two have a Christmas themed wedding?” he asks Harry.

“Because we met at Christmas,” Harry says like it’s obvious.

Mum and Dad both turn their heads to me. “We met Harry in October.” Mum frowns.

“Yeah,” I say slowly, scrunching my face up.

“You said you’d met him in the summer!”

“Yeah,” I repeat, even slower with my face screwed tighter.

“Wait, what?” Harry frowns at me across the table and I shrink slightly in my seat, noticing Jake’s frustratingly amused grin as everyone looks at me as though waiting for an explanation.

“Okay,” I sigh, defeated. “Look, I met Harry at Christmas, and I didn’t tell you about him because you two,” I gesture at my parents, “tend to get a little over… enthused about things and I wasn’t a hundred percent sure… I was as enthused as I knew you would be.”

“What do you mean over enthused?” Mum asks looking put out.

“What do you mean you weren’t sure?” Harry’s eyebrows pull together tighter, and I glare at Jake as he tries to hide his glee behind his fingers as he rests his chin in his hand.

“It was a strange meeting, and Harry was just so…different to other guys I’d introduced you to before. He took some…getting used to.” I wince at my own choice of words because it sounds worse than it is. I just needed time to work out how I felt about Harry, I mean, that’s normal, right ?

“Getting used to?” Harry asks incredulous. “I knew I was going to marry you the first time I met you!”

“You did?” I ask, hand to heart and pouting over the cuteness of him.

“Even before that,” Jake pipes up. “He told me you were going to be his wife before he’d even said hello.”

“Aw, Harry,” Nel coos. “That’s so cute.”

My adorable husband actually blushes, a bright pink creeping up his high cheekbones and tainting his golden skin. “She was the most beautiful girl in the room,” he mumbles. “Still is.”

My insides do a little somersault and then settles at the pit of my stomach only to steep in my own anxiety. Harry says perfect things like that, but I’m still sat here worrying about how my tights are digging into the podge of my belly. What is wrong with me? The sounds our guests make at Harry are varied. All the women swoon and fuss while Jake and Luke scoff and tease. Lucas and Oscar make heaving sounds while my dad and Uncle Gordan chuckle. Harry bows his head and starts shovelling lasagne in his face to avoid saying anything else.

“So, we don’t actually know how you met?” Mum asks, blinking at me.

“Uh, I guess not.” I push my pasta around my plate and avoid eye-contact because I know what’s coming.

“Well, come on then, tell us the story.” Mum gives me an impatient look.

I look down the length of the table to Harry who peeks up at me with a small smirk.

“Maybe I should tell the story,” he says to the room, but his eyes stay on me, and I can’t help the tug in my lower belly from the heat in his gaze.