My Unexpected Christmas Wedding by Rachael Stewart

Author:Rachael Stewart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2023-09-13T18:43:50+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Elena

‘YOU LADIES HAVING FUN?’

Aiden comes up behind me in the kitchen, his hands gentle on my hips.

You’d think after a week of living as husband and wife-to-be I’d be used to his touch by now. Immune to it, even.

I’m not.

The slightest sweep of his fingers, the merest glance in my direction and my pulse races, my heart warms and I give myself away. I’m sure I do. Which is fine. Because to his family we’re in love. And to him and Gabe I am simply performing.

Performing all too well.

My body instinctively leans into him at every opportunity, turning a single touch into a prolonged connection of outward affection, and I lose myself in every devoted look he sends my way.

It doesn’t matter that it isn’t real...it’s all too comfortable, too easy.

Because it’s not an act. Not for you.

‘Always,’ I say, looking up into his eyes, returning the devotion with every fibre of my being. ‘Your mum is an excellent teacher.’

‘Elena is an excellent pupil,’ Margot says, smiling at us as I lean back into him.

‘You can tell that to her parents, who are just pulling up.’

My stomach turns over. ‘They’re here? Already?’ I turn so quickly he stumbles back. ‘Sorry, I... But they’re never early. My mother’s never early for anything.’

I wipe my flour-covered hands on my apron, my panicked gaze on the clock.

Margot laughs. ‘Some things in life are worth being early for, and your daughter’s engagement is most certainly one.’ She pulls her apron off, smoothing her festive headscarf back into position. ‘Come on, let’s go and greet them. This batch can wait.’

‘And this batch is ready, right?’ Aiden reaches for a steaming butter tart off the cooling rack.

‘Oh, no you don’t!’ His mum smacks his hand away. ‘You’ll spoil your dinner.’

‘That’s not what you said the other day.’

‘Today is different. Today your lovely fiancée has cooked, and you need to save yourself.’

‘When you put it like that,’ I say, shoving the rack closer, nerves rife in my belly, ‘you should definitely fill up on as many tarts as you like.’

He gives me a look of mock horror. ‘Are you saying you might poison us?’

‘Poison you? No. But I don’t think you’ll be going back for seconds.’

I don’t feel like I’ll be going in for firsts either. What if my parents see us in the flesh and work it all out? Worse, what if they see my feelings for what they are and Aiden’s lack thereof...?

‘Nonsense, darling,’ his mother says. ‘The casserole smells delicious.’

‘It’s my father’s favourite,’ I say, distracted.

‘Are you trying to get him on side?’ Now Aiden looks worried. ‘I thought he was merry enough when we told them the news. Did I miss something?’

‘You don’t know my father... Actually, scratch that. You do.’

‘And she is his only daughter—only child, even,’ Margot reminds him, successfully stripping the last of the colour from his cheeks.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ He pops the tart he’s successfully swiped back on the rack. ‘I think I’ve lost my appetite.’

Margot laughs and shoos us out of the kitchen.

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