A New Year Bride. Scarlet Wilson

got herself so worked up that her whole body was shaking. He hated that. He hated she was so upset. Why hadn’t he realised she was alone? Why hadn’t he realised she was suffering a bereavement just as he was?

      Grace had always been so upbeat around him, so full of life that he’d missed the signs. He knew better than most that you only revealed the side of you that you wanted people to see.

      He’d been struck by Grace’s apparent openness. But she’d built the same guard around her heart as he had. It didn’t matter that it was different circumstances. This year, she felt just as alone as he had over the last five.

      He didn’t want that for her. He didn’t want that for Grace.

      What if…?

      The thought came out of nowhere. He didn’t know quite what to do with it.

      Her eyes flitted between him and the outside view. ‘Tell me, Grace. Tell me what your ideal Christmas would be. What do you want for Christmas?’ His voice was firm as he repeated his question. The waver in her voice and tears had been too much for him. Grace was a kind and good person. She didn’t deserve to be lonely this Christmas. He had enough money to buy just about anything and he was willing to spend it to wipe that look off her face.

      Her mouth opened but the words seemed to stall.

      ‘What?’ he prompted gently.

      ‘I want a proper Christmas,’ she breathed. ‘One with real snow, and a log fire, and a huge Christmas turkey that’s almost too big to get in the oven.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I want to be able to smell a real Christmas tree again and I want to spend all day—or all night—decorating it the way I used to with my gran. I want to go into the kitchen and bake Christmas muffins and let the smell drift all around.’ She squeezed her eyes closed for a second. ‘And I don’t want to be alone.’

      Finlay was dumbstruck. She hadn’t mentioned gifts or ‘things’. Grace didn’t want perfume or jewels. She hadn’t any yearning for materialistic items.

      She wanted time. She wanted company. She wanted the Christmas experience.

      He glanced out of the window again. He was a little confused. Snow dusted the top of every rooftop in London—just as it had for the last week.

      ‘What do you mean by snow?’ he said carefully.

      She opened her eyes again as he released his hands from her shoulders. She held out her hands. ‘You know—real snow. Snow that’s so thick you can hardly walk in it. Snow you can lie down on and do snow angels without feeling the pavement beneath your shoulder blades. Snow that there’s actually enough of to build a snowman and make snowballs with. Snow that, when you look out, all you can see is white with little bumps and you wonder what they actually are.’ He could hear the wonder in her voice, the excitement. She’d stopped being so sad and was actually imagining what she wished Christmas could be like.

      ‘And then you go inside the house and all you can smell is the Christmas tree, and the muffins, and then listen to the crackle of the real fire as you try and dry off from being outside.’ She was smiling now. It seemed that Grace Ellis could tell him exactly what she wanted from this Christmas.

      And he knew exactly where she could get it. The snow scene in her head—he’d seen that view a hundred times. The crackling fire—he had that too.

      This was Grace. The person who’d shot a little fire into his blood in the last few days. The person who’d made him laugh and smile at times. The girl with the warm heart who had let him realise the future might not be quite as bleak as he’d once imagined.

      He could do this. He could give her the Christmas she deserved.

      ‘Pack your bag.’

      Her eyes widened and she frowned. ‘What?’

      He started walking through the penthouse, heading to his cupboards to pull out some clothes. It was cold up north; he’d need to wrap up.

      ‘I’ll take you home to grab some things. I can show you real snow. I can light a real fire. We can even get soaked to the skin making snow angels.’ He winked at her. ‘Once you’ve done it—you’ll regret it.’

      Grace was still frowning. ‘Finlay, it’s after eight o’clock on Christmas Eve. Where on earth are you planning on taking me? Don’t you have plans yourself?’

      He shook his head as he pushed some clothes in a black bag. ‘No. I planned on staying here and going up on Boxing Day to visit my parents and sister. My helicopter is on standby. We can go now.’

      She started shaking her head. ‘Go where?’

      ‘To Scotland.’