CHAPTER 1
Emma
Two months later
There’s absolutely nothing merry about my Christmas.
I watch from the sidelines as my colleagues happily drink and dance their way through the company-funded Christmas party. They all look so carefree and light; like they’re really soaking in the end-of-year celebration.
And then there’s me. Standing awkwardly on the outskirts, sipping my one glass of champagne, shifting in my sky-high heels, the ones which pinch my toes but also make my legs look long and lean, observing the festivities but not partaking in any of it. I’ve been in this same position for most of the night, half-hidden, off to the side of the bar, watching my dreamy ex-boyfriend fawn over his new girlfriend—the same girl who I’d been sure he was in love with the entire time we were together—wishing not for the first time I hadn’t fallen for a man I work with.
“Would you look at that!”
Groan. I know that voice. It’s James from accounting, and he’s currently pointing to the mistletoe he’s waving above my head in a not-so-subtle attempt to extort a kiss out of me. The man has been relentless since Oliver broke up with me two months ago, and while it should be a balm for my bruised ego, all I can think is how annoying it is that my ex-boyfriend ends up with his dream girl—the imperfectly perfect Lilly—and I’m stuck being pursued by a man who wears shoes without socks.
And look, I know it’s the trendy thing for men to wear pants that end well above their ankles and shoes with no socks—I watch Summer House and Vanderpump Rules and see what the ‘it’ crowd are wearing—but that doesn’t mean it looks good.
“Not going to happen, James,” I mutter, putting my empty champagne glass down with a sigh. It’s time to call it a night. I’ve tortured myself enough for one evening.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” James peers over my shoulder as I order an Uber. As I tap away, I keep one eye on Oliver and Lilly with a sense of foreboding. They’re so loved up; I fear Oliver will drop to one knee at any moment and drive the final stake through my heart.
“I’ll see you after the holidays.”
James puts his mistletoe in his pocket with a pout, scouring the room for his next victim, while I make my way to the exit, skirting around the happy, festive people, keeping my cloud of doom to myself. I’m so grumpy, I may as well call myself the Grinch and be done with it.
“Merry Christmas, Emma.”
I stop short, having almost walked straight into Lilly. She’s wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and a reindeer ears headband holds back her long, curly hair. I want to say she looks ridiculous, but really, she’s adorable.
“Merry Christmas, Lilly.”
She beams at me and I feel two feet tall. When I was dating Oliver, I’d been so jealous of her, of the way he looked at her, that I’d deliberately called her the wrong name. She’d been Lucy, and Lacey and Laney. Anything to take the shine off her and put it on to me. A futile endeavour as it turned out; all it accomplished was making me the bad guy and Lilly the one Oliver had to rescue…from me. Man, I’d read that whole situation wrong.
“You look beautiful.” Lilly’s eyes shine with sincerity and my stomach twists. The woman is lovely; she’d always been lovely. I’d been so knotted up with jealousy that I’d missed it.
I smooth a hand over my long, blonde, straight hair and offer her a small smile. “Thanks. So do you.”
A flush blooms on her cheeks and she looks so pleased with the compliment, I feel like an even bigger jerk. Lilly is my polar opposite: chaotic, messy, always one step away from disaster. Where my outfit tonight is perfectly colour co-ordinated, a mix of classy beige and gold tones, hers is a kaleidoscope of mismatched greens and purples and reds and pinks. She should look like an eyesore, but she looks like a small Christmas fairy. And Oliver loves every inch of her.
“Hey, Emma.”
Great. My swift exit has been thwarted, not just by Lilly but now Oliver, who has joined the conversation, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s tiny waist.
Merry, merry Christmas to me.
“Hi Oliver.” I force out another smile and glance at my phone. It’s the Friday night before Christmas, so every bar and club seems to be hosting a Christmas event, and it seems like every Uber in Melbourne is unavailable.
I can’t catch a break.
“Is everything OK over here?” Oliver’s big brown eyes are stuck on Lilly with such fierce protectiveness. I swallow a lump of regret in my throat. He’s rushed over to her to make sure she’s OK, when I’m the one he dumped, only to get together with his sister’s best friend a mere handful of weeks later.
“We’re fine, Ollie.” Lilly gazes back at him like he has hung the moon. I take this as my cue to get the heck out of here.
“My ride’s here.” I wave my phone in their direction and offer a weak wave. “Have a Merry Christmas, you two.”
They spare me a brief glance, mumbling a festive wish, before gazing lovingly at each other again. Their devotion is like salt on my gaping, broken-hearted wound.
I have to get out of here.
My heels clickity-clack over the concrete floor of the trendy bar our firm had hired for the Christmas party, keeping my head down to avoid any further interactions. At this point, I don’t care if my Uber never shows up and I have to walk the ten kilometres home. I just know I have to get out of here.
A notification lights up the phone in my hand. My Uber is pulling up to the kerb just as I make my escape. I jump in, leaning back against the head rest. I’d ordered a ‘quiet Uber’ and as per my request, after confirming my address, my driver hasn’t said a word. And during the silent ride home, I let out the breath I’d been holding all day. I’d known this Christmas party was going to be difficult. I’d known he was going to be here with her. I just hadn’t realised how much it would hurt. In my heart, I know Oliver was not the right man for me; his heart had always belonged to Lilly. I just long for someone to love me like that. To adore me, to see only me.
When will it be my turn to be loved?
“This is you.”
My perfectly quiet Uber driver signals the end to our ride home and I give him a smile and a five-star rating as I slip my shoes off and walk the few metres to my front door barefoot. As I always do, I pause at my porch and a small sense of satisfaction washes over me as I stare at the townhouse in front of me. My townhouse. At the ripe old age of twenty-five, I’m the proud owner of a two-bedroom, one-bathroom house of my very own. Well, almost all of my very own. I do have to share a wall with my neighbour, but apart from that, it’s all mine.
I peek over to said neighbour’s house, the layout a mirror-image of my own, and as per usual the place looks dark and still. When I’d moved in twelve months ago, it had been occupied by a lovely older lady who looked after both of our front gardens and brought me jars of jams on the regular. Unfortunately, her health was declining, and she moved out to live with her daughter two months ago, and since then I’ve only caught a mere glimpse of the person I share a wall with.
All I know of him so far is that he’s tall and broad, with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and a bum that fills in a pair of jeans just right. He’d moved in at the beginning of November and though I’d seen him behind several large moving boxes, I’d yet to meet him properly. It’s like he took ownership of the place and then became a ghost. If I wasn’t so heartsick and stressed about having to work with my ex-boyfriend, I’d definitely be intrigued by the fit-looking neighbour who kept to himself, made no noise and brought me exactly zero jars of jam.
“Time for some self-care,” I mutter as I let myself in, turning the AC up full blast and sinking onto my couch with a groan. It’s already a scorching hot summer—how Lilly had survived in her ugly sweater is a mystery—and for the next few days I plan to be here on this couch, a bottle of wine at the ready, with my favourite Christmas movies on rotation.
I flip through my Netflix watchlist and let out a chuckle. Who am I kidding? I know which movie I’m going to watch. It’s the same one I’d watched every night this week and will probably watch every night for the next week.
“ Love Actually . There is no better Christmas movie.”
With the air conditioning kicking in, creating a frosty environment around me, I pull the muted grey blanket from the back of the couch and wrap it around me. Once I’m fully ensconced in my blanket, I tip sideways, resting my head on a plush (also grey) cushion, and sigh anticipating the wonders of Hugh Grant and his merry band of misfits washing over me.
I’m just about to press play when my phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of me. My hands are wrapped tight around the remote, buried in the blanket cocoon and I’m loath to answer the call and ruin the Zen I’ve just found. But it’s my best friend Carly’s face flashing on the screen in front of me, and if I don’t answer, well, she’ll just keep calling.
“Hey,” I say after swiping the phone with my nose and balancing it on my legs so I can see her.
“How bad was it?” She’s worried and for good reason. I’d been moaning about this party and Oliver and Lilly for weeks now. My bestie had offered to come with me, as an emotional support person, but the poor thing was three hundred weeks pregnant and finding it hard to move. I couldn’t drag her from her house in this heat, as much as I’d wanted to.
“Eh, it wasn’t the worst.”
She frowns. “Was she there?”
My friends know well that Oliver dumped me and promptly got together with the girl he’d always loved. It was brutally painful, and I’d been a mess in the weeks ever since. Having to see them together again tonight was just the icing on my terribly heartbroken cake.
“Yes. She wore an ugly Christmas sweater.”
Carly snorts. “She would.”
“And she looked beautiful. And he doted on her. And they’re going to get married and live happily ever after, while I’ll die alone with a bunch of cats.”
“You’re more of a dog person.”
“Not the point!” I groan.
She smiles. “Emma, you’re young and unfairly beautiful. You’re scary smart and super kind. You’re the best friend a person could ask for. Your perfect someone is out there. Oliver wasn’t the right guy for you and you know it.”
That’s the worst part. I’d fallen for him and had wanted it to work desperately, even though I knew he wasn’t right for me. He was too…nice. He didn’t challenge me. There was no…spark.
“You’re right.”
“Why don’t you come over and spend the week with me? We’d love to have you stay for Christmas.”
Tears fill my eyes at this. Carly and her husband are celebrating their first Christmas together and with a baby on the way, the last one, just the two of them. I love her for inviting me to crash their special holiday celebration, knowing I’m alone here for the holiday week with my parents away on a month-long European cruise, but there’s no way I want to spend any time with another loved-up couple. Just looking at her happy, glowing face on my screen is making me antsy. I need to be alone in my misery.
I tell her this gently in the nicest way possible.
“So you’re just going to wallow at home for the next eleven days and then go back to work? That’s your plan?”
Yes. And it sounds amazing.
“Yup. I’ll check in with you. Don’t worry. But for now, I’m going to hang out with Colin Firth and listen to Mariah Carey sing about what she wants for Christmas…”
Carly frowns but doesn’t argue. “OK…I love you. Don’t wallow too hard.”
I make no promises, blowing her a kiss and swiping the phone with my nose to end the call. For the next few days, it’s going to be me and this Christmas movie. And I can’t picture it any other way.
I press play and settle in to get lost in the wonders of Love Actually, letting the rest of the world just fade away.