Chapter Five
The moment the door shuts, the space in the bedroom seems to contract, even though they are standing as far away from each other as humanly possible. The one bed seems to pulse between them, impossible to ignore.
“Maybe I could sleep on the sofa,” Finn says with a sigh. Mel snorts—both at the suggestion and at the idiocy. What, were they expecting bunk beds?
She folds her arms. “Sure, that’ll look normal.”
“I could tell them I snore.”
“They’ll know you don’t.”
“I could tell them you snore.”
“I do not.”
“You do, sometimes. Only occasionally,” he adds quickly when she narrows her eyes. “And only when you’ve had a hard day.” She answers that by staring out of the window again.
“You take the right side,” she says. “I’ll take the left. There are enough pillows—we can put a line down the middle or something.”
He laughs. “You want to build a wall of pillows?” She refuses to look at him.
There’s a lightness in his tone, like it’s one big joke.
The silence between them grows, turns sticky.
“All right. Well, look, I’ll leave you to unpack.
Take as much time as you need—I warned everyone you’d have to work while you were here. ”
She doesn’t know why that makes her wince. She’s entitled to work if she wants to, isn’t she? She has a business to run. It’s important. Admittedly, it’s not brain surgery and no one will die if she takes a day off, but she’s got bills to pay, people depending on her.
She doesn’t look around until she hears the door click behind her. Then she scrapes her hands through her hair as she sinks down onto the bed. She eyes the many, many pillows at the headboard. Maybe he’s right. Building a wall of pillows might be a bit extreme.
While she’s usually the type to unpack properly even just for a week, rather than living out of a suitcase, all she does is get out her laptop.
She sends a few emails to Amanda, then checks that there are no major updates on the Lillian Hart situation before checking the accounts.
A designer has sent her a new piece to approve, which has already been through several back-and-forths, because although it’s good, it’s not great —and Mel can see the places she’d do it differently, if it were her.
Still, it’s getting much closer, and she tries to make sure her email back to the designer is upbeat, with plenty of positive feedback.
All the while, she can hear the laughter and chatter rising and falling from downstairs.
It’s uncomfortable, knowing they’re all down there, and it’s making it difficult to concentrate.
She can’t help wondering if any of them are judging her for immediately getting to work rather than spending time with them.
At least the Wi-Fi is good. Hopefully, she’ll have some time alone in the house while the family is all out doing Christmas activities—because from the looks of things there aren’t going to be any cafés within walking distance.
Eventually, she gives up on work and changes out of her traveling clothes, choosing a blue jumper she knows brings out her eyes, her best feature.
She checks her reflection in the mirror above the chest of drawers, brushes on some mascara and tinted moisturizer.
She looks pale and tired—a reflection of the late nights working and the mammoth train journey, no doubt.
And she doesn’t know why she cares about that.
She’s spent several holidays with his family before—they are hardly going to care what she looks like.
But just because she hates Finn doesn’t mean she wants to look a mess in front of him.
She hesitates, then puts in the earrings Finn gave her for the very first Christmas they’d spent together—a present she’d opened up in front of his whole family.
Because she’d told him she liked making jewelry—and because he’d seen them and thought of her, apparently.
Little dragonflies—gold with bright blue eyes.
It’s probably the favorite present she’s ever received, partly because it was one of the first moments she thought maybe Finn was really it, maybe this would be the man she built a life with.
That’s not the reason she puts them on—she does it deliberately, to make a statement to his family, and, maybe, to remind Finn of what he’d said he loved about her.
Just because she agreed to go through with this doesn’t mean she can’t try to make him suffer a little in the process.
But she hasn’t worn them since he broke up with her, and she runs the tips of her fingers over the little eyes, taking a moment to shove down the lump in her throat, fix a smile to her face.
Everyone is in the kitchen-slash-dining room when she gets downstairs, the earlier cinnamon smell now joined by cooking onion and garlic.
Mark, Finn’s older brother, has his back to her as he leans against the island that separates the kitchen area from the rest of the room, barefoot.
His wife, Kristen, is next to Susan at the Aga, stirring something in a pan.
Damn. She should have come down earlier, shouldn’t she?
Offered to help. Instead, they’ve all been chipping in while she’s done nothing.
She hovers in the doorway. Finn is at the table, helping Freya with some coloring in, a look of intense concentration on his face.
She loves that look, the way his brow furrows.
He doesn’t realize he’s doing it, and she used to enjoy watching him as he sketched out designs for the houses he was flipping, when he was too lost in what he was doing to notice she was there.
He used to say she did the same thing when she was designing jewelry—that he could walk in naked and she wouldn’t even notice.
Had, in fact, tried to test that theory once.
She squares her shoulders, makes herself cross the room before any of them can notice her.
Because he’s so intent on what he’s doing, he doesn’t notice her until she’s right on top of him leaning down to wrap her arms around his shoulders.
It is his turn, this time, to stiffen. And when she presses a light kiss to his cheek, she swears he stops breathing. Good. Serves him bloody right.
“Hi,” she says brightly, squeezing his shoulders again for good measure.
He clears his throat in a way that almost sounds painful.
“Ah, hi.” His voice is a little rough. When he glances up at her, she only smiles more brightly.
She can totally do this, she tells herself.
She might not be able to make him regret breaking up with her, but she can sure as hell try to make him regret asking her here.
“Mel!” Susan beams over at her, wiping her hands on her apron as Freya tugs on Finn’s sleeve to get his attention. “We’re having some predinner mulled wine, if you’d like some?”
“Sure. That would be great.” Susan goes to reach up to one of the cupboards, but is waved off by Kristen who gets down a mug and ladles in some mulled wine.
Mark straightens and looks around as Mel leaves Finn and Freya to their coloring and approaches the kitchen area. Mark is the tallest of the three siblings, a bit stockier than Finn, his face rounder. He’s wearing a shirt, unbuttoned at the collar—about as casual as he gets.
“Melanie!” He strolls over, gives her a big bear hug. She’s never been as close to Mark, but he has a way about him that usually puts her at ease. “Good to see you!”
Kristen slides the steaming mug over the granite counter, which Mark takes, then hands to Mel, like a weird game of pass the parcel.
“It’s good,” Mark promises. “Homemade, though thankfully not by me.” He gives Mel an exaggerated wink and she laughs as she knows she’s expected to.
She can feel Finn’s gaze on her back the whole time, in a way that makes her hyperaware of her every movement.
Does she usually hold a mug like this? Does it matter how she holds the bloody mug?
Kristen smiles at her—a redhead, just like Freya. “How are you, Mel?” Her voice is quiet, in opposition to Mark’s boom—it always surprised her that someone as reserved as Kristen ended up with someone as loud as Mark.
“Oh, I’m good. Just catching up with work.” She feels the need to explain why she hid upstairs while the rest of them were down here. And hopefully that is the last “How are you” to get out of the way.
Susan smiles at her warmly over her shoulder, dimples winking out. “How is that business of yours? I tell all my friends about you, you know—so many of them buy your things for Christmas presents. Very good quality, that’s what they all say.”
“That’s so nice, thank you. And it’s good.” Good, good, everything’s bloody good. Can you think of a different adjective, Melanie? “We’ve potentially got a celebrity partner coming on board—you know Lillian Hart?”
Susan purses her lips, clearly trying to think, just as Hattie comes into the room. “Lillian Hart? The actress who does all the action stuff?”
“That’s the one.”
Hattie comes up beside Mel. “Dylan says she’s…interesting.”
Mel laughs. “Aren’t they all?”
“And this actress—she’s going to be supporting you, is she?
” Susan asks. She doesn’t even need the subtle glance to her left to know that Finn’s gaze is currently boring into her.
No doubt because she hadn’t told him. Well, too bad.
If she has to pretend to be back together with him, he’ll have to pretend he already knows all this, won’t he?
“Mulled wine, Hattie?” Kristen asks.
“God no. Do we have any non-stewed alcohol alternatives? I swear I saw some prosecco in the fridge earlier.”
“She’ll be demanding champagne, next,” Finn calls from the dining table. “Hollywood rubbing off on you, Hatt?”
Hattie rolls her eyes, patting down her blond curls. “For the last time, Dylan’s not in Hollywood. But, yes, I’d love a champagne,” she adds, grinning broadly and showing her teeth. Finn snorts as he returns to the coloring.