Chapter 52
Christmas Day dawned bright and frosty. Felicity opened her eyes, stretched her arms above her head and stared at the ceiling, revelling in the fact she could even do that on this particular day without feeling completely depressed and miserable.
There was only a slight pang this year, the best it had ever been really.
She looked across at James, and ran one hand idly down his chest, face flushing as she remembered their antics of the previous night with pleasure and more than a little discomfiture in the cold light of day.
‘Morning,’ said James, with a lazy smile, blinking in the daylight.
‘Morning yourself,’ said Felicity.
‘Happy Christmas,’ he murmured, turning over onto his side so he could face her.
‘Happy Christmas yourself,’ whispered Felicity, taking in the nearness of him. He was so damn broad.
James reached across and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I love you, yourself,’ said Felicity. ‘Wait, that one doesn’t work.’
‘Ha, got you,’ said James.
Later, James and Felicity ordered a room service breakfast and opened what presents they’d been able to bring in their suitcase on the enormous super-king bed.
Felicity had new pyjamas with cats on, even though James knew full well she’d never give up the old tartan ones without a fight, and James had to settle for a Jason Bourne box set because she couldn’t find a decent enough Bourne costume.
Then they ate an extravagant and extremely expensive Christmas lunch in the restaurant with a few families and several dowagers and their entourages and retired to their room for a nap.
At 4pm there was a knock on the door and a somewhat shy member of hotel staff delivered a tray heaving with festive cakes and cookies and although there was meant to be a late supper at 7pm in the restaurant they both had to admit defeat by then.
They elected to stay in bed instead because, why not? It was Christmas after all.
‘I’ve never been so full in my whole life,’ said Felicity with a groan.
James just moaned in response.
They were propped up against the squishy cushions watching Die Hard because they’d missed the opportunity to watch it the day before and with cats named Holly and Gennie (Gennaro) after the character in the film, it was now a yearly ritual.
‘Remember when you dressed up as John McClane?’ said Felicity.
‘How could I forget?’ said James in that low, sexy voice of his.
‘Do you, um, still have the outfit?’
James looked horrified. ‘I mean, I do, but you’re not suggesting…?’
Felicity grinned. ‘God, no. Not now. I can barely move to a sitting position let alone anything… else.’
‘Thank God. Me too. Christmas Day is officially the least sexy day of the year. Also, I didn’t bring it.’
Felicity traced an idle circle on his stomach with one finger. ‘So that means you do still have it.’
‘I might.’
‘The vest and the gun and all that?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Then that’s happening when we get home, right?’
‘Right you are. Or should I say, yippee-ki-yay?’
Felicity laughed and snuggled against him. ‘Yes. You should. Perfect.’
The following morning Felicity woke early. The light seeping through the gap in the thick curtains was still grey and soft and she lay for a time staring at the ornate ceiling rose, listening to James’s steady breathing beside her.
When it was clear all hope of going back to sleep was lost, she threw back the pillowy duvet and pottered around the room as quietly as she could manage.
Realising there was no hope of actually getting the noisiest wardrobe in the world open without waking James, she eventually settled for pulling one of his woollen jumpers over her fancy new cat pyjamas and strapping on her walking boots.
The cold air hit her as she crept out of the hotel’s heavy front door and padded down towards Moulin Huet Bay in the semi-dark, and she shivered as she walked down the quiet lane, exchanging a wry smile and a whispered “Happy Christmas” with a pink-cheeked woman clad in pyjamas and welly boots who had clearly had the same idea a little earlier.
The walkway down to the water was steep and slick with frost but something was pulling Felicity to the sea and she walked with purpose, not really clear what that purpose was but certain it would reveal itself at some point.
Reaching the bay, the sun just barely peeping over the horizon, she closed her eyes for but a moment and breathed the salty tang on the air, listening to the waves softly lapping at the beach below.
A bench had been set up to the side of the path just a few metres from the sand, and she sat gratefully, wrapping her arms around herself and wishing she’d been brave enough to open the creaky wardrobe and grab a coat.
This was the view that inspired Renoir, she thought.
Perhaps not on such a misty cold morning, but still, even now it had a bleak kind of beauty.
There was something about the sea that always seemed to speak to her soul.
Perhaps everyone felt like that. There were practical reasons too, of course, but perhaps humanity always populated the coastlines first because they had a spiritual need to, somehow.
Boxing Day. She had survived another Christmas with James and he hadn’t walked out and left her.
More to the point, she hadn’t ruined it by being grumpy and sad and Eeyore-ish.
In fact, this time she had positively relished their Christmas Day, and she wondered vaguely whether they could get away with sneaking off to Guernsey every year. Would anyone notice, or mind?
The bench was cold through her pyjamas and seeping into her bones and she knew she should probably head back to the hotel but something… something was nagging at her. But what was it? Nothing bad, that was for sure. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this happy in fact. So what?
And then it hit her. That’s what it was.
She was happy. She was actually happy for the first time in ages.
Perhaps – and Felicity cringed at her own dramatic flair – for the first time ever.
She was in love. Properly, completely, fully in love and more than that, she was happy in her own skin.
In her life. In where she was. She had people who loved her back and not just because they had to or in a surface way but fully, completely, loved her.
James loves me.
I love him.
More than that, she thought, I trust him.
I’m not constantly expecting him to leave.
I’m not expecting him to leave at all.
That last thought hit her like a thunderbolt. I trust him. For Felicity, who had never been able to rely on a single person for her whole life, except perhaps Andrea, to fully and completely trust someone felt like an almost impossible achievement.
A little laugh of delight escaped her lips and she looked guiltily around to see if anyone had heard, but the bay was deserted, the rising sun just barely creeping across the sea and touching the tips of the rocks, giving the whole vista a strange almost eerie look.
Did she dare say the words out loud? She tested them in her mouth – I trust him – over and over again until at last they came whispering lightly over her lips and the salty air carried them out across the sparkling sea.
And then a thought dawned. And it was a big, bold thought that nearly stole the breath from her lungs.
Felicity knew in that moment that trusting James was a decision, not a feeling.
She could decide to trust him, and maybe she’d have to decide every day to do that but she didn’t need to be led by her feelings.
No matter how many wobbles she had, how many times the betrayals of her past came back to haunt her, Felicity could decide each and every morning that this man was worthy of her trust. She knew him.
She knew it to be true. Just like with forgiveness – and she knew she still needed to work at forgiving Harry, of course she did – but in the same way, she could decide this.
It was within her power to change the game.
And that, thought Felicity, breathing the sea air deep into her lungs, that was everything.
Felicity practically skipped back to the hotel, but when she got back to their room, she opened the door as quietly as she could, half expecting James to be right where she left him, snoring softly. But no, he was up and pacing the floor.
‘Where the heck have you been?’ he said, rushing over to her.
He looked so serious, so grave somehow, that her heart gave a lurch. The irony, she thought, forcing herself to remember her little revelation. You can trust him. Everything is fine.
‘Sorry, I went for a walk down to the bay. I couldn’t sleep. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, of course, sorry,’ he said. He was smiling but she could see tension in his jaw. ‘I just woke up and you weren’t there. I got… scared.’
He looked almost sheepish. Her shoulders sagged in response.
‘I really didn’t mean to scare you. You were out for the count when I left. It’s still early, want to go back to bed?’
She raised her eyebrows at him in what she hoped was a suggestive manner but if he noticed, he didn’t react. His eyes flicked to his watch.
‘Actually, we do have somewhere to be today. You might want to take a shower.’
‘Oh… it’s like that, is it?’ she said, taking a step towards him.
He looked distracted, and her stomach flipped. What was wrong with him?
‘Not like that. I mean an actual shower,’ he said, a little sharply. ‘You’ll have to trust me on this one.’
Now she was getting paranoid. She recited the words from the beach in her head like a mantra. I trust him. I trust him. I trust him.
‘Okay, so now you’re making me paranoid,’ she said, in another attempt at levity. ‘Don’t you like the smell of the sea?’ She tried a winning smile. This time his lips twitched and she relaxed, just a little.
‘I would love you even if you were actually wearing a dress made of mussels and clams,’ he said, with a grin, ‘but that’s very much not the point right now. Go and have a shower and then I’ll explain.’
‘A dress made of mussels and clams. How would that even work?’
‘I panicked, okay? That’s all I could think of at short notice. But it’s also very much not the point right now. You need to go and get ready. We have somewhere to be.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re going to make me go outside again,’ said Felicity with a grimace. ‘It’s cold out there.’
‘Felicity Brooks… don’t make me double-name you.’
‘I think you just did.’
‘Get in that shower.’
‘Fine, I’m going,’ said Felicity, heading for the bathroom, cheeks burning. She must smell. That must be what it was. She washed herself twice over just to be sure.
When she came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a soft white towel, James was sitting on the bed, tapping a foot on the deep carpet.
‘There. Happy now?’ she said, dropping as civilised a curtsey as she could manage without totally disgracing herself in the scanty robe. James didn’t even react. Something was definitely up.
‘I’ve got something for you.’ James swallowed, handing her a large white box that had been resting on the bed beside him. His eyes were wide with excitement or, was that worry? It was hard to tell.
Felicity sat down next to him on the bed and blinked. ‘Where did that box come from?’
‘It was in the wardrobe.’
She ran a hand over it absently. ‘No, but I mean, how did you get this here on the plane without me seeing it?’
‘I have my ways.’
‘Sneaky thing.’
‘I know,’ said James a little proudly, although his voice was strained.
‘What? Why does your face look like that?’
‘All will become clear. But first… breakfast.’ James stood up, opened the door to the hotel room and picked up a tray which must have been sitting there a while.
He placed it on the little table by the hotel room window and lifted the silver cloche with a flourish.
Underneath it was a plate piled with a full English vegetarian breakfast plus a little rack full of toast, a glass of orange juice, a mug of coffee and even a little flower in a vase.
‘Eat this, then put that on and meet me in the lobby,’ he said, indicating the box. ‘And it must be in that order. Do not under any circumstance attempt to put that on before you have eaten. Promise me.’
‘What? What’s going on?’
‘Promise me, I said.’
‘Fine, I promise. Aren’t you eating?’
‘I’ll get something downstairs. Take as long as you need, I’ll be reading the paper.’
‘James, you’re scaring me. What are you up to?’
‘Just do it.’
Felicity’s blood was beginning to pound in her ears. What in the name of a room service breakfast was going on here? I trust him, I trust him, I trust him. And also, oh God, please don’t let him leave me.
She waited until he’d pottered around the room a bit more. Eventually James left and went downstairs, still with that same look on his face.
Heart thumping, Felicity took the lid off the box.
Inside was the most exquisite dress she had ever seen in her life.
It was ivory satin with buttons and sequins sewed into the bodice and a long extravagant skirt.
She lifted it up and gasped at how the material flowed, soft and silken and very, very expensive.
If Felicity didn’t know better she’d think it was a…
‘This is a wedding dress,’ she said in a wobbly voice, although there was no one in the room.
A voice came from the other side of the door.
‘Put it on.’
‘You’re supposed to be downstairs.’
‘I know. I knew you’d bloody open the box first. Eat your breakfast. Then you can put the dress on. Don’t think, just do it.’ There was a long pause while Felicity’s stomach did a series of mini-somersaults. ‘I love you. Just remember that, okay?’
‘I love you,’ she said to the door.
‘Go on, get eating. We’re on a clock here.’
‘Okay, okay, I’m doing it,’ said Felicity, her pulse beating wildly now. What had he done?