Ten years ago in London
“Tinseltown, here we come!”
The male voice reverberated through Magenta Plumtree’s pounding head as she perched on the end of Alex Wells’ bed, rolling a scarlet silk stocking up to her thigh.
Nick Wells burst into his twin brother’s bedroom. “Get your act together, Bro. It’s Christmas Eve,” he yelled, then jumped out of his skin. “Well hello, Maggie! Looks like Santa filled Alex’s stocking a day early.”
Bleary-eyed, Maggie blinked at the blonde, brown-eyed version of the guy she’d woken up beside. Too hung over to blush she scanned the room for her other hold-up. She nodded at the boarded-up Victorian fireplace.
“There’s no way Santa’s going to make it down that chimney.”
Nick grinned. He looked her up and down. “I’d suggest that Alex give Santa a key, but there’s hardly any point.”
“Quite.” She shrugged. “Since the two of you are going to LA for the holidays.” She bit her lip and wondered idly if there’d be any room in Alex’s bag for a stowaway.
“And never comin’ back! If things go according to plan.” Nick rubbed his hands together, ostensibly because he was cold, but actually because he couldn’t contain his glee.
The idea of Alex never coming back to London smarted. “Whose plan?”
“Mine,” he said smugly.
“Don’t count on it. You haven’t even had the audition yet.” Nick’s shoulders tightened. He turned his back on Maggie, shuffled a few of his brother’s things about randomly on his desk, more messing than tidying, and turned back abruptly to face her. He opened his mouth to say something. No sound came out. He was holding something back.
Alex, wearing only boxers, marched into the room, a mug of instant coffee in each hand. Tall and fabulous, he watched Maggie scrabble under the bed for her missing stocking with a suggestive twinkle in his bluer-than-blue eyes.
“Leaving so soon?”
“I’ve got a train to catch.” She rolled the second indecently expensive silk stocking up her left leg and set about locating her shoes. Dressed as a sexy Santa in broad daylight on Christmas Eve? At best she looked like a festive kiss-o-gram. At worst? Best not go there.
“Great party last night. You pulled a cracker.” Nick winked at his twin. “Where’s my coffee?”
“He can have mine.” Maggie took a mug from Alex’s hand and shoved it at him. A tiny bow wave of milky coffee sloshed onto the threadbare carpet. The hideous pattern
