her an ice cream or something.
In amongst all her thoughts and feelings there was a terrible sense of being overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the plans that needed making to make a wedding happen. They had sixteen weeks tops to get it all together; she’d worked it out in the back of her diary. The biggest thing Jess had organised up until now was a table for fifteen at the local curry house. At the same time she had a funny sense of joy and excitement and anticipation. There was part of her that was ready to settle down. ‘There is so much to get organised, you will help, won’t you?’
Max yawned and stretched. ‘What did you say?’
‘Plans – we’ve got to make plans. And lists. You will help, won’t you?’
He blinked and then rubbed his eyes and reached out to brush the hair back off Jess’s face. ‘You worry too much,’ he said.
‘And I was thinking – does this mean I’m officially moving in?’
He grinned. ‘Well, I certainly hope so.’
‘I meant when we get back. After all it would make life a lot easier and my lease is up.’
‘I’d kind of assumed we’d wait until after the wedding,’ Max said after a few seconds. ‘I know it’s a pain in the arse but would you mind waiting? It’s not long and I’d really like to get the house sorted out. Decorated.’
‘We could do that together. I’m a dab hand with a paint roller. I wouldn’t mind helping.’
‘I know you wouldn’t, eager beaver,’ said Max. ‘But I’m up to my eyes with work at the moment. I’d been thinking I’d get someone in to do it, and it’ll be a lot easier if the house is empty. I need to clear my office out and move the servers first…’ He paused. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Well, no,’ Jess said with a shrug, masking her disappointment. ‘No, not at all, it’s fine.’
He laughed and poked her. ‘No, it’s not. You’re annoyed.’
‘Well, I just thought…’ she began, but he was ahead of her.
‘It won’t be for much longer. If I were you I’d enjoy it. In another few years you’ll probably be sick of the sight of me.’ Max smiled and then leaned in to kiss her. ‘I know my place isn’t all that huge but it’ll do us to start off with and then maybe later we could buy somewhere bigger – you happy with that?’
He kissed her again, more tenderly this time, and as she pulled away, and not for the first time, Jess admired the view. There was no doubt about it: Max Peters was a catch.
They’d met when he’d been brought in to upgrade the computers where she worked. He wasn’t the normal engineer but had been doing a favour for a friend and as he came in, their eyes met and Jess had had one of those totally heartstopping moments of lust. He was gorgeous and knew it.
Debbie, who sat at the desk opposite, and was about to go on maternity leave, had purred and then whispered, ‘Wipe the drool off your chin, sweetie.’ And then five minutes later Max had walked over to her desk and before she knew what had hit her he had asked Jess out for dinner and she had said yes. Just like that.
‘Way, way too smooth,’ Debbie had said, swigging Gaviscon like it was vodka, not quite able to hide the appreciation in her voice as Max went off to sort out one of the other machines.
And now here she was six months later, getting married to him. Jess drank him in with her eyes; she liked those nicely defined muscles in Max’s arms, those broad shoulders and the way his hair – thick and almost black, and shot through here and there with grey – curled into the nape of his strong muscular neck. He swam and worked out two or three times a week and there was something about those big brown eyes of his that suggested he had been hurt, but with a lot of love the right woman could heal him – and apparently it turned out she was that woman.
Jess grinned lazily. Maybe happy ever after wasn’t just a fairy story after all.
By some stroke of genetic good fortune his skin turned the colour of golden syrup at the merest glimpse of sunshine, so that as she moved closer and slid into the crook of his arm, Jess was aware of how very pale and delicate and feminine she looked next to his strong, beautiful golden body. It gave her a little ripple of pleasure. No two ways about it, Max Peters made her mouth water and she was going to marry him and be Mrs Peters. As he pulled her closer all her doubts began to ebb away. She was going to marry Max Peters and live happily ever after and the very thought of it made her smile.
‘So, about these plans and lists,’ she murmured.
‘Plans and lists?’ he teased.
Jess nodded. ‘Uh-huh. Lots of them.’
‘That’s what the bride’s mother’s for,’ Max said, stretching again. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘I’m being serious,’ Jess said.
‘And so was I – I’m absolutely famished.’
‘About the wedding.’
‘Oh, don’t look so worried; mothers, they love it, all that arranging, the frocks, the flowers, the caterers.’
‘I’m not sure my mum’s like that,’ said Jess. ‘She’s really busy.’
Max laughed. ‘They’re all like that once you scratch the surface. You okay?’
Jess nodded. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m tired, a bit hung over.’ She looked at Max’s face, trying to work out what he was thinking. ‘You’re frowning? You’re not cross I asked you to help, are you? I am really excited.’
He smiled. ‘I’m not cross, baby. I’m just not great at all that kind of thing. Actually, I’m rubbish, if you want the truth. And I’m incredibly busy at the moment.’
Jess wrinkled up her nose. ‘What about when you got married first time around, didn’t you help with the arrangements then?’
‘That was a long while ago now,’ Max said, pulling himself up onto one elbow. ‘Lucy’s mother organised it all. We got married in the chapel on their family estate. All I did was turn up. If I remember correctly she even sorted out the morning suits for me and the best man. Let’s not talk about that. What do you fancy to eat? We could take a drive along the coast if you like or nip into town. Pick up something and cook it here.’
Jess made the effort to smile.
Lucy. The Honourable Lucy Troughton-Warbridge-Hays, Max’s first wife, the woman who had left Max with that whipped-puppy look. The wife who he had married when they were both too young and who he had loved with all his heart. The wife whose photograph still hung in his office even after all these years.
When Jess had pointed it out Max had blushed furiously and taken it down. ‘Sorry – you know I didn’t even notice it was there,’ he’d said, sliding it into a drawer. Lucy Troughton-Warbridge-Hays, the wife who had run off with his best friend and best man Stephen, who between them had broken his heart and ensured that Max Peters had been a career bachelor – up until now. Jess couldn’t help wonder what it was that had changed his mind. Was it that finally at forty he thought it was time that he settled
