Winter Wedding for the Prince(59)

By: Barbara Wallace

‘I hate Christmas. I hate everything about it. I hate seeing trees. I hate seeing presents. I hate seeing families all happy, smiling at each other. I don’t need any reminders of the person missing from my life. I don’t need any at all. I particularly don’t need some stranger digging through my belongings and taking out the last thing I have of my wife’s—the only thing that I’ve kept from our Christmases together—and laying it on my pillow like some holy talisman. Will it bring Anna back? Will it make Christmas any better?’ He was pacing now. He couldn’t help the pitch of his voice. He couldn’t help the fact that the more he said, the louder he became, or the broader his Scottish accent sounded. ‘No. No, it won’t. So I don’t do Christmas. I don’t want to do it. And I don’t want to discuss it.’

He turned back around to face her.

She looked shell-shocked. Her eyes wide and her bottom lip actually trembling. Her hand partially covering her mouth.

He froze. Catching himself before he continued any further.

There were a few seconds of silence. Tears pooled in her eyes. ‘I’m s...sorry,’ she stammered as she turned on her heel and bolted to the door.

Finlay didn’t move. Not a muscle. He hadn’t even taken his thick winter coat off since he’d arrived.

What on earth had he just done?

He had no idea who the Maids in Chelsea were. He had no idea who Clio Caldwell was.

But he didn’t doubt that as soon as she found him, he could expect a rollicking.

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