A Wedding In December. Sarah Morgan

the loss of his father, and how deeply it had affected him. True, they didn’t know the small details about each other’s lives, but the small details were less important than the big things. She’d assumed they’d have plenty of time to learn more about each other, but then his mother had suggested a Christmas wedding and excitement levels had escalated.

      Rosie felt as if she’d been picked up by an avalanche and swept down the mountain.

      She’d wondered herself if Christmas might be a little soon, but only because the logistics of arranging something at such short notice blew her brain. Organization wasn’t her strong point. She had nine thousand, four hundred and twenty emails sitting in her inbox because she never liked deleting anything and filing didn’t come naturally to her. Her essays were often finished at the last minute, and doctor, dentist and hair appointments always ended up being an emergency.

      She’d opened her mouth to tactfully confess that there was no way she could organize a wedding in such a short time frame, but Dan’s family was already in deep planning mode. She’d half expected Catherine to leave the room and start whipping together a bouquet.

      Rosie was already in love with Dan’s family, particularly his great-aunt Eunice whose hearing was now challenged but who filled in gaps in sentences with her own active imagination.

       Did she say she’s feeling horny?

       No, Great-Aunt Eunice, she said the table decoration was thorny.

      And then Dan had kissed her and said how much he adored her and how this wedding was going to be magical and perfect and suddenly it was agreed that they were getting married in a month.

      It had all seemed delightful, and then she’d called home and felt the waves of anxiety traveling across the Atlantic with the speed of light. Their doubt had penetrated the champagne cloud cushioning Rosie’s brain.

      And it wasn’t only Katie. Her mother was worried, and Rosie hated worrying her mother.

      She’d caused her family more than enough anxiety over the years, and she was uncomfortable with the idea that they all thought she was making a mistake. It made her question her own judgment. Gone was the confident woman she’d become over the past few months.

      She was sure she loved Dan, but how did you actually know? It wasn’t as if there was a blood test you could take. No one was going to sit across from her in a white coat and say yes, you have high levels of love, so I can assure you you’re going to be fine.

      Love was a feeling, and if Rosie had learned one thing during her time on the planet it was that feelings were unreliable. Hers certainly were. The fact that her life was filled with clothes she never wore, shoes too uncomfortable to walk in, and old boyfriends that she never called was proof of that.

      What if her love for Dan turned out to be as transient as her love for Rollerblading?

      Trying to pull herself together, she wriggled her way into the dress Catherine had chosen.

      Ivory silk and beautifully cut, it fell in a simple sheath and pooled on the floor.

      Rosie turned sideways and smoothed the fabric over her hips.

      The woman had taste, there was no doubt about that. The dress looked incredible. So incredible that her doubts retreated. It was a good omen.

      Nerves were natural, weren’t they?

      She tried to imagine her and Dan growing old together and Katie apologizing as she turned up to celebrate their golden wedding.

       Look at the two of you! I was so wrong.

      “Rosie?” There was another tap on the door. “Can we see you in it, honey?”

      Rosie took a last look at her ref lection and opened the door.

      Catherine gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my—”

      The seamstress who had been standing ready to suggest alterations, gaped. “Oh my—”

      Rosie did the obligatory twirl, the aftereffects of the previous night’s champagne making her head spin. Note to self—hangover pirouettes are not a good idea.

      “You’re beautiful, honey.” Catherine’s eyes filled. “You can try on as many as you like, of course, but I honestly think this one is perfect. How about you? Are you having doubts?”

      Rosie looked at herself. The dress was gorgeous. Classic. Flattering.

       Definitely an omen.

      “I love it.” She wasn’t having doubts about the dress. She was having doubts about the wedding, and those doubts were multiplying in her head like a virus.

      Only last week he’d mentioned that he adored dogs and she’d thought I’m allergic to dogs. She hadn’t said anything. There were plenty of small things they hadn’t shared and it hadn’t bothered her at all, until now. Now it was just one example of something he didn’t know about her.

      Tense, Rosie stood as the seamstress fussed around her, checking the fit. “The waist needs to be taken in a little. You’re so slender. And December in Aspen is cold, so you might like to take a look at our range of faux fur wraps. Maybe a muff?” She stepped back and pressed her hand to her chest. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride. I do love a Christmas wedding. It always feels like a double celebration.”

       Christmas.

      When someone said that word, Rosie thought of Honeysuckle Cottage, the scent of cinnamon and pine, and her mother rustling up homemade treats from the kitchen. She thought about fleecy pajamas, mugs of steaming hot chocolate and long chats with her sister that went on until the early hours. There was always an enormous tree that smelled of the forest, decked with the usual decorations, all of which came with a story attached, and the annual gathering with the neighbors, when Mrs. Albert from next door always drank too much sherry and told stories of her time at Oxford during the war.

      The reality of it sank in.

      She’d planned on going home for Christmas, as she and Katie did every year. She’d already wrapped her gifts. Christmas was always spent at home with her family, and even though she’d lived away from home for four years, she’d been close enough to see her parents frequently. Honeysuckle Cottage still felt like home to Rosie. Student accommodation, however fun, couldn’t compare with her cozy bed in the attic room that had been hers since childhood. When she snuggled under the covers and stared up at the stars through the skylight, she felt more relaxed than she did anywhere else.

      Christmas Eve was her favorite time because her parents still insisted on making her a Christmas stocking and thanks to creaky floorboards she always heard them fiddling outside her bedroom in full Santa mode.

      She’d been looking forward to it, but now it wasn’t going to happen.

      There would be no devouring her dad’s scrambled eggs and smoked salmon for breakfast. No frosty walk on the village green, or lavish slices of her mother’s unbeatable fruitcake. No staggering home from the village pub singing carols, substituting the usual lyrics with something definitely not PG.

      She’d be spending Christmas in Aspen, with Dan’s family. In fact they’d be her family, because she’d be married by Christmas Day.

      Panic closed in on her. She and Dan hadn’t thought through the detail.

      Where were they going to live?

      Dan was an only child. Would he expect them to have Christmas in Colorado every year? It was yet another subject they hadn’t explored together. And what would Dan make of her home? He was tall. How would he handle Honeysuckle Cottage with its low ceilings and lethal beams? And then there was the blending of two families.

      Catherine had been so kind and welcoming, but she was always perfectly groomed and looking her best. Rosie didn’t feel comfortable mooching around in her pajamas, so she’d been up, fully dressed and