A New Year Bride. Scarlet Wilson

glimmered in the early-morning winter light. A full-length silver evening gown in heavy-duty satin with a bodice and wide straps glittering with sequins. Around the top of the coat hanger was a fur wrap. She was almost scared to touch it.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ said Alice Archer. ‘It’s not real fur. But it probably cost ten times as much as it should.’

      Grace’s heart was pounding in her chest. She’d forgotten Alice had offered to find her something for the party. When Finlay had given her that exorbitant cheque the other day she’d almost squealed. Bills had been difficult since her grandmother had died.

      Her grandmother and late grandfather had had small pensions that had contributed to the upkeep of the flat. Keeping up with bills was tough on her own. There was no room for any extras—any party dresses. She’d actually planned on going to some of the charity shops around Chelsea later to see if she could find anything to wear tonight.

      ‘It’s just beautiful,’ she finally said. Her hand touched the satin. She’d never felt anything like it in her life.

      ‘The colour will suit you marvellously.’ Alice smiled. ‘I had it in my head as soon as you told me about the party.’

      ‘When did you wear this, Alice? It’s just stunning.’

      Alice whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t tell Finlay Armstrong, but I wore it at a New Year ball in The Ritz the year my Robin proposed to me.’

      Grace pulled back her hand. ‘Oh, Alice, I can’t wear your beautiful dress. It has such special memories for you—and it’s immaculate. I would be terrified about something happening to it.’

      Alice shook her head. ‘Nonsense, I insist.’ She ran her fingers down the fabric of the dress with a far-off expression in her eyes. ‘I always think that clothes are for wearing. I think of this as my lucky dress.’ She gave Grace a special smile. ‘And I’m hoping it will bring you some luck too.’

      Grace stared in the mirror. Someone else was staring back at her. Whoever it was—it wasn’t Grace Ellis. Ashleigh had come around and set her hair in curls. Sophie had helped her apply film-star make-up. She’d never worn liquid eyeliner before and wasn’t quite sure how Sophie had managed to do the little upward flicks.

      Around her neck she was wearing the silver locket her grandmother had bought her for her twenty-first birthday and Emma had loaned her a pair of glittery earrings.

      They were probably diamonds. But Emma hadn’t told her that. She’d just squealed with excitement when she’d seen Grace all dressed up and said she had the perfect thing to finish it off.

      And she’d been right. Right now, Grace Ellis felt like a princess. It didn’t matter that the only items she was wearing that actually belonged to her were her locket, her underwear and her shoes.

      The party was being held in one of the smaller main rooms in the hotel. The music was already playing and she could see coloured flashing lights. Her heart started beating in tempo with the music. Her hands were sweating. She was nervous.

      But it seemed she wasn’t the only one.

      Finlay was pacing up and down outside the room. She couldn’t help but smile. Just that one sight instantly made her feel better. Although the girls had helped her get ready they’d also plied her with questions.

      ‘What’s going on with you and Finlay Armstrong?’

      ‘Is this a date?’

      ‘Are you interested in him?’

      ‘Do you want to date him?’

      By the time they’d left her head had been spinning. She didn’t know the answer to the first two questions. But the last two? She didn’t want to answer them. Not out loud, anyway.

      ‘Grace. You’re here.’ Finlay covered the distance between them in long strides, slowing as he reached her. At first he’d only focused on her face, but as he’d neared his gaze had swept up and down her body. He seemed to catch his breath. ‘You look incredible.’

      ‘You seem surprised.’

      He shook his head. ‘Of course I’m not surprised. You always look beautiful. But…’ He paused and gestured with his hand. ‘The dress and—’ He reached out to touch the stole. ‘What is this thing anyway? You look like a film star. Should I phone the press?’

      He leaned closer, giving her a whiff of his spicy aftershave. She tried not to shiver. He tilted his head to the side. ‘What have you done to your eyes?’

      She touched his jacket sleeve. ‘It’s called make-up, Finlay. Women wear it every day.’ She made a point of looking him up and down too. The suit probably cost more than she even wanted to think about. But it was immaculate, cut to perfection. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’

      His gaze fixed on hers. ‘Grace?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Thank you for saying you’d come with me.’ The tone of his voice had changed. He wasn’t being playful now, he was being serious. ‘You know I haven’t come to one of these in the last few years.’

      She licked her lips and nodded, trying not to let her brain get carried away with itself. ‘Why have you come this year?’ she asked softly.

      She was tiptoeing around about him—trying not to admit to the rapidly beating heart in her chest. She liked this man a whole lot more than she should. She didn’t even know what this was between them. But Finlay was giving her little signs of…something. Did he even realise that? Or was this all just in her imagination?

      ‘It was just time,’ he said, giving his head a little nod.

      Her heart jumped up to the back of her throat. Time.

      Just as it had been time to think about Christmas decorations. What else might it be time for?

      The serious expression left his face and he stuck out his elbow towards her. ‘Well, Ms Ellis, are you ready to go to The Armstrong’s Christmas party?’

      She slid her hand through his arm as all the little hairs on her arm stood on end. ‘I think I could be. Lead the way.’

      The party was fabulous. She recognised lots of faces. Other chambermaids, bar staff, porters, reception staff and kitchen staff. Frank the concierge had dressed as Father Christmas and looked perfect.

      There was a huge table laid with appetisers and sweets. A chocolate fountain, a pick-and-mix sweetie cart and the equivalent of an outside street cart serving burgers.

      Finlay nudged her. ‘What? Did you think it would all be truffles and hors d’oeuvres?’

      She gave him a smile. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

      He shrugged. ‘The first year it was. Frank discreetly told me later that the staff went home hungry. After that, I gave Kevin, from the kitchen, free rein to organise whatever he thought appropriate for the Christmas party. I don’t think anyone has gone home hungry since.’

      She laughed as he led her over to the bar. ‘Which of the Christmas cocktails would you like?’ he asked.

      She was surprised. ‘You have Christmas cocktails?’

      ‘Oh, yes. We have the chocolate raspberry martini, the Festive Shot, with peppermint schnapps, grenadine and crème de menthe, then there is the Christmas Candy Cane, with berry vodka, peppermint schnapps and crème de cacao—or, my personal favourite, Rudolph’s Blast: rum, cranberries, peach schnapps and a squeeze of fresh lime.’

      Grace shook her head and leaned her elbows up on the bar. ‘You know what’s in every cocktail?’

      He gestured to the barman. ‘We’ll have two Rudolph’s Blasts, please.’

      He leaned on the bar next to