Royal Holiday (The Wedding Date, #4)(60)

They exploded right in front of her, it felt like. Huge white cartwheels of fireworks, bright red pinwheels, sparkling gold fizzy ones. She turned back to him with her eyes wide open.

“Oh my goodness! I can’t believe you get this amazing show, right here on your couch!”

He put his arm around her and pulled her close, as they both stared at the colors lighting up the night sky out the window.

“Me neither, honestly. I didn’t even know I got this view until my first New Year’s Eve here. That was”—he shook his head—“a pretty lonely night, to be honest. I’d told myself I was going to go to bed early and not even bother with midnight or any of that, but I couldn’t sleep, so I wandered out into the kitchen to get a snack just before midnight, and when I turned around, this was right outside the window. I sat down and stared in wonder.” She took his hand and squeezed it, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “It’s nice to share this view with someone.”

She turned and smiled up at him.

“I’m so happy I get to share it with you.”

They watched the fireworks in silence for a while, then suddenly, Malcolm dropped his arm from her shoulder and turned to face her.

“Okay, but seriously. What if we keep this up?”

Vivian let her heart soar for a brief moment, before she forced herself back to earth. This had all felt like a miracle—a jewel of a week that would sparkle in her memory for years to come—but this wasn’t real life. She wasn’t some twenty-year-old in a movie who went to a foreign country and fell in love; people like her didn’t get swept up in fairy tales.

“We’re a little too old for long-distance relationships, don’t you think?” she said.

He laughed.

“God yes, that seems way too complicated and difficult. I’m definitely far too old and conservative for something like that. Just . . . we’d visit each other occasionally and have a week like this, then both go back to our regular lives.”

Oh. Of course that’s what he meant. That made sense.

Vivian made herself laugh.

“So you want a long-distance booty call? I’m definitely too old—and conservative—for that.”

Malcolm dropped his eyes and put his champagne glass down.

“I wouldn’t have phrased it in quite that way . . .”

She patted him on the shoulder.

“I know you wouldn’t have, but I did.”

Plus—and she couldn’t tell him this part—she knew she’d gotten far too attached to Malcolm in the week and a half she’d known him. It would be fine; she knew she’d get over it after a while once she was at home and he wasn’t around. But also she knew herself well enough to know that if she and Malcolm stayed in contact in the way he’d suggested, her feelings would just grow stronger. And it would hurt more once it ended.

She took his hand.

“This was a perfect week, and I’m so grateful to you for it.”

He picked up their joined hands and kissed hers, then put his other hand on her cheek.

“You, grateful to me? Vivian, you have made me happier this week than I’ve been in years. I’m so grateful to you for that.”

He leaned over to kiss her again, and they kissed for a very long time, as the fireworks exploded in front of them.

After a while, he pulled back and slowly plucked all of the pins out of her hair. She was certain her hair looked like a tangled mess now, but the way he ran his fingers through her hair made her not even care. She lifted her face up to him, and they kissed more, until he slowly pushed her back so she was underneath him on the couch.

“You are just extraordinary,” he said. Good Lord, she would never get over the way he said “extraordinary” in that accent. And he was saying it about her!

She put her hand on his cheek, and they looked each other in the eyes for a very long time. Finally, he bent down and kissed her again.

“Mmm, is this the way people say thank you in England?” she asked as he pushed her dress up to her waist.

He looked up at her and grinned.

“The good ones do. Is that okay with you?”

She lifted her hands.

“Who am I to refuse to participate in a local custom?”

He laughed as he kissed her again.





Chapter Fourteen




They had to wake up far too early on New Year’s Day. Vivian’s flight wasn’t until noon, but what with the nightmare Heathrow always was, and the time it would take them to get there, they had to leave his place no later than nine. Vivian jumped out of bed when the alarm went off and finished tucking everything into her suitcase, while Malcolm lay in bed and watched her. The night before, he’d pretended he wasn’t hurt when she’d said no to his suggestion that they keep seeing each other, and now he winced when he thought about her rejection. He understood why she’d said no, he supposed, but it still stung.

And he hated that this was going to be the last time he saw her.

He got out of bed and pulled her into his arms. She nestled her head into his chest, and they stayed there like that for a long time, not kissing, not moving toward the bed or anything else, just holding each other. Finally, he pulled away and kissed the top of her head.

“I’m going to make us some coffee while you finish getting ready.”