Rosie had immediately messaged her sister.
Do you think he’s engaged?
It had taken a few hours for Becky to respond, and when she did it was brief.
Don’t know.
There had been a time when that sort of message from her brother would have triggered an hour of video chat (admittedly with Rosie doing most of the chatting), but not anymore, and it confirmed what Rosie already knew—that her marriage to Declan had changed everything, not least her relationship with her twin. There had never been a time when she hadn’t known exactly what was going on in Becky’s life, but she no longer had a clue.
Would she have married Declan if she’d been able to predict the impact on her relationship with her sister?
She was not going to ask herself that question.She had to stop thinking like this.
“Is there room for this in the front?” Declan leaned in through the door and passed her a large tote bag.
She pushed it down by her feet without argument. “I messaged Becky and all I got back was emojis.”
“She’s probably battling mayhem at the airport.” Declan was loading the last of the bags into the back seat. He’d planned it with mathematical precision. Large suitcases first. Soft bags. Fragile gifts. Bottles of champagne. Everything fitted.
Everything except them.
Rosie felt her eyes sting. If she’d been more analytical in her approach to decision making maybe she would have decided it was sensible for them to take more time to get to know each other instead of rushing into marriage, but she wasn’t analytical. The decisions she made were instinctive.How does this make me feel?She didn’t make lists of pros and cons. She relied on her emotions to guide her, and most of the time she felt like a passenger, riding those emotions wherever they went. Happy, sad, ecstatic, terrified.
But Declan was nothing like that. He thought things through carefully, just as Becky did. He was a planner. She was the impulsive, spontaneous one. She was the one who’d saidlet’s go to Parison only their second weekend together (they’d stayed at a cute hotel on the Left Bank and it had been fabulous), she was the one who’d saidlet’s move in togetherjust two months later, and she was the one who had proposed to him in a burst of spontaneity one winter evening when they’d been walking along the river on their way back from an evening exploring a Christmas market. It had been snowing, lights had been shimmering on the surface of the river and he’d stopped to kiss her, and it had been such a perfect moment that she’d wanted to hold on to those feelings forever. She’d known that she would never, ever feel happier than she’d felt in that moment.
She’d shocked herself by proposing (like most of the things that came out of her mouth, it hadn’t been planned) and she’d shocked him too. For a moment he’d stood there, his gaze fixed on hers as if he was searching for something, ignoring the snowthat was drifting down and settling on them. She’d held her breath and waited for him to say he needed to think about it and then he’d smiled and said yes. In fact she thought maybe he’d said yes a couple of times, but by then he’d been kissing her again and everything had been a bit blurry.
She was the one who had suggested a small wedding at home in February.
It was only now that she realised she’d driven all of it. She’d been the engine in their relationship. Right from the beginning, she’d had her foot pressed to the accelerator. What would have happened if she hadn’t suggested Paris, or moving in together, or getting married? Where would they be now? Would he have hit the brakes?
She felt a shaft of guilt and something close to panic.
Had this whole thing been a terrible mistake? Was he regretting it?
She badly wanted to talk to her sister, but even if Becky had been more available, would she really have talked to her about this? Her marriage? It felt disloyal somehow. And complicated because it was Becky who had introduced her to Declan. They were good friends.
“Becky doesn’t usually send emojis. She’s not really an emoji person.”
He sighed and his gaze flickered to hers. “You’ll be seeing her in a few hours so you can ask her then. I’m sure you can survive that long without talking to your sister.” There was an edge to his tone and it cut into those soft, tender feelings that she wore far too close to the surface.
“Can we talk about this? I know you’re still upset about last week.”
“I’m freezing, Rosie. I can’t feel my fingers. It’s not a great time for conversation.” He gave the last box a big shove, forcing it behind the seat. “What is in all these boxes and cases?”
“Mostly gifts. Christmas is a big deal in my family, I’ve toldyou that.” And this was going to be his first year with them. Last year they’d spent Christmas separately. After her spontaneous proposal she’d gone home as always, and he’d gone skiing with friends, a trip that had been planned before they’d even met each other. She’d been looking forward to this moment for months, which made the current disharmony all the more upsetting. “And clothes, obviously. I need warm layers for the beach and something pretty for my brother’s party, whatever that is. And then there’s Christmas Day.”
“How many pairs of shoes and boots did you bring?”
Seven pairs.Five pairs of shoes and two pairs of boots, not counting her hiking boots, but with the atmosphere so tense she didn’t want to admit that. “The bare minimum. I was selective.”
He tried to close the car door but it kept jamming against the bags. He cursed softly, put all his weight on it and finally the door closed.
He flung his coat into the back, settled into the driver’s seat and blew on his hands to warm them.
“Why did it have to snow?” He peered at the street, rapidly disappearing under a thick coat of white. “Bad timing.”
Snow at Christmas—bad?
