wanting to whoop with happiness? Or even leaking a few tears of joy?
Her thoughts strayed to Noah… how he’d made her feel when they’d spoken on FaceTime. Excited. Fizzy. Like a shaken-up bottle of champagne that was just waiting to explode. And then her thoughts returned to Charlie. Here he was, finally down on one knee. Both he and the entire restaurant were holding their breath, waiting for the girl with the golden hair to answer the handsome man whose eyes were full of love. This was everything she’d ever wanted. Wasn’t it? Well, it had been. On her birthday. When she hadn’t met Noah.
Oh don’t be ridiculous, Willow. You haven’t “met” Noah. Not properly. Two FaceTime calls do not substitute for meeting a person. And forget the connection you fancifully think you had with him. The only connection was a digital one, and most certainly not an emotional one. You don’t know the guy, so stop being a plonker!
As that last word echoed through her brain, Willow remembered Emma mentioning her recent doomed romance. She’d declined sharing the details with Willow but referred to the unnamed man as a “plonker”. Poor Emma. She’d probably give her right arm to have a man like Charlie giving her the full romantic works and a dream proposal. Unlike Emma’s mystery man, Charlie was reliable… solid… good looking and – Willow tuned back in – now looking horribly anxious about her lack of response. In fact, her boyfriend looked like he just might burst into tears.
‘Please answer me, darling. Please say yes. I so want to marry you, Willow. And to prove just how serious I am, I’ve gone ahead and booked everything.’
‘W-What?’ said Willow, flabbergasted.
‘It’s true,’ Charlie nodded. ‘I’ve paid for the wedding to take place here. Goldhill Grange. Saturday the seventh of December. The marriage of Willow West and Charles Goodman. Look.’
Charlie’s free hand disappeared to the inside breast pocket of his jacket. It emerged with a folded letter. He passed it to Willow. Wordlessly, she took it. Her eyes widened. Written confirmation for a wedding package… banquet for sixty guests… photographer… videographer… cake… oh my God… these were the “errands” he’d been doing earlier today. Charlie had been organising a wedding. Her wedding!
‘And I took the liberty of booking this too’ – like a conjurer magicking a rabbit from a hat, Charlie produced another piece of paper – ‘our honeymoon.’
Willow silently scanned the document which confirmed a trip to… good heavens… the Bahamas. Flipping heck. Charlie must really love her to have gone to all this trouble. She’d be mad to turn him down. Crazy. You didn’t refuse your partner’s proposal just because a stranger in Australia made your heartrate zoom like a jumbo jet roaring down a runway. And how dare Emma ruffle her feathers and imply Charlie wasn’t the man for her. Accepting Charlie’s proposal would certainly prove to Emma, if nothing else, that Willow was deliriously happy with Charlie.
‘Willow?’ Charlie implored. ‘Please don’t refuse me.’
Slowly, shyly, Willow smiled.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I will marry you on the seventh of December.’
And as Charlie closed his eyes in relief, the entire restaurant exploded with a round of applause and even a couple of piercing whistles.
Charlie slipped the ring on her third finger. It was the perfect fit. He’d even taken the trouble to get that right. He moved in closer and kissed her.
‘Phew,’ he said, over the din of everyone cheering. ‘For a moment there, you had me worried.’
Willow tutted and smiled.
‘You never had anything to be concerned about.’
And Charlie couldn’t help but smile at the irony of his new fiancée’s words.
Fifty-Seven
Willow was awoken on Sunday morning by Charlie’s erection jabbing her in the back.
‘Is my fiancée awake?’ he murmured huskily.
‘Well if she wasn’t, she is now,’ said Willow sleepily.
As Charlie’s arms encircled her, she tried not to feel resentful at being disturbed. For the last hour or so she’d been in the sort of light sleep that produced vivid dreams. Her mind had been far away. Nearly ten thousand miles to be precise. In Australia. She’d been walking along a vast deserted beach. Despite never visiting this place, it had seemed familiar.
The white sand had felt like soft flour between her bare toes. Willow had been holding a warm hand. A man’s hand. She’d never met the man, but somehow she knew him. They’d strolled along the shore in silence because there had been no need to speak. They were so in tune with each other, words hadn’t