My Big Fat Christmas Wedding Read online

  Things don’t always run smoothly in the game of love…

  Former hot shot city girl Pippa Pattinson loves her new life of rustic simplicity, running a quaint teashop on a sleepy Greek island with her hot fiancé, Niko. But it’s been a quick change to slow living – and you can’t blame a girl for wondering, ‘how did I get here?’

  As her Christmas wedding approaches, a trip back to snowy England for her ex’s engagement party makes her wonder if those are wedding bells she’s hearing in her mind, or warning bells. She longs for the excitement of her old London life – the glamour, the regular pedicures. Can she really give that all up to be…a fishwife?

  There’s nothing for it but to throw herself into bringing a little Christmas magic to the struggling village in the form of a Christmas fair. Somewhere in amidst the sparkly bauble cakes and stollen scones, she’s hoping she’ll come to the right decision about where she belongs…fingers crossed in time for the wedding…

  Perfect for fans of Lindsey Kelk and Debbie Johnson, you won’t want to miss the Christmas Wedding of the year!

  Also by Samantha Tonge

  Doubting Abbey

  From Paris with Love

  Mistletoe Mansion

  Game of Scones

  My Big Fat Christmas Wedding

  Samantha Tonge

  www.CarinaUK.com

  SAMANTHA TONGE

  lives in Cheshire with her lovely family and a cat who thinks it’s a dog. Along with writing, her days are spent cycling, willing cakes to rise and avoiding housework. A love of fiction developed as a child, when she was known for reading Enid Blyton books in the bath. A desire to write bubbled away in the background whilst she pursued other careers, including a fun stint working at Disneyland Paris. Formally trained as a linguist, Samantha now likes nothing more than holing herself up in the spare room, in front of the keyboard. Writing romantic comedy novels is her passion.

  http://samanthatonge.co.uk/

  http://pinkinkladies.wordpress.com/

  https://twitter.com/SamTongeWriter

  https://www.facebook.com/SamanthaTongeAuthor

  Firstly, I’d like to mention my wonderful editors, Victoria Oundjian and Lucy Gilmour – thanks a million for your hard work and humour. Appreciation also to the whole CarinaUK team – I LOVE my book covers!

  Thanks to Martin, Immy and Jay for always offering a listening ear when I’m going through some (usually unnecessary) writerly crisis. I couldn’t do this job without you. The continued encouragement means everything. And keep those chocolate bars coming!

  Huge hugs to my fellow Carina authors. You guys are the very best.

  Frank de Jong, thanks for your support and continuing to inspire the character of Henrik.

  Sending warm wishes to all my Facebook and Twitter friends, and to the amazing bloggers who have helped me promote my books. As a digital-first author, you are my lifeline.

  I also appreciate those readers who take the time to contact me and say how much they’ve enjoyed my work. That brightens my day more than you can ever imagine and gives me faith on the days when doubt creeps in.

  Here’s to our twenty years together, Martin, starting with the mouldy wedding cake and honeymoon mosquito wars. Like in fiction, the best real-life love stories have flaws…

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Book List

  Title Page

  Author Bio

  Acknowledgement

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Excerpt

  Endpages

  Copyright

  Prologue

  As if trying to rock us to sleep, the ocean lapped against the fishing boat’s sides. However, Niko and I couldn’t have been more awake as we lay lips pressed together, on its wooden bottom. A kaleidoscope of magical fairy dust danced before my closed eyes. Despite the midnight breeze, heat surged through my limbs. Almost two months I’d been in Taxos and the passion of my fisherman friend still left me with wobbly Greek semolina pudding for knees.

  Okay. Bear with me. I know this sounded like an extract from one of my favourite romance novels. But a starlit Greek night, during the last humidity of summer, spent with the sexiest man in the Aegean, stirred every soppy cell of my being.

  I opened my eyes, pulled away and grinned. Niko leant up on one elbow and an inquiring smile crossed those silken lips. In the moonlight (okay, with the help of our lamp) I drank in that caramel skin, those mocha eyes and the taut outline of a man who did physical work for a living. Then my gaze turned to Kos island’s shoreline. Glowing amber lights illuminated the village. The wind dropped and along with the familiar chirp of cicadas, string music drifted across the waves from the beach, where locals cleared up after a community barbecue. We’d all celebrated building work starting on the much-needed, income-boosting Marine Museum. Thank goodness for the faith of some foreign investors.

  ‘Pippa? You have a joke to share?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I said and chuckled.

  He leant forward and with his free hand tickled just above the corner of my hip. His fingers crept up to under my arm and I laughed even harder. Then gently he bent further forward, so that our noses touched. He batted his lush eyelashes against mine – butterfly kisses, his speciality to make me giggle, when we were kids. They still did – but these days made me also tingle in places I never used to know existed.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ I said and backed away, longing to once again kiss his firm mouth. ‘It’s just that in my mind I called you my fisherman friend. A Fisherman’s Friend is a decades-old famous cough-sweet in England, made from liquorice and menthol – people either love or hate it.’

  One eyebrow raised, Niko sat up on the blanket and took both my hands. ‘And you, my little juicy fig,’ he said, huskily, ‘are a huge fan of this particular fisherman friend, no?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said airily. ‘I might need to have another taste.’

  Niko smiled and then stared for a moment. He cleared his throat and pulled me up, so that I was sitting too. Cue a more vigorous rocking of the boat. Water splashed onto my arm, like a sudden shot of aircon. This was the perfect night for skinny-dipping, me minus my polka-dot undies, Niko revealing his lower abdominal V muscle, acquired from honest labour, not some clinical gym.

  ‘You see me as much more than a friend though, no?’ said Niko, cheeks tingeing red. ‘And you like living here?’

  ‘Huh? Of course. Nikolaos Sotiropoulos. How can you even ask?’

  Since my return to Taxos, the holiday destination of my early years, earnest, gorgeous islander, Niko, had become the centre of my world. This was quite an admission for a mathematician who, only a matter of weeks ago, commuted daily for work in a major London bank. If you’d told me back then that in September I’d be running a teashop in Kos, I’d have sooner believed I was going to relocate to Mars. Okay so it would be nice to visit my favourite restaurant in Soho now and again, plus shop in Oxford Street, but London couldn’t compete with the island’s freshly caught fish and coastal views.

  ‘I adore you and love living here,’ I said. ‘Watching the teashop take
off has given me such an adrenaline rush – as has me making plans to branch out to make regular scone deliveries to the Creami-Kos café chain. And the summer weeks here have been idyllic. Diving into the refreshing Taxos sea after a hard day’s work, certainly beats catching a stuffy train home to take a shower. As for the raven-black night skies, untainted by the glow of city lights, and villagers shaking my hand every day… I’d never once spoken to some of my close neighbours in London.’

  Niko ran a hand through his curly black hair. Through his tight T-shirt his chest rose and dipped more quickly than usual.

  ‘You speak more poetically since living here,’ he whispered. ‘Where has that practical banker gone?’

  I poked him in the ribs. ‘You’ve ruined her. It’s your fault.’

  ‘I can be a poet too,’ he said, in a seductive treacle-like tone. ‘It’s as if you’re the antidote to my personal poisons. You extinguish my self-doubt and evaporate my paranoia.’ He took a deep breath and glanced away for a second. ‘But now, dear Pippa, I have something very important to say.’ He looked back at me, all the twinkle gone from his eyes. ‘Can’t put it off any longer. It’s been building up.’

  ‘Is something the matter?’ My heart thumped. Perhaps our time together had been too intense, and he wanted to step back. What if Niko had brought me onto the ocean to let me down gently; say it wasn’t working out, me living in his family’s taverna, baking and selling my scones in the half of the building they’d closed down; poetry aside, that we were too different, with me thinking in numbers, him thinking in shoals; that all those years we’d played together as children, during summer holidays, didn’t mean we were destined to spend our lives together as adults?

  I swallowed. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Yesterday. I spoke to your father.’

  ‘Did he ring?’ I sat bolt upright. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Is everything okay?’ My mind raced. Was something wrong at home? Or was Niko worried I’d have no job if we split up and I decided to return to England? Perhaps he was trying to line me up a position with my dad – not that I’d need anyone’s help. I was an independent, modern woman who…aarghh, who melted like chocolate in the sun, when Niko touched me or spoke with his sexy Greek accent that made my skin flush and palms moisten.

  ‘We…I…your father agreed that…’

  ‘Niko! Just spit it out!’

  ‘Huh?’ His brow furrowed and he stuck out his tongue. ‘See, I am not eating anything.’

  ‘No! In English that means hurry up and tell me. What’s this all about?’

  ‘Us. The future.’ He pulled a small red box out of his back pocket.

  I gasped. Gosh. Really? But…’ My eyes pricked.

  ‘Your father gives us his blessing,’ Niko prised open the lid and looked up at me shyly. ‘I hope you don’t mind me seeking your father’s permission first but…’ He shrugged those strong shoulders and I nodded, knowing how important some traditions were to him, especially when it came to family. ‘Pippa, you are sweeter than the most honey-filled baklava in Athens. Your first smile of the day is my sunrise. Marry me. Make me the happiest man in the whole of Greece.’

  A lump rose in my throat. What an exceptionally pretty silver ring, bearing a sparkling blue sapphire, surrounded by tiny diamonds. It reminded me of the blue and white houses across the island.

  ‘This belonged to my great aunt Alexis. She had no children and considered me her own grandson. When I was a little boy, she gave this to Mama and told me to one day give it to the woman who captured my heart.’ A smile crossed his face. ‘Of course, at the time I was more interested in capturing carp.’ He squeezed my fingers and his face kind of scrunched up. ‘I…I know it’s not long after Henrik’s proposal. And Greece…the economy… So if you need time to think – I would understand if you don’t see your future in Kos.’

  My heart pounded and I wanted to stand upright and sing! Niko and me married? A tear trickled down my cheek. I couldn’t have felt more different to when my practical, down-to-earth ex-boyfriend had proposed in the summer – which was odd. Up until my trip here, I’d agreed with Henrik that slushy declarations of love were for teenagers or the pastel-covered beach reads that I ironically liked to read. But there was something about Niko’s seductive words that always softened my logical, pragmatic part. And as for the country’s difficulties, I felt nothing but compassion for the Greek people.

  ‘No.’

  His shoulders dropped.

  ‘No, no, I don’t need time to think!’

  His eyes sparked and he pulled me towards him, his warm mouth once again owning mine. I breathed in his natural aroma, a kind of musky, leather masculine scent. My desire for him became more urgent, as our bodies pressed together. Gently, he pushed me away, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed. He took the ring out of the box and hesitated for a moment. Of course – over here wedding rings didn’t go on the left-hand finger, but the right.

  More tears flowing, I laughed and offered him my right hand.

  ‘We’re going to have to compromise,’ I said. ‘Won’t I have to convert to your religion? And then there is the reception venue to choose. Above all else, I don’t want an over-the-top wedding.’

  Niko’s infectious chuckles filled the balmy evening air. ‘Good luck with telling Mama and Grandma. We’d better set an early date, if you don’t want arrangements to snowball.’

  Snowball. Great word. Like so many of the locals, Niko spoke good English, despite sometimes still misunderstanding the basics. Whereas Greek, to me, might as well have been like learning cat or dog, and don’t even get me started on its written alphabet.

  I clapped my hands. ‘Then talking of snow, what about a Christmas wedding? It would cheer up those quiet winter months you talk of.’

  In response, Niko – my husband-to-be – gave me a kiss hot enough to turn the sturdiest of snowmen into a puddle.

  Chapter One

  Imagine this – like a Disney princess, I’ll actually wear a crown at my wedding. Not that I aspire to be swept off my feet by some prince on a white steed. No. I’m a twenty-first century woman who has the tools to write her own happy ending. That’s what I’d been brought up to believe, anyway. But still – I couldn’t help but feel excited about my very own fairy tale ceremony, set on a Greek island, with a lean, lush, loyal fisherman hero fiancé. Mmm, talk about my very own Mr Incredible.

  ‘Ya sou, Pippitsa! Day-dreaming again?’ Sophia’s heart-shaped face broke into a smile as she entered the gleaming silver kitchen. She ran a hand over her greying hair, scraped back in a bun. ‘My Niko is the same. You two honey puffs are like love-struck teenagers this morning.’

  With a wink, Sophia proceeded to tidy the cutlery drawer, whistling along to the Christmas CD. Traditional Greek carols played by cheerful recorders and glockenspiels rang out. Sophia loved the festive season and had been counting down to today, the first of December, so that she could claim a tenuous legitimacy for starting the celebrations.

  Gently my fingertips rubbed butter into flour. ‘I can’t help it. Our wedding month is finally here! We have lots to think about with only four weeks to the ceremony.’ I gave a wry smile. ‘Almost as much as you and Grandma.’

  Sophia chuckled. ‘Do not begrudge us. A wedding is one of the greatest occasions for any family. Grandma has loved organising the flowers and together with Georgios, I think we have created the perfect menu for the reception.’

  My chest glowed. Yes, Niko’s dad had been practising recipes for weeks. With his perspiring bald head and knitted-together bushy eyebrows, he’d slaved over cheese and honey pies, moussaka and special sourdough breads with coins hidden inside. And Grandma had cleverly designed inexpensive decorations for the church and reception that would take place here at Taxos Taverna, incorporating her namesake bloom, Iris. What’s more…ah. Forgive me. Temporarily I’d forgotten my good resolutions not to become a wedding bore.

  Whilst I added feta cheese, sundried tomatoes and oregano to my dough mix, a herby f
ragrance rose up from the bowl. My mouth salivated at the prospect of butter melting over halves of warm savoury scones. I gazed at Sophia and took in the pronounced circles under her eyes; how her once curvy stomach looked flatter.

  ‘Just remember what we agreed with my mum and dad…if the catering bills are steeper than expected then we’ll need to inform them and—’

  Sophia’s body stiffened. ‘Dear Pippa. All is fine,’ she replied, in a bright voice. ‘Across the island, our family has pulled together. Your wedding feast will be one to remember.’

  But her face dropped slightly as she poured herself a coffee before walking left, back into the family’s taverna. Turn right, and you entered Pippa’s Pantry, the afternoon teashop. I know. Me fulfilling a childhood dream by managing a quaint café. How lucky was I?

  Kneading the dough could wait a few minutes. I headed into the taverna and sat down opposite my mother-in-law to be. I surveyed the ochre walls, which had been newly re-painted, and the mahogany beams. Thank goodness Georgios’ makeover, in time for the wedding, hadn’t included straightening the adorable wonky shelves bearing plant pots, plates and various string instruments.

  I cleared my throat. A big celebration was something the Sotiropoulos family – that any Greek family – could ill afford, in these economically difficult times. Yet Sophia and Georgios had insisted on splitting all the bills with me and my parents. It made no sense. We could have easily paid for everything, had it not been for that stubborn, Greek pride.

  I sighed. Yes, the pride that nevertheless made me love my extended family to bits.

  ‘How is the dress?’ asked Sophia, as I put my elbows on the table. ‘What luck that our local baker is also an excellent seamstress.’

  Dear, talented Pandora, the most fashionable woman in this little village, with her Italian-cut trousers and stylish short hair – and my matron of honour. As children, Niko and I would often visit her cake shop where she’d give us a glass of milk and egg biscuits or moist slices of fresh baklava.