Vow maker mixed messages.., p.1
Vow Maker (Mixed Messages Book 4), page 1
VOW MAKER
MIXED MESSAGES
BOOK 4
LILY MORTON
Copyright © 2022 by Lily Morton
Book cover design by Natasha Snow Designs
www.natashasnowdesigns.com
Professional beta reading by Leslie Copeland www.lescourtauthorservices.com
Editing by Edie Danford
Proofreading by Lori Parks
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
References to real people, events, organisations, establishments or locations are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organisations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Please purchase only authorised editions.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following products mentioned in this work of fiction: Netflix, Chanel, Johnnie Walker Black Label, Highways Agency, Audi, Armani, Harrods, Legoland, Disney, Gucci, TripAdvisor, Vans, Miss Dior, Marks and Spencer, Zimmer, Pornhub, Lidl, Volvo, Speedo
All songs, song titles and lyrics mentioned in the novel are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Warning
This book contains material that is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.
Dylan Mitchell wants to get married.
However, after seven years of being engaged, that’s looking slightly doubtful. After going through ten wedding planners, they’re gaining a reputation somewhat akin to Henry the Eighth on the wedding circuit.
Gabe has vetoed symbolic dove releases, forests of flowers, fire-eating performers, and puce as a wedding colour. He’s confounded an army of wedding professionals, and now Dylan, the man who knows and loves him better than anyone, has joined the ranks of the confused. Can anything please his fiancé and get them to the altar?
From bestselling author Lily Morton comes the sequel to Rule Breaker. A romantic comedy novella full of family chaos, meddling friends, sexy bathroom encounters, and love. Always love.
AUTHOR NOTE
There is a brief discussion of an off-page violent murder that happened years before this story.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
Newsletter
Short Stack
The Mixed Messages Series
Thank You
Contact Lily
Also by Lily Morton
For my husband and my boys
For coming on this wonderful journey with me
“Too much of a good thing can be wonderful!”
MAE WEST
CHAPTER ONE
DYLAN
Dylan: Paula the wedding planner gave her notice. She said you were hostile towards romance
Gabe: I merely pointed out that she wanted too many flowers at the ceremony. I informed her that if I wanted to get married in a forest, I’d head to Nottingham and become Robin Hood
Dylan: I have no words
Gabe: You lie. You always have words
Our current wedding planner, Helen, sits forward in her chair, her face full of evangelical enthusiasm. “And then once those two magical little words have been said—”
“And what would they be?” Gabe shifts in his chair. “Abracadabra? Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?”
She shoots my fiancé a reproachful look. “No, Mr Foster. I do. The eternally magical words that are a gateway to wedded bliss.”
Gabe stares incredulously at her, and I shift position and cough to hide a laugh that is dying to get out. “Well, that’s absolutely super,” I say far too heartily. “And what will happen once we’ve said these magic words?”
“The doves, Mr Mitchell,” she says as if I’m a student at the back of the class who hasn’t been paying attention.
Gabe’s mouth quirks, and I just manage to resist the impulse to kick him. It might dent Helen’s zeal about love, which is outdoing anything Barbara Cartland could manage on a bad day.
She continues, “We will release the doves into the air as a symbol of your eternal devotion to each other.”
I wonder if I might throw up in my mouth.
Gabe is made of sterner stuff. Steepling his fingers together in a way that makes me remember him interviewing me all those years ago, he stares at her. “And what exactly is it about fat lazy birds that speak to you about my relationship?”
I sigh. Another one bites the dust. At this point in our journey towards matrimony, I’ve said those words so many times I could part-time as a Freddie Mercury impressionist. Gabe looks at me as if expecting me to leap in and save him, but it’s every man for himself. I dealt with the last five wedding planners. It’s his turn.
And I must say it’s a very entertaining use of an hour as I watch Gabe finally meet his match. Helen moves from a vigorous defence of her wedding vision—one that belongs only in a Netflix historical drama—to indignation and, at last, rage. It’s a familiar destination if you’re dealing with Gabe.
Finally, however, she accepts defeat, saying in a very shrill voice, “You will never know marital bliss with that kind of attitude, Mr Foster.” Slinging her pashmina over her shoulder, she exits our house in a cloud of ire and Chanel perfume.
I stretch as Gabe comes back into the room after letting her out. “Helen, one. Gabe, nought.” I mime a tennis swing. “New balls, please.”
“That’s a very mixed metaphor and explains a great deal about your sports knowledge.” The love of my life heads to the cupboard and pulls out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. He waggles the bottle at me. “Want one?”
“Now? Isn’t it a bit early?”
“You tell me. Haven’t we got another planner coming in an hour? They’re like excessively happy buses.”
“I’ll have half the bottle,” I say promptly, and he laughs, the sound warm and rich in our sunlit kitchen. “I thought I was being rather pessimistic when I suggested we line up another candidate before the current one vanished in a puff of rage.” I accept the glass he hands me and clink it against his. “But apparently, there are new depths to delve.”
“Surely, we’ve been through every wedding planner in London. Where’s this next one coming from? The Arctic Circle?”
“Yes, and he wants to release polar bears once we say those truly magical words. But be warned, the ambient weather conditions for the polar bears might freeze the confetti and they’ll want to eat the guests rather than a mushroom vol-au-vent.”
“That might not be the deterrent you think it is.” He shakes his head. “Magical words. What magic could there possibly be about saying ‘I do’?”
I stare at him, feeling a little hurt, because the truth is, while I can never match Helen’s zeal, I can see plenty that’s magical in marrying the man I love. Unfortunately, Gabe doesn’t seem to be able to share my rose-coloured spectacles at the moment. His are more like very dark sunglasses to blot out all sight of the incipient ceremony.
I swallow my drink, watching him move away. “Where are you going?” I ask.
He turns back, raising one eyebrow. “To my study. We’ve got an hour, and I need to get on with some work.”
“Okay,” I say mildly.
He’d be better off getting on with some napping. He has dark circles under his eyes, and underneath his good looks, he seems weary and worn to the bone.
“You alright?” I ask.
“Absolutely fine. Why?”
I raise my eyebrow to let him know I’m not falling for that, but rather than query him, I gesture to him to carry on. He leaves without a backward glance.
I frown. He’s not been himself for a few months. At first, I didn’t notice, because we’ve both been very busy. Gabe had a major new case, and I got a new position at work that came with a lot more responsibility.
I became fully aware there was something off when we were at a meal with Henry and Ivo. Henry asked me in a whisper what was wrong with Gabe, and since then, I’ve been alert to the changes in him. I’ve seen enough to be worried. He’s tired and distracted which has never been Gabe’s way with me. If we’re together, he’s fully focused on me but having that focus gone is like having a chilly wind at my back.
I haven’t said anything yet, though. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in all my years with Gabe, it’s that you can’t force him to talk about anything he’s worried about. He’s more of a donkey than Eeyore when he’s determined to keep his problems to himself.
My phone rings, happily distracting me from my thoughts. I smile when I see the name on the screen.
“What’s up?” I say to my best friend.
Jude scoffs. “Never mind me. How did it go with Happy Helen?”
“She suggested setting doves free when we marry.”
“Why? You’re not Prince.”
I snort. “It’s to celebrate our eternal love.”
“Wouldn’t that be better with a nice steak and profiteroles rather than bird shit?”
“From your mouth to Gabe’s ears.”
He starts to laugh. “Oh my god, I bet it was epic.”
“He fired her. We’re on to the next one now.”
“What is this now? Number twenty?”
“Only ten,” I say indignantly. “We’re not that bad.”
“You’re like Candyman in the wedding planning arena. You only have to say Gabe’s name three times, and he pops up to announce the chair covers are the wrong shade of ecru.”
“He is rather diva-ish.”
“And you’re only just noticing that? Anyway, I wouldn’t worry too much about Helen. She’s been married eight times. She’s seen it all.”
“Which makes her great in the planning part of a wedding but not so much in the happy ever after.”
“She certainly isn’t allergic to gold rings.”
“She might not be, but I’m starting to think Gabe is.”
There’s a stunned silence, and then he rallies. “What the hell, Dyl? Where did that come from?”
Gabe’s study door is closed, but I take the phone into the garden just to be on the safe side. It’s chilly out here, but an autumn sun is trying to break through the clouds. A breeze blows, sending red and orange leaves eddying into the air.
“Well, he’s behaving very strangely.”
“And you’ve noticed that, how?”
I slump into one of the garden chairs, leaning back against the comfortable cushion. “It’s the wedding thing. He puts up more roadblocks than the Highways Agency.”
“Well, you have had a few strange planners. Like the one who wanted a Jesus wedding cake.”
“Thankfully, the icing beard thwarted her.” I sigh, staring at the old apple tree. Its trunk is as twisted as my brain patterns today. “It’s just that we’ve been engaged for longer than Hollyoaks has been going. You’ve got married in that time, and my sister has added two more children to her wild brood.”
“Best not to mention that. Peter tied Billy to a tree last week because he was protesting climate change.”
“Billy or Peter?”
“Not sure, and it's probably best not to question it.”
“Anyway, we now have a king on the throne, there’s been about thirty new Tory prime ministers, and Gabe and I are still living in sin, as my grandma declared last week.”
“Did she really? That sounds rather saucy.”
“I know. Gabe said to leave her with her delusions, because they made him sound like a dastardly bounder. He toyed with growing a moustache for a few days but gave up when he decided it would obstruct people’s view of his good looks.”
“That Gabe. Such a giver.”
I tap my finger on the arm of the chair. “I can’t help wondering if he’s changed his mind, and the constant faults he’s finding in the process are actually more about the end result. Maybe he doesn’t want to get married and can’t tell me for fear of hurting me.”
There’s a short pause. “And do you really think that?” Jude asks, his voice warm and focused. “Think, Dylan, because you know Gabe better than anyone in the world. Do you really think the man who loves you so much is looking to back out of marriage?”
Charlie Hunnam, our terrier, patters out of the back door and jumps onto my lap. I scratch his ear, making his eyes cross. “I wouldn’t have thought that before, but he was never a fan of marriage. Bluebeard’s wives were bigger proponents of it than Gabe. Anyway, there’s something up with him, Jude.”
“What?”
“He’s tired and worried and trying to hide it, which means it’s something to do with me. He only hides stuff that might hurt me.”
“Well, what are you going to do about that? Knowing your track record of nosiness, I’m going for you questioning him in a style that went out of fashion with the Spanish Inquisition.”
Against my will, I laugh. “I am going to get to the bottom of this,” I declare, my tone becoming sober. “I think I’ve left it because I’m frightened of his answer.”
“And if he doesn’t want to get married? What will you do?”
My face scrunches up. “What do you mean?”
“Would you leave him?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Why?”
“Marriage isn’t for everyone. I’m just as happy with him not being married as I would be married. He’s just … He’s just it for me, you know?”
“I know, babe. So, ask him.”
“I will.”
Gabe appears at the back door and beckons to me. “It’s one o’clock, Dylan. He’ll be here in a minute. Do not even think of leaving me alone with him.”
“What do you think is going to happen? He’s a wedding planner, for god’s sake, not Son of Sam.”
“You do remember the planner called Ryan, don’t you? He decided he’d rather like to be the new Mr Foster. I thought we were meeting to discuss desserts, not for me to be one,” he says darkly.
Jude chuckles in my ear. “I liked that story. I’ve told it at a few dinner parties.”
“How lovely for you,” I say sourly. “Alright. I’m off.”
“Ring me later and just ask him.”
“I will.”
“Don’t forget to remind him about Billy’s school trip.”
“I’m pretty sure I should factor alcohol into that particular conversation.”
He’s still laughing as I end the call. I shove my phone into my pocket and walk towards Gabe, who’s eyeing me.
“What’s up?” I say and then gasp as he grabs my shoulder and pushes me against the door. “What is going on?” My words die away as he kisses me. His lips are full and soft against mine, and as our tongues tangle, I can taste the expensive scotch. I groan and kiss him back, threading my fingers into his hair. He responds by grabbing my arse and pulling me tight against his erection.
The sound of the doorbell ringing keeps us from shagging on the kitchen floor. It wouldn’t be the first time. We stare at each other, panting.
He cups my chin in his hand. “It’ll be okay,” he says fiercely.
“What do you mean?”
“It’ll all turn out right.”
“And you’ll tell me what’s bothering you? Because I know something is wrong.” I hold my breath and then release it in a rush as he nods.
“I love you so much, Dylan. Just … Can you be patient with me for a little bit longer?”
“Always.” All my love and need for him are apparent in my voice.
He closes his eyes, the relief stark on his face. When he opens them a moment later, he looks a little more like his old self.
The doorbell goes again, and he straightens up. “Okay, bring on the wedding planner,” he says.
He vanishes into the house, and I feel a wave of relief and love. There is something up, but I’m pretty sure he still wants to get married, and he will tell me what’s wrong eventually. I can work with that.
When he returns to the kitchen, his face is alight with amusement. “Well, this is different,” he says cheerfully.
“What do you mean?”
A second later, our new prospective planner lurches into the room. He’s wearing grey suit trousers, a white shirt that’s open to his sternum, and a huge pair of dark sunglasses that are slightly crooked. His black hair is ruffled, and it doesn’t take the gin fumes surrounding him to know he’s several sheets to the wind.
“Dylan, this is Joe Bagshaw,” Gabe says, his eyes gleaming.
“Evening,” Joe Bagshaw says cheerfully.
My mouth drops open, and Gabe snorts and rubs his hands together. “Excellent to see you, Joe,” he says with a great deal of relish. “I mean it. It’s spiffing.”
“It’s actually afternoon,” I tell the planner primly, sounding alarmingly like my Aunt Phyliss, who starts every sentence with, I don’t mean to be rude.
“Is it?” Joe straightens at this news, but then sways as if a strong breeze is buffeting him. “Well, where the fuck did that morning go to?”
