The Wedding Pact Read online

  Isla Gordon lives on the Jurassic Coast of England with her T. rex-sized Bernese Mountain Dog.

  Isla has worked as a dance teacher, a manager, and an editorial assistant but has been writing professionally since 2013 (and unprofessionally since she can remember). She also has five romantic comedies published under the name Lisa Dickenson.

  Isla can’t go a day without finding dog hair in her mouth.

  Also by Isla Gordon

  A Season in the Snow

  As Lisa Dickenson

  The Twelve Dates of Christmas

  You Had Me at Merlot

  Mistletoe on 34th Street

  Catch Me if You Cannes

  My Sisters and Me

  Copyright

  Published by Sphere

  ISBN: 978-0-7515-7451-7

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Lisa Dickenson 2021

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Sphere

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Isla Gordon

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Dedicated to Mum and Dad

  ♥

  Chapter 1

  August

  There is a starting point for all our dreams, and a tipping point where we, and sometimes fate, decide if it’s time to follow them, or walk a different road. For August Anderson, the starting point had happened many years ago, nearly twenty-five in fact, but the tipping point had only just arrived.

  When it finally came, August hadn’t expected it to be marred with tears and disappointment, and she resented James for that.

  Her dream had begun in the same spot she now sat, outside a four-storey Georgian townhouse on the crest of a hill at the edge of the city of Bath. The ribbon of properties that ran all the way up one side of the hill and down the other formed Elizabeth Street, and at the very centre was Number Eighteen.

  Across the road from Number Eighteen was a spacious opening between the houses, allowing for a courtyard with a low wall to showcase the views that swept down across the city of Bath and the green fields beyond. At golden hour, the setting sun would pick up the honey tones in the Bath stone architecture, casting a warm glow over every building and every steeple, while liquid gold would drift by in the distant river.

  Taller and grander than the neighbouring homes, Number Eighteen sparkled from within thanks to glittering chandeliers framed by long, rectangular windows. It sat proudly behind a wide pavement, with a wrought iron railing painted a rich black, and a matching archway, in front of the fanlighttopped door, from which a gas lamp hung.

  If you pictured a character from a Jane Austen novel colliding into her roguish lover while out for a stroll, Elizabeth Street is a safe guess for what you might be picturing. Number Eighteen, in particular, had a Regency air, which hung around it like an invisible mist, and it was somewhere very special for August. A thousand memories bound her to this house, and this dream.

  Over the years, August had climbed to the top of this hill and sat in this very spot many times. The house on Elizabeth Street had become a sort of Pole Star for her, a place to come to escape into her imagination, to dream about her future, to wallow in heartbreak, or to celebrate her achievements. One day she’d hoped to finally live here, and it had briefly felt as if that day might be just a whisper away.

  Until James had kicked the idea to the immaculate curb with his stupid, too-clean trainers.

  It was Friday evening, the summer sun having lowered so far beyond the skyline that the only light now visible came from streetlamps and from behind windows, and August was sitting on the wall in front of the house on Elizabeth Street, feeling very alone. Tears had dragged mascara down her face, her lipstick, once a quirky, neon pink, was now subdued, partially wiped off by her sleeve.

  ‘Arsehole,’ she muttered into the night, mainly directed at the long-gone James, but also a little bit to herself.

  She’d waited so long for a chance to move into the house she now sat in front of. As a little girl she’d dreamed of the day she would somehow be wealthy enough to own it, and as she grew up – and her expectations lowered – she watched as it was converted into flats, which then became rentals, and still she waited. Though August had left the Bath area for a while, first for university and then to London to dip her toes into the world of professional acting, she had now returned. And she knew that with a little motivation she could transition from dipped toes to diving right in.

  Last week, August spotted an advert in the paper, and it had felt as if fate had sensed she was back in town. The next day it was there again, and then again the day after,
begging her to take notice. The first-floor apartment of Number Eighteen was vacant, and a tenant was required as soon as possible. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, only a smidge unaffordable as long as she had a flatmate to share it with. It was vacant.

  She’d felt it: her dream could come true. This could be the start of the life she longed for.

  Earlier that evening, she’d met up with her boyfriend James for a pre-dinner drink at a coffee shop at the bottom of this particular hill.

  ‘This is such a random place; do they even serve alcohol?’ James had said when they’d sat down, cleaning a speck of dirt from his shoe, before she’d launched into her proposal.

  August had delayed until her date with James this evening to share the news with him. Sure, they’d only been seeing each other for four months, but they were serious enough, and it made sense to her: if she was going to move into a new flat and needed someone to share the rent with anyway, why not move in together?

  ‘Why don’t I want to move in with you?’ he’d asked, letting a laugh escape like he wasn’t even sure if she meant it. ‘August, we’ve only been seeing each other for, what, three months?’

  ‘Four months,’ she corrected him. ‘I know it’s soon, but we spend lots of nights over at each other’s homes anyway, and believe me, this house is amazing. Let me take you over there.’

  James shook his head. ‘I can’t move in with you,’ he said. ‘Come on,’ she said, trying to twist his arm. He usually liked this impulsive, spontaneous side of her, though lately he’d seemed a bit off. Maybe he just needed to know that as playful as she was, she could be serious when it came to the two of them. ‘If you don’t move in with me I’ll need to find a flatmate, and who knows how long that will take. I can’t afford this place on my own, even for just a matter of weeks. And really, how long would it be before we wanted to live together anyway? I think we should just go for it!’

  ‘I know that’s what you think we should do, but I don’t think we should. And it’s not all about you.’

  She did understand his hesitation, of course she did. It was sudden, and he hadn’t had any warning she was thinking of asking him to move in with her. Hey, August hadn’t had any warning herself, but the flat was available now. Not in six months’ time, not next year, but now. But while August had leaned in with every inch of her heart, James had leant so far away that he fell right out of her life.

  And it felt like her dream had fallen right out of reach along with him.

  Chapter 2

  Flynn

  That night, a hundred miles east of where August stood watching the lights make a bokeh effect over Bath through her tears, an aeroplane touched down at London Heathrow. Flynn Miyoshi sat in his seat until directed to unclip his belt, his belongings – headphones, a water bottle, his phone, glasses and a well-read book – piled upon his lap. He watched England pirouetting outside the window, showing him her runway, her terminal and her skies, as much as was possible at this dark, late hour and thanks only to strings of bright, uniform lights.

  He was home. Though it felt like nothing of the sort.

  Flynn, born Fujio Flynn Miyoshi but who went most commonly by his middle name, was born and raised in the UK by his British mum and Japanese dad. But for the past four years, he had lived in Japan, following his parents when they’d moved back to Tokyo after spending the best part of their married life in England.

  Now, after three delays, one change, one emergency stop and zero sleep for almost thirty-three hours, Flynn had British soil under his feet once again.

  As he waited to exit the plane he checked his phone. He checked it again before he entered the immigration hall and again at baggage claim. Aside from two missed calls from the owner of the house he was to be lodging in from tonight onwards – no doubt checking on his journey and letting him know where they’d left the keys – there was nothing. Flynn decided he would return the owner’s calls once he was settled on the coach.

  He yawned. It would be a long journey from Heathrow to Bath, nearly two hours according to his itinerary, maybe longer now due to the knock-on effects of all the delays he’d faced.

  It was the height of summer, but this particular night time was cool, and Flynn felt a chill creep under his stained sweatshirt as he stepped out of the arrivals hall and took his first breath of fresh air. He couldn’t wait to get to his new home and shower, change into PJs and have a good sleep. He felt as if he’d been in the same clothes for a week, his skin was dry, and someone’s baby had thrown up on him on the flight during some turbulence.

  Eventually his coach arrived, packed with tired holiday-makers either arriving home or just arriving, piling themselves on in a herd of elbows and overhead bags, neck pillows and separated children.

  Flynn found a seat near the back, his eyes drooping before the coach had even pulled away from the airport.

  He didn’t wake again until he was forty-five minutes outside Bath.

  With a stiff neck and a parched mouth, he reached for his phone to see if she’d messaged him. Not with a declaration of love or a plea to return to Japan, he didn’t expect that, not really. But maybe a small question, a ‘How was your flight’; something that might have made him feel like he hadn’t just been erased.

  But still nothing, at least from her. He had a text and a voicemail now from his new landlord, the text containing an address he didn’t recognise. He’d forgotten to call back and it was now approaching one in the morning. Grabbing a pen and the back of a magazine from his bag, ready to note down any instructions in the message, he pressed play, the volume low so not to disturb the nearby sleeping passengers.

  ‘Hello, this is a message for Flynn Miyoshi,’ the voice said on the end of the line. ‘Flynn, this is Chris, of Chris and Donna. I’m very sorry to tell you this in a message, mate, and I hope you pick it up before you hit Bath.’

  Oh no, what more could go wrong on this journey? Flynn was beginning to wish he’d never left Japan.

  ‘Donna and I have just made the decision, the very difficult decision, to separate. It’s not good, mate, it’s not good, and we just can’t play host to someone else in the house at the moment, as much as we were looking forward to the extra money.’

  Flynn’s mouth fell open. Did he hear that right?

  ‘Anyway, we need the spare room now and I don’t know what’s going to happen, but … Listen, we’ll … ’ There was a pause on the line, then a sigh. ‘We’ll pay for you to stay in a hotel until you find something, all right? It’s our fault for messing you around. We’ve booked you into a place near the bus station for your first night; I’ll text you the address now, and the directions. It’s not a great hotel but we can move you tomorrow if you want. I’ll swing by and sort the bill in the morning. Text me or something just to let me know you got the message, yeah?’

  The line went dead but Flynn had to listen to it again to make sure he had heard right. That poor couple. They’d seemed so lovely on email, after he’d responded to their advert on the rental website looking for a lodger. They’d seemed happy when he FaceTimed with them a few weeks ago. They’d talked about how it would be nice having him in the house and how he was really helping them out because they could do with some extra cash. Donna especially had looked so lovingly at Chris as she talked about how maybe they could finally take a holiday together again, as they hadn’t had one since their honeymoon. He remembered that because it had made him wonder at the time if Yui ever still looked at him in that way. What had happened to rock Donna and Chris’s world so completely? It seemed likely he’d never know.

  The coach quietly sliced its way through the night, following the ribbon of the M4 before it would turn off towards Bath, and Flynn sat back in his seat.

  Although he was surrounded by fellow passengers gently sleeping or lit by the glow of their phones, he’d never felt more exhausted, unanchored and very, very alone.

  Chapter 3

  August

  August woke early on Saturday morning after a li
ght and troubled sleep. She rolled over and pushed aside the half-drunk bottle of San Miguel on her bedside table to reach for her phone.

  ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ a chirpy voice said on the end of the line.

  ‘I broke up with James.’ August declared, her voice raspy.

  Bel paused and then said, ‘I’m on my way.’

  ‘No, don’t, thank you, though. I’m a festering stink bomb at the moment and my flat is a tip. I just want to lie face down in my beer-soaked duvet cover. In other words, I’m not quite ready for company.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Bel. Thank god for Bel, August’s favourite person and best friend.

  August rested the phone on her cheek so she could flop her heavy arms back down beside her. ‘The most amazing flat came up for rent, so I suggested we move in together and he suggested I take a hike.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were flat-hunting?’

  ‘I’m not, but this wasn’t just any apartment, it was in the house on Elizabeth Street.’

  ‘Ohhh,’ replied Bel, having heard August make passing comments and declarations of love about that house for years. ‘So he freaked out because you suggested living together?’

  ‘I am unlovable.’

  ‘You are dramatic. And very lovable.’

  ‘But the thing is, couldn’t he have just said no? That he wasn’t ready to live together? We didn’t have to split up over it.’

  ‘What exactly did he say?’ Bel probed.

  ‘I told him that the perfect flat had become available, and that I really wanted to live there, with him, and that it would be a perfect next step in our relationship. Although, maybe instead of “our relationship” I might have said “our blossoming love”, but I was clearly only joking.’

  ‘ … And what did he say?’

  August sniffed. ‘Well, he said no, that he wasn’t ready to live together. Then we got into a huge argument and I think … that’s when I started acting like a toddler being told I couldn’t have what I wanted.’

  August could practically hear Bel rolling her eyes at her over the phone.

  She continued. ‘I said something about how, if he didn’t want to live with me I’d find someone else who would, and move in without him. And he said, “Okay, sounds great,” and then somehow things escalated, and the last thing I remember screaming at him was how clearly he had a problem with the way I buttered my toast in the morning, and if he couldn’t get past that he could just fuck off for ever.’