The Unexpected Holiday Gift by Sophie Pembroke Page B

announced.
    Jacob frowned. ‘Who is Bruce?’
    â€˜Bruce the Spruce,’ Clara said with a grin. ‘Your perfect Christmas tree.’

CHAPTER NINE
    I T WAS EASY to busy herself in getting the castle ready for Christmas. All she needed to do was stick to her schedule, count the courier boxes that had arrived and ignore Jacob hovering near her shoulder, checking up on everything she was doing. At least then she had a chance of making it to the hotel before Ivy’s bedtime. Maybe she could stay up a bit later than normal...
    â€˜I do know how to do this, you know,’ she snapped finally, when she turned to put the box with the Christmas lights in by the tree ready for the morning and almost crashed into him. ‘It’s my job.’
    Jacob stepped back, hands raised in apology. ‘I know, I know. I just feel like I should be doing something to help, that’s all.’ Clara bit back a laugh. All those months of marriage she’d spent complaining that she wanted him to stop working and spend time with her, and the one time she wanted to be left alone to work she couldn’t get rid of him! Even Clara could appreciate the irony.
    But their conversation in the car had got her thinking. Maybe that had been part of the problem—she hadn’t had anything except him in her life so she’d clung too desperately to him. She’d been lopsided, like a Christmas tree with decorations only on one side. She needed decorating all the way around. And now, with Perfect London, and Ivy and even Merry, she had that. Well, almost. There might be a few branches still in need of some sparkle. Or some love...
    Could Jacob provide that? Did she want him to? Clara had been so focused on what he might mean to Ivy, she had barely paused to consider what it might mean for her to have him back in her life.
    â€˜Can’t I start decorating Bruce or something?’ Jacob asked, bringing her attention back to the cold, undecorated castle hallway.
    â€˜Bruce needs to settle in overnight,’ she explained. ‘To let his branches drop, and let him suck up plenty of water to keep him going. I’ll decorate him in the morning.’
    â€˜Then what can I do?’ Jacob asked.
    â€˜I told you—go do some work or something.’
    â€˜I don’t want to.’
    Clara stilled at his words. What she would have given to hear him say that about work when they’d been married. Now it just made her suspicious. What was he playing at?
    â€˜I don’t need you dancing attendance on me, Jacob. I’m not your guest—I’m here to work. You’re not responsible for me, you know.’
    Something flashed across Jacob’s face. Was it...relief? Relief that he could get back to work, she supposed.
    But he surprised her. ‘Fine. But this is still my Christmas. I want to help. Give me something to do.’
    Clara shrugged. If that was what he wanted... Flipping through the stack of paper on her clipboard, she pulled off a sheet and handed it to him.
    â€˜Box Seventeen?’ he asked, reading the title.
    â€˜It’s that one over there.’ Clara pointed to a medium-sized brown box liberally labelled with the number seventeen on all sides. ‘Check through it and make sure that everything on that list is in there.’
    â€˜Didn’t you check them when you packed them?’ Jacob slit open the box and Clara tried not to stop breathing as the scissors went a little deeper through the tape than she liked.
    â€˜Three times,’ she confirmed. ‘And now we check them again.’
    â€˜Were you always this hyper-organised?’
    â€˜I may have got worse since starting Perfect London,’ Clara admitted. ‘But pretty much, yes.’
    Another thing that had set her apart from her own family. Her mother had always been the spontaneous, play-it-by-ear type. The day Clara had left for university—a date circled in red on the calendar for