It's Not You, It's Them

  First comes love. Then comes family…

  After a lifetime of kissing frogs, Roxie Pratt has given up on finding her own fairytale romance. That is, until she meets her very own Prince Charming, Mark Wright, and he sweeps Roxie off her feet!

  So when Mark finally gets down on one knee and pops the question, there’s only one thing left to do: meet the family! And when everything has been picture-perfect so far, what could possibly go wrong…?

  An irresistible, feel-good romance, perfect for fans of Rosie Blake, Sophie Kinsella and Lindsey Kelk.

  Also by Portia MacIntosh:

  Between a Rockstar and a Hard Place

  How Not to Be Starstruck

  Bad Bridesmaid

  Drive Me Crazy

  Truth or Date

  It’s Not You, It’s Them

  Portia MacIntosh

  PORTIA MACINTOSH

  has been ‘making stuff up’ for as long as she can remember – or so she says. Whether it was blaming her siblings for that broken vase when she was growing up, blagging her way backstage during her rock chick phase or, most recently, whatever justification she can fabricate to explain away those lunchtime cocktails, Portia just loves telling tales. After years working as a music journalist, Portia decided it was time to use her powers for good and started writing novels. Taking inspiration from her experiences on tour with bands, the real struggle of dating in your twenties and just trying to survive as an adult human female generally, Portia writes about what it’s really like for women who don’t find this life stuff as easy as it seems. You can follow her on Twitter at: @PortiaMacIntosh

  Thank you to everyone at HQ Digital and HarperCollins for all of their hard work. From my beautiful cover to all the brilliant guidance and support from my wonderful editor, Charlotte – a huge thanks to everyone who has worked to make this book what it is.

  To be having my sixth book published is a dream come true – I still pinch myself every day. Massive thanks to everyone who reads, reviews and spreads the word about my books, with an extra special thank you to the beautiful Blossom Twins (Lucy and Kelly), Kirsty, Helena and all of my fellow HQ Digital authors for being so supportive.

  Huge, huge thanks to my incredible family, for their never-ending support and for being my biggest fans. My mamma, A, my boys and my puppers - I’d be lost without you all.

  The biggest thank you of all goes to my amazing boyfriend for his endless love and support. From keeping me sane while I listened to Christmas music at the height of a summer heat wave to help me write this book, to doing anything and everything to make my life easier and happier – I am an infinitely better writer, adult and human since I met you, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.

  For JWN

  I love you like Marie loves purple

  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

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Copyright

  Prologue

  When I met my boyfriend one year ago, I couldn’t believe my luck.

  You’re probably not going to believe me when I tell you this, but the way we met was like a fairy tale.

  I was covering an event for work: a big, fancy-dress ball hosted by a children’s charity. I’m not much of a comic-book nerd, but the second I saw Margot Robbie dressed as Harley Quinn in the Suicide Squad movie, I knew that was who I wanted to dress up as. I pulled my long, blonde hair into pigtails before temporarily spraying the ends blue on one side, pink on the other. I watched hours of make-up tutorials so that my face was just right and then I slipped on a tight-fitting T-shirt, some hot pants and some Converse and was ready to go. I grabbed my baseball bat, brandishing it at myself in the mirror as I got ready to leave the flat, just as my flatmate Gil walked by me.

  ‘You’re showing your arse at a children’s charity ball?’ he said, laughing.

  ‘There won’t actually be any children there,’ I replied casually, making a pouty face as I snapped a photo in the mirror. But as I headed to the ball, I did worry that maybe Gil was right. Funny really, considering what a hot mess he is for a forty-something man. That’s actors for you, though.

  Thankfully, when I arrived, there wasn’t a minor in sight – unless you count a guy I recognised from Game of Thrones who had, bizarrely, turned up dressed as a baby. The huge ballroom was packed with celebrities, journalists and people who worked for the charity… and then there was Mark. Mark Wright, head of PR for the charity, was the brain behind this fundraising ball, and very much the man of the hour. People were crowding around him – mostly women, I couldn’t help but notice – just to talk to him, get a quote from him, buy him a drink – or just anything, really, that would capture his attention for a few seconds.

  Amid the chaos, our eyes met across a crowded room – I know, that old one – but they did. My body not having quite the same proportions as Margot’s, I was just starting to feel self-conscious in my hot pants, awkwardly pulling at them – like that was going to make them any longer – when I spotted Mark, sitting at the bar, facing out into the room, people all around him, trying to get a piece of him. He was dressed as The Joker (Heath Ledger’s portrayal, not Jared Leto’s – but that’s not important) so I smiled at him. His reaction was to applaud me, tilting his head down a little and narrowing his eyes, perfectly replicating Heath’s sarcastic clap in The Dark Knight, before turning his attention back to his audience.

  Despite Mark’s temporarily messy green hair, that ghostly white face, black eyes and red, twisted smile, I could tell he was gorgeous. I don’t even think it was the usual characteristics that attracted me to him physically; it was the fact he had a smile on his face every time I looked at him (a real one, not the one painted on so he could tell everyone to ask him ‘how he got those scars’). He had kind eyes and, when he gave people his attention, I saw them light up – that’s Mark, though. With his good looks, charm and kind nature, he makes you feel like the most important person in the world when he talks to you.

  Twenty seconds of attention from him and I was smitten, so I spent the rest of the night subtly following this unconventional Prince Charming around the ball, just trying to find a way to get his attention, but feeling like an unworthy Cinderella and chickening out.

  Growing up around theatre folk, I’d always liked the idea of having a gay bestie. Someone I could have awesome girly nights with and who could give me amazing advice whenever I needed it. Instead, I wound up with Gil, the most alpha-male gay guy I have ever met – and he’s pretty shocking at advice, too. We were texting all night, and as he was getting progressively drunker, his advice was getting progressively worse. As I anxiously shovelled cake into my mouth I received a
message from him saying he’d lost his keys and that he was going to climb the fire escape to get into our flat. When Gil drinks he loses control of his senses and his actions (and totally forgets his lack of athleticism) – one time he even lost half of his little finger, so I know that if he says he’s going to try and scale a building, he’s definitely going to do it. I pulled my shorts down one last time before deciding to call it a night – at just 11:45. What a lightweight.

  I made my way outside the hotel, booking my Uber as I took the stairs, before heading outside into the cool air to wait for my ride. As I stood there, I felt a hand touch my arse and, before I knew what I was doing, I spun around and struck my attacker with my baseball bat.

  ‘Hey, hey, calm down,’ Mark said reassuringly, his Yorkshire accent instantly soothing me. He took my bat from me and placed it on the wall next to us – I imagine just in case I tried to strike him again. ‘You just… you’ve got some frosting on your shorts.’

  ‘Sorry, I thought you were a pervert,’ I babbled.

  Mark laughed as he rubbed his arm.

  ‘I think you broke my arm,’ he teased.

  Convinced I’d blown my chance to seem cool in front of him, I gave up trying and let who I really was take over.

  ‘Are you kidding me? I think your arm broke my bat,’ I joked as I nodded towards his bicep.

  That first night when I met Mark, I took two things from his appearance: first of all, I knew he must have a great sense of humour, because rather than opting for the usual Joker costume of a green and purple suit, he decided on the female nurse outfit from The Dark Knight. The other thing I could tell was just how sexy his body was – yes, even in a dress.

  ‘I’m Mark,’ he told me, offering me a hand to shake. ‘I’ve seen you around all night. Do you work for us? Are you in a girl band?’ he joked.

  ‘I’m Roxie,’ I replied, shaking his hand. ‘I’m a journalist.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he teased.

  Typically, just as I’d finally got Mark’s full attention, my taxi pulled up.

  ‘Well, it was nice to meet you,’ I told him as I opened the car door.

  ‘You’re going?’ he asked, a look of genuine disappointment on his face. ‘It’s only five to twelve.’

  ‘I know, but I have to go,’ I told him, images of Gil lying on the pavement outside our flat with a couple of compound fractures invading my thoughts.

  ‘Does your Uber turn back into a pumpkin at midnight?’ he asked with a cheeky laugh.

  My God, I wanted to stay with him. Every second of my Uber home I wished I had, and then when I arrived home and found Gil fast asleep in bed, having found his keys in his pocket, I metaphorically kicked myself to sleep.

  The next day at work I was just sitting at my desk, thinking about what I could’ve said or done differently, when one of the receptionists came running up.

  ‘There’s a man in reception saying he wants a word with you,’ she informed me.

  ‘Whatever I’m supposed to have done, it wasn’t me,’ I lied instinctively as she literally dragged me to the reception. Mark was waiting for me there.

  ‘Hello,’ I said cautiously.

  ‘Hi,’ he replied coolly. ‘So I was at a party last night, and some girl assaulted me with this.’ He pulled my baseball bat out from behind his back. ‘I’ve spent all morning visiting the offices of every media outlet we invited, to see if I could find a girl who could give me a bruise with this bat as impressive as this one.’

  Mark rolled up the sleeve of his white polo shirt, flashing me his bruised bicep.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I told him again.

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he replied. ‘Just have dinner with me tonight.’

  Chapter One

  Everyone seems perfect when you first start dating them, right? You love everything about them – even their bad habits are cute and amusing. But it’s fine, because they find you utterly charming, too, like when you only shave you legs as much as you need to in accordance with the length of what you are wearing, or how you can’t ever walk along cobbled roads because cobbles and heels just don’t work together.

  When I met Mark it felt like a modern-day fairy tale, and things only got better from that moment on. Now that we’re a year into our relationship, I bet you’re wondering whether or not things are still as romantic as they were when we met…

  ‘I can’t believe you’re on Call of fucking Duty again,’ I say with a big sigh as I stare out of the window, shaking my head.

  Mark laughs.

  I glance over my shoulder and look at him sitting on the sofa, that cheeky smile still there but his eyes glued to the home cinema screen in front of him. He’s clutching a controller in his hands and he’s got his headset on his ear, his microphone hovering just in front of his mouth in case he needs to smack-talk any 14-year-olds playing in America. Trust me, if there’s one thing worse than watching your boyfriend play video games, it’s watching him play them in one-hundred-and-fifty inches with surround sound so immersive, it keeps occurring to me to call my mum and tell her I love her every time I hear an explosion. And if there’s one thing even worse than that, it’s when he watches football on it. But the absolute worst thing of all the things that the love of my life does is play FIFA, because that’s a video game and football combined – and beyond boring for me.

  ‘Is watching me play not piquing your interest in warfare?’ he asks cheekily.

  ‘The only thing that watching you play is doing is making me crave the sweet release of death via a headshot,’ I say wryly.

  Mark throws his head back as he laughs.

  ‘You’re too funny,’ he tells me. ‘This match is nearly over, then we can do whatever you want.’

  ‘Thank God, because it’s Sunday, and you know I hate Sundays.’

  ‘I know you do, but I still don’t understand why, you weirdo.’

  ‘They’re just so boring,’ I explain – for the millionth time. Mark just doesn’t understand my hatred of the day. ‘Everywhere closes early, everyone is miserable about the impending Monday morning, nothing really happens – I’ve never had a good Sunday.’

  I think I’m possibly the only person in the world who loves Mondays – but it’s exclusively because it means that Sunday is as far away as it can possibly be.

  ‘So, basically, because you can’t shop as much and you have to get up early tomorrow?’ he asks.

  ‘Nailed it,’ I reply.

  Our corner apartment boasts the most incredible view of London. The first time Mark invited me over, I nearly gave myself an RSI Instagramming from the large, floor-to-ceiling, living-room window that looks out over the river. By day you can take in the beautiful buildings, people-watching the buzz of activity on the riverbanks and checking out who and what is travelling along the Thames. By night, the view transforms into this picture-perfect skyline; silhouetted buildings like something from a cityscape photography book, littered with a sea of twinkling lights. Simply breathtaking, no matter what time of day you’re looking out, and all the more enjoyable if you have the time to sit and watch as the afternoon slips into evening, the sky changing so gradually, and yet before you know it, it’s dark, and you’ve been aimlessly gazing out of the window for two hours.

  ‘So, who are you spying on today?’ Mark asks, attempting conversation despite being in the final stages of an especially tough mission.

  ‘There’s a little old lady, sitting by the river,’ I tell him.

  ‘Nice place for a Sunday stroll,’ Mark replies.

  ‘She looks lonely,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Even from up here, I can tell. The only thing that could make Sundays worse would be spending them alone.’

  I don’t even realise Mark has moved from the sofa until I feel his hands creep around my waist from behind me.

  ‘You’re not going to end up alone,’ he assures me.

  ‘I’m already a video game widow,’ I tease him with a laugh, placing my hands on his, which are now rest
ing lightly on my tummy.

  Mark rests his chin on my shoulder and gives me a tight squeeze, because he knows that I love it when he squeezes me. He’s strong, with big muscular arms, and when he locks them around me I feel so safe and adored.

  ‘You know that I love you, right?’ he asks.

  I turn around in his embrace to face him, placing my hands on his cheeks as I look him in the eye.

  ‘Of course I do,’ I assure him. ‘You know I’m only joking about the video-game-widow stuff, right?’

  ‘I do,’ he laughs.

  Yes, I find it boring watching him play video games, but I’d never tell him not to, because he enjoys it. I reserve the right to tease him about it, though; that’s what girlfriends are for.

  ‘It’s just... fuck it,’ Mark says, wiggling free of my grasp before kneeling down on the floor.

  ‘No, come back and talk to me, give me physical contact,’ I whine. ‘If you’re taking another video game out of that box, so help me God…’

  ‘Roxie Pratt,’ he interrupts me as he rummages around in the pocket of his shorts. ‘You are the smartest, funniest, most beautiful woman I have ever met. I know it’s only been a year, but we’ve spent pretty much every second of that time together and it hasn’t just made me realise that you are impossible to grow bored of, but also that I can’t bear the thought of spending a single second without you.’

  I stare at him, blankly. Unable to do anything but blink.

  ‘More?’ he asks with a laugh. ‘OK. Before we met, sure, I was happy, but I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what I was missing. And this place just didn’t feel like a home until you moved in – and not just because you keep the fridge fully stocked,’ he jokes.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ I reply. ‘I remember when I used to stay over here, and I was having to have banana-flavoured milk on my Frosties because that was all you bought – and I was having to eat Frosties for three meals a day because all you had in your cupboards was cereal.’