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Caroselli's Christmas Baby. Michelle Celmer
Читать онлайн.Название Caroselli's Christmas Baby
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781408972137
Автор произведения Michelle Celmer
Жанр Контркультура
Серия Mills & Boon Desire
Издательство HarperCollins
“I’m going to be a single mum.”
Nick sat back in his seat, looking stunned. “How? Who’s going to be the father?”
“I’m going to use a donor.”
After a long moment of silence, Nick said, “You really want to do it. Have a baby, I mean.”
“I really do.”
“What if I had a better way? For both of us.”
Both of them? She failed to see how her plan to have a baby could in any way benefit him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I know the perfect man to be the father of your baby. Someone who would actually be around. Someone willing to take financial responsibility for the rest of the baby’s life.”
Whoever this so-called perfect man was, he sounded too good to be true. “Oh, yeah?” she said. “Who?”
He leaned forward, his dark eyes serious. “Me.”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to my new series, THE CAROSELLI INHERITANCE! And the next installment of my “Getting to know Michelle” reader letters.
Spring has always been my favorite time of year. For the past twenty-two years, since we bought our first house, it’s meant that it’s time to plant the vegetable garden. I’ve had many hobbies over the years—drawing, painting, crafts, crochet—but by far my favorite and most consistent is gardening.
First I have to decide what to plant. Around the middle of February I make a list of what we’ll need for the year, then I fire up the lights in the greenhouse in my basement, run to English Gardens for seeds and soil, and get to work. I’ve been starting my own plants for several years now, although I used to buy them, and though I know it sounds a little silly, each year it continues to amaze me to watch the tender little seedlings sprout, then grow into thriving plants.
Strangely enough, the actual planting is my least favorite part, and I can’t say I’m thrilled picking weeds either, but when I bite into that first big, juicy tomato, snap a crisp green bean or slice a tangy clove of fresh garlic, it’s worth the work! Though by now most of the plants are probably shriveled and dead—if I’m lucky I may still have a sprig or two of broccoli to pick—that’s okay. I get to start it all over again in a few months!
Best,
Michelle
About the Author
MICHELLE CELMER is a bestselling author of more than thirty books. When she’s not writing, she likes to spend time with her husband, kids, grandchildren and a menagerie of animals.
Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, like her on Facebook, or write her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.
Caroselli’s
Christmas Baby
Michelle Celmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk
MILLS & BOON
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For Steve, who truly is my hero.
Prologue
“As your attorney, and your friend, I have to say, Giuseppe, that I think this is a really bad idea.”
Giuseppe Caroselli sat in his wingback leather chair—the one his wife, Angelica, God rest her saintly soul, had surprised him with for his eighty-fifth birthday—while Marcus Russo eyed him furtively from the sofa. And he was was right. This scheme Giuseppe had concocted had the potential to blow up in his face, and create another rift in a family that already had its share of quarrels. But he was an old man and time was running low. He could sit back and do nothing, but the potential outcome was too heartbreaking to imagine. He had to do something.
“It must be done,” he told Marcus. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“I can’t decide which would be worse,” Marcus said, rising from the sofa and walking to the window that boasted a picturesque view of the park across the street, though most of the leaves had already fallen. “If they say no, or they actually say yes.”
“They’ve left me no choice. For the good of the family, it must be done.” Carrying on the Caroselli legacy had always been his number one priority. It was the reason he had fled Italy at the height of the Second World War, speaking not a word of English, with a only few dollars in the pocket of his trousers and his nonni’s secret family chocolate recipe emblazoned in his memory. He knew the Caroselli name was destined for great things.
He’d worked scrimped and saved until he had the money to start the first Caroselli Chocolate shop in downtown Chicago. In the next sixty years the Caroselli name grew to be recognized throughout the world, yet now it was in danger of dying out forever. Of his eight grandchildren and six great-grandchildren, there wasn’t a single heir to carry on the family name. Though his three sons each had a son, they were all still single and seemed to have no desire whatsoever to marry and start families of their own.
Giuseppe had no choice but to take matters into his own hands, and make them an offer they simply could not refuse.
There was a soft rap on the study door, and the butler appeared, tall and wiry and nearly as old as his charge. “They’re here, sir.”
Right on time, Giuseppe thought with a smile. If there was one thing that could be said about his grandsons, they were unfailingly reliable. They were also as ambitious as Giuseppe had been at their age, which is why he believed this might work. “Thank you, William. Send them in.”
The butler nodded and slipped from the room. A few seconds later his grandsons filed in. First Nicolas, charming and affable, with a smile that had been known to get him out of trouble with authority, and into trouble with the ladies. Following him was Nick’s cousin Robert, serious, focused and unflinchingly loyal. And last but not least, the oldest of all his grandchildren, ambitious, dependable Antonio Junior.
His joints protesting the movement, Giuseppe rose from his chair. “Thank you for coming, boys.” He gestured to the couch. “Please, have a seat.”
They did as he asked, all three looking apprehensive.
“You are obviously curious as to why you’re here,” Giuseppe said, easing back into his chair.
“I’d like to know why we had to keep it a secret,” Nick said, his brow furrowed with worry. “And why is Marcus here? Is something wrong?”
“Are you ill?” Tony asked.
“Fit as a fiddle,” Giuseppe said. Or as fit as an arthritic man of ninety-two could be. “There is a matter of great importance we must discuss.”
“Is the business in trouble?” Rob asked. For him, the company always came first, which was both a blessing and a curse. Had he not been so career-focused, he could be married with children by now. They all could.
“This