Christmas Romance Collection Read online

  “So, see you tomorrow night?” he suggested with a grin. “I was thinking maybe ice-skating at the Rockefeller this time.”

  I grinned. It was like this guy could read my mind. “Yes, I would love that.”

  Blake leaned in and planted another kiss on my lips. He was gentle about it. It was slow and romantic, full of feeling and it made me feel a bit dizzy.

  10

  The next day I went for daytime walk through Central Park by myself. Reliving memories from the day before, I was in a great mood and I smiled and said hello to every passerby, so much so that eventually people started avoiding the crazy-looking Irish girl.

  When I got towards the middle I saw the museum and remembered the pretzel stand so I thought I would grab one. Exiting the park, I crossed the street near the building and suddenly saw Blake sitting on the steps.

  An attractive female beside him.

  I stopped in my tracks, feeling so duped. I couldn't believe it. Was this what he did all day? Was this his pick up spot? Did he even work in the museum at all? I was furious but even worse, my heart was breaking a little.

  I watched as they talked to each other. They seemed very comfortable together and smiled a lot as they chatted, very much like we had only two days before.

  I debated whether I should go up to him or not — confront him, or should I just let it go, walk away and never talk to him again?

  After a few minutes of staring and not knowing what to do I watched as they both stood up. It was unbelievable, they were going inside! This was his thing. This is what he did.

  My despair quickly turned into anger and I stomped off in their direction. I stood at the bottom of the steps as I watched them disappear into the museum together. They were laughing and talking loudly. I willed him to turn around and see me. Just then Blake turned in the doorway.

  He locked eyes with me and smiled in recognition. My eyes darted immediately to the woman and then back at him. Seeing my discomfort, the smile disappeared from his face. Turning quickly, I raced down the steps and back into the park. I wanted to disappear as soon as I could in case he was coming after me. I didn’t want to hear his pathetic excuses.

  I ran all the way home. I was in disarray. Sarah was at work and I had no one to confide in. Everything suddenly felt grey to me. The cheery Christmas tree in the living room taunted me.

  I fell asleep on the couch and woke up a few hours later. It was dark and the only light that filled the room was the light from the tree. I looked around. It didn’t look like Sarah had come home yet. I checked the time and it was only seven o’ clock. It felt so much later. The embarrassment of what had happened earlier flooded back.

  I sat up and remembered myself. Why was I letting this get me down? Yes, I was hurting, but I came to New York to enjoy myself. I wasn’t going to let a player destroy my dream getaway. What would I be doing right now if I had never met Blake? I would probably be ice-skating at Rockefeller Center, under the giant tree. It was exactly what he’d suggested we do tonight. He knew me well, or I should say he knew how to woo clueless New York tourists like me well.

  I pulled myself together and decided to go anyway. I would put all thoughts of him out of my mind and continue on as if I had never met him. I washed my face and got changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a sweater, perfect for ice-skating.

  I headed downstairs to the lobby where the doorman stopped me.

  “Miss,” he said. “You have several messages from a Mr. Blake.” He handed me a few small notes.

  “Thank you,” I said grabbing them and walked out the door. As soon as I saw a street rubbish bin, I tossed them. I didn’t open them. I didn’t need to.

  I walked all the way to Rockefeller, careful to walk on the side of the park opposite the museum. I moved through the bustling streets of Fifth Avenue, taking my time strolling along and window-shopping.

  11

  I finally arrived at Rockefeller Center.

  I could see the tree as I approached the plaza, but getting up close to it was beyond words. I titled my head back staring up the massive tree in the centre of the plaza above the ice-rink, mesmerised. It was even more glorious in person. There must’ve been a million lights on it. The entire plaza was decorated for the holiday season; beautiful life-sized angels blowing trumpets and giant painted nutcracker soldiers all lined up. Below on the ice rink, people were skating and full of cheer and laughter.

  I sat down on nearby bench and gazed at the tree. Its beauty and romance seemed to only mock my sadness. I thought of Blake again, wanting to cry. I was only kidding myself with all these distractions. It wasn’t working. It was then, right in that moment of thinking about him that I heard a familiar voice.

  “May I?”

  I looked up to see Blake towering over me. He was gesturing at the empty space beside me on the bench. I didn’t say anything. He sat anyway.

  “Madeline, I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. The doorman wouldn’t let me up no matter how much I pleaded with him. I tried for an hour at least,” he said.

  I just looked at him and my eyes watered over. His sincere way of talking to me was enough to make me feel overwhelming sadness. I wanted things to be as they were before. But they couldn’t, I did not trust this man. I don’t think I trusted any man at this point.

  “Why did you run off like that today?” he asked.

  “I watched you, on the steps. Talking to that girl and then I saw you bring her back into the museum, just like we did. Is that what you do to pick up women? It works. It worked on me, I was stupid enough to fall for it, just like the girl today was.”

  I could barely get the words out. My voice was shaking. Blake’s eyes were wide. At first I thought they were wide at having been caught.

  “Madeline, that’s not what that was — at all,” he said. “You’ve got it wrong and I’m sorry if what you saw hurt you. That’s the last thing I would ever want to do, but if you would just let me explain …”

  “I don’t see the point in an explanation. I could never tell if you were lying.”

  “That is true,” he said. “Would you like to meet her then?”

  “Meet who?” I asked.

  “The woman you saw me sitting with earlier. That’s the only way I can prove that I’m not lying about it. She’s at my apartment right now,” he said.

  “What? She’s in your apartment?” I repeated, suspiciously.

  “Yes, I couldn’t make it home for Christmas this year so she came here so that I had some family around.”

  “Family?”

  “Yes. She’s my sister.”

  My heart sank. I couldn't say why but I believed him. Now I felt like a complete idiot. I was kicking myself for acting so rash earlier. Sarah was right about me. The problem wasn’t this man. It was me. The breakup had left me a paranoid mess. I let my head collapse on his shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry. I feel so stupid,” I said.

  “It’s okay. Don’t be. Actually I’m kind of glad it happened.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure if you felt anything for me. When we look at each other I can feel a connection, but you haven’t said anything…about what you really think or how you might feel. But seeing your reaction today … now I know for sure you feel something too. And that I might be more than just your New York Christmas guide.”

  I sat in silence and processed what he had said. He was right. Perhaps I needed this to bring me to that next level. This entire thing had been a roller coaster for me.

  “So, we’re okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, we’re okay. And I’m sorry,” I said, feeling stupid again.

  He held my shoulders and turned me toward him.“No need to apologise. I want you to be comfortable with me, Madeline. I know this is crazy and we only just met, but I think we might have something here. I know it. I knew it when I saw you for the first time. You’re the best Christmas present I could have asked for. Maybe this was meant to be.”r />
  I looked up at him, my eyes watering over. This dear sweet man was all I could ever hope for, and he was pouring his heart out to me. Then he leaned down and kissed me.

  “Now, I seem to remember I promised you ice-skating.”

  And when a few minutes later Blake took my hand and led me out onto the ice-rink, I looked around again at the twinkling lights on the tree, and the scene around us, unable to believe that I was actually here and this was really happening. Everything felt so surreal. And impossibly romantic.

  But then the most magical thing of all happened.

  Out of nowhere, it began to snow. Small perfect snowflakes fell on our faces, and we laughed amongst the beauty of it all.

  This New York Christmas was perfect, even better than I had imagined, more than I could have ever dreamed of.

  And as Blake leaned down and kissed me, I knew I wanted to experience it over and over again.

  A Diamond From Tiffany’s

  A NOVEL

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Spoil yourself… with a sparkling New York romance from the international #1 bestselling author of SOMETHING FROM TIFFANY'S

  It's been two years since Ethan Greene and Gary Knowles collided one fateful Christmas Eve outside Tiffany & Co on Fifth Avenue.

  A mix-up with their shopping bags sent each man's life on an unexpected trajectory, and while Gary and his fiancee are heading for happily ever after, Ethan's love life is not so assured.

  All Rachel's dreams are coming true; her restaurant is going from strength to strength, and she and Gary are set to be married amongst family and friends at an idyllic New York location.

  But when they arrive in the city only days before the ceremony, Gary seems distracted and restless. Is he having second thoughts?

  Terri is dreading the Big Day, mostly because she thinks her best friend is making a huge mistake in marrying Gary.

  But also because the wedding means that she will need to see Ethan, and face the hurt in his eyes and disappointment on little daughter Daisy's face.

  Ethan is anxious to see Terri again; he truly felt they had something special, and plans to use the time in New York to prove to her that their relationship deserves another chance.

  Will Rachel and Gary's big day go ahead as planned? Can Ethan and Daisy convince Terri that they belong together?

  Or will the romance of New York and Tiffany's work its magic on the couples once more....

  1

  Rachel Conti’s eyes sparkled almost as brightly as the diamond ring she removed from her finger.

  Even now, two years on since Gary proposed, the sight of it twinkling majestically under the lights sent a little shiver of delight down her spine. Diamonds from Tiffany’s could do that.

  Placing the ring in its designated safe spot above the restaurant kitchen sink, she smiled fondly at the realisation that this was one of two engagement rings from the world-famous store she’d been lucky enough to wear — how many women could say that?

  Thankfully the sentiment behind this one was the real thing. The other … well that had been a completely different story, but a great adventure just the same.

  “Rachel… Rachel?”

  Her best friend Terri’s voice surprised her out of her daydreams, and she blinked, trying to clear her thoughts. “Sorry … I was miles away.”

  Terri shook her head indulgently—it certainly wasn’t the first time Rachel had completely zoned out, no doubt lost in a daydream about potential new recipes for menu items, or more likely, about her forthcoming wedding.

  It was Terri’s job to keep her friend and business partner on her toes, especially when dinner tables at their busy Dublin restaurant Stromboli, were filling up quickly with hungry customers.

  “Do I have to remind you again about tonight?” Terri rapped her bare knuckles on the prep table’s metal edges. She knew she was being stern, but Rachel responded best when she took action. Following Rachel’s line of vision, her gaze automatically rested on the twinkling engagement ring her friend had popped in a saucer above the sink.

  Case in point, she thought, recalling another crisis involving Rachel she’d had to avert, and once again she felt a jolt when confronted by a memory involving Ethan Greene.

  “Yes, of course tonight,” Rachel muttered, standing up straight. “So the specials are aubergine tarte and—”

  Shaking her head, Terri cut her off. “The critic, Rachel. From Culinary Connect, remember? This could be massive for us.”

  Rachel had known about the critic but it had been buried in her memory.

  Practically all she could think about these days was her and Gary dancing slowly under shimmering New York City lights …

  “Oh yes, of course. Sorry, I really was a million miles away. Has he arrived yet?”

  She stood up and walked to the larger wooden swing door that divided the kitchen from the dining area. Peering out the metal and glass porthole window, she struggled to make out the faces of the diners.

  Her and Terri’s shared business venture Stromboli, was everything Rachel had imagined it to be when her best friend and fellow catering college graduate first proposed the idea of a Mediterranean eatery a few years before.

  A combination of art, furniture and ethnic recipes fused with age-old Irish favourites, the restaurant had in its three short years in business, become a huge hit with the local foodie crowd, and the artisan bakery section was in itself a popular Dublin tourist destination.

  The wood-panelled and stained glass interior of the dining area was just then dimly lit with candles, serenading music, and full of happy patrons, and it always put Rachel in the mind of big bustling family gatherings of the kind her Sicilian ancestors must have experienced.

  For her, this place and its crew were the closest thing she’d had to a family since she’d lost her parents as a teenager.

  Though that would all change soon, she thought smiling as her upcoming wedding pushed its way back into her consciousness, as it did so often these days.

  Groaning, Terri grasped Rachel’s white clothed shoulders and swung her determinedly around, past the staff that were peeling vegetables and boiling water. She steered her back into the centre of the prep area.

  “It’s an anonymous visit,” she said, referring to the food critic. “We have no idea what this guy looks like, what his name is or even if he’s coming tonight. What I do know is that he’s highly respected on the ethnic restaurant scene, and a good review from the magazine could take us to a whole new level.”

  Rachel was used to being scolded. She and Terri may have been best friends since college, but her friend was much more to her than that. The fiery redhead was her sister, her mother, her grandmother, and her personal life planner wrapped into one tiny, (but deadly) package. She knew that Terri was only being firm out of love and obligation to her and their business.

  Just then a finger poked Rachel’s shoulder.

  “Um sweetheart?” Justin, their sous-chef pointed out. “The lasagne.”

  “What about it?” she replied absently. “I put it on about thirty minutes ago.” Rachel’s favourite recipe was her father’s vegetable lasagne. She served it at Stromboli in his memory with the utmost pride and respect once a week every single week.

  “It’s burnt,” Justin said bluntly, keeping his eyes on the ground as he prepared for the response.

  “What?” Terri reacted first, as she lead the sprint to the metal, industrial sized ovens, where Jen, one of the waitresses was pulling out a large metal tray.

  Rachel took one quick look at the pasta dish and stood back in dismay.

  It was unrecognisable. A nasty mix of black and browns, the dish was nowhere near customer-ready, let alone critic-ready.

  She had Jen set the tray down on the prep table so she could examine it further, while Terri paced back and forth behind her.

  After a long, horrible half-minute of silence, Rachel stood up straight and turned to face her business partner. “Looks like I was wrong. It
may have been in there for a teeny bit longer than thirty minutes.”

  “Rachel…” Terri wanted to begin a lecture about the critic again, but Rachel held up her hand to stop her before she could even begin. Instead, she took a deep breath, and assuming a state of almost zen-like calm, suddenly transformed into the skilled and focused chef that she was.

  “Justin, start chopping more onions and tomatoes. I’ll start another round of pasta for the lasagna. There should still be some dough in the fridge.”

  Terri waited impatiently behind her, ready to further her admonishments, but Rachel stopped her, pushing her out the kitchen door.

  “Offer everyone the aubergine tart as a free starter for the first hour. We’ll call it a chef’s special in honour of closing week.”

  Terri was ready to bring up the whole aspect of money, time, and dangers of changing the routine this late in the game, but Rachel knew the right things to say, “It will give us some extra time to prepare the lasagne and it’ll keep everyone sweet and onside while they wait.” She winked, pushed her friend out the door, and turned back towards the kitchen.

  Manning the front of house, Terri tried to forget the chaos in the kitchen as she carefully studied each and every Stromboli patron as they came in to be seated.

  Rachel would pull it together though, she always did. It never ceased to amaze Terri how her friend could be so scatty in life, and yet so ultra-focused in the kitchen.

  Most of the time.

  Tonight, the bistro was a blur of a few regular faces and walk-in tourists.

  Not one stood out to her as a potential food critic. She couldn’t even fathom what would give him or her away. Would they bring a laptop or a notebook and pen to take notes? Would they be dressed up or down in an attempt to blend in with the more casual bistro atmosphere? Maybe they would eat alone, but that seemed like it would be a dead giveaway.