AMBER THREW ANOTHER log into the fire, and watched as the flames licked up the side, yellow, orange and red all dancing in the grate.
‘Home,’ she’d said to Mauro. ‘Take me home.’
She’d not given any thought to the word as it passed her lips, and it was only when they had climbed into the waiting car that she’d even questioned where they were going.
‘My place?’ he’d asked.
She’d agreed without thinking about it. Of course his place. What were they going to do? Huddle round the solitary space heater in her flat? She’d spent that night at his penthouse suite in Mayfair, and then another. And another. In the weeks since the show aired she’d only gone back to her flat for clothes and basic supplies.
And then his friend had lent him this house for Christmas—it was only a few streets away from his hotel, but their first Christmas together warranted somewhere more festive, he’d said. And she couldn’t fault the house on the festive front. The tree in the hallway, lit with flickering LED candles, looked as if it could have been in that exact spot for a hundred years. Garlands weaved between the spindles of the banisters, and a huge green wreath greeted guests at the front door opposite the gated park. Even the British weather had delivered, and she could see snow gathering on the windowpanes.
The floorboards were original, sanded and waxed to a perfect glow, and covered with luxurious rugs, plush underfoot. And under her back, she thought. And her elbow, as she lifted herself to look at Mauro, who was still snoozing beside her on the floor. She pulled the blanket up higher over them, and traced her fingers across Mauro’s chest, outlining the pectoral muscle and drifting through the auburn-tinted hairs.
‘Mmm...’ he said, his voice still full of sleep. ‘Are you trying to wake me up?’
‘Maybe.’ She smiled and glanced at the clock, just as the minute hand hit the twelve. ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said, dropping a kiss on his cheek.
His eyes flew open and he pushed himself up, toppling her off him in the process. ‘It’s midnight already?’ he asked, looking flustered. ‘How did that happen?’
She wrapped the throw around herself, taken aback by Mauro’s change in mood.
‘Uh, well, you suggested that we get a brandy and come and sit down here by the fire, see in Christmas morning, and then you said...’
His face softened, and then broke into a grin. ‘I know. I remember; I’m sorry.’ He kissed her, a smile still on his lips. ‘I’m just excited.’
‘About Christmas Day?’ She laughed and leaned in against his shoulder. ‘You big kid.’
‘Don’t get too comfy.’ He pulled the throw away from her, leaving her chilly, and he reached for his shirt, discarded beside them, and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘I need you to do me a favour.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now. It’s Christmas, it has to be now.’
Amber pushed her arms into the sleeves, and stood with an air of resignation. She knew that once he’d got an idea in his head, it was impossible to change his mind.
‘My jacket,’ he said. ‘Over the back of the chair in the hall. There’s an envelope in the inside pocket. Can you grab it for me?’
She did as he asked, and when she got back to the rug, he was sitting up, his back against the couch, the throw blanket tucked over his lap. ‘Come back in,’ he said, holding up one corner, and she crawled in beside him, nestling into his heat again.
‘Here.’ She handed him the envelope, curiosity starting to niggle at her.
But he handed the envelope straight back to her.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he said.
She took the envelope from him and turned it over in her hands before she opened it slowly, carefully, with half an eye still on Mauro’s face. He looked nervous, she thought. And excited. And all of a sudden she was nervous too, about what she was going to find in that envelope. Was she going to like it?
She pulled out the sheaf of papers and started reading. Then skipped to the next page. And the next. She didn’t understand. How could he...? He couldn’t have...
‘A house, Mauro?’
‘This house!’ he declared, kissing her on the lips. ‘Merry Christmas, Amber. I hope you like it.’
‘Oh, my God.’ She couldn’t speak past the orange-sized lump in her throat. She forced it down, and tried to string a sentence together.
‘Mauro, I can’t accept this house. This is crazy. You’ve bought me a house. In Mayfair.’
He smiled, still apparently not seeing that there was anything weird about this situation.
‘Look,’ he said, tucking her hair behind her ear, ‘I know what happened to you before. I know how much your independence means to you. But I want us to be together. I want us to live together.’ He dropped another kiss on her lips. ‘Most of all, I want you to feel safe, secure. That’s why I bought you this house, but I hope you’ll let me live with you.’
She couldn’t take her eyes from the deeds. From the space where her name was in bold black ink. The owner of this house. Mauro was right. For nearly two years she’d been living in fear of ending up with nowhere to call home, and now he was telling her that she would never have to feel that again.
Except now...everything was different. She didn’t just want a roof over her head. She wanted a home, and she knew that a house could never be that again without Mauro there too.
‘Of course you’ll live with me,’ she said. ‘But this...this is too much.’ He opened his mouth to speak, but she had to have her say. ‘I want us to live together, Mauro. With both our names on the deeds.’
‘But I thought that you’d want—’
‘And it was so thoughtful of you. But let’s do this together. Take this leap together. I want to go into this marriage knowing we’re equals. I trust you. I love you.’
He leaned down and kissed her hard, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her. ‘I love you so much,’ he said. ‘And we’re going to make this such a happy home. Merry Christmas, Amber.’
‘Merry Christmas, Mauro,’ she whispered against his lips.
She relaxed into his body, the fire, the brandy and the heat of her fiancé warming her to her bones, and she knew without question that this was only the first of a lifetime of Christmases they’d welcome in this room.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from WINTER WEDDING FOR THE PRINCE by Barbara Wallace.
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