Prologue

      A strong arm came around her from behind, sliding comfortingly and familiarly around her waist. “Are you sure about this, sweetheart?”

      She smoothed her hand over his and the charms on her bracelet jangled softly. Also familiar. Also comforting. Seeming to remind her of all that had gone before.

      She leaned her head back against her husband’s chest and nodded. “Absolutely certain.”

      She felt, more than heard, his low laugh. “I needn’t have asked. When are you ever uncertain?”

      Her lips twitched. She pulled his warm hand up to kiss before moving out of his arms. Careful not to disturb any of the wrapped gifts piled high around its base, she stepped close to the massive Christmas tree—nearly fifteen feet of perfectly fresh Fraser fir—and automatically adjusted the hang of one of the glass globes. Custom-made during one of her trips abroad, it was gloriously beautiful. But the angel hanging above the globe that had been handmade by one of her great-grandchildren just a few years ago meant just as much to her. So many memories. Every ornament on the fragrant tree held a memory. A history. And in her family, there was a lot of history.

      For a moment—only a moment—a sliver of uncertainty burrowed under her skin. That wasn’t familiar at all. Whether her plan would be greeted by cheers or jeers when her family soon arrived and she shared it with them, it nevertheless had a purpose. And given everything they’d lived through, accomplished and triumphed over, particularly in the past twenty years, she knew there was no point in hesitation. She’d been on this earth nine decades.

      She touched the handmade angel, marveling a little at that very fact.

      Definitely no point in hesitation. Not at her age.

      So, regardless of their reactions, it was time to act. Time to move forward. It was the right thing for the family. The right thing for the company. If she had any dissenters, they’d soon see things her way.

      Uncertainty yanked out by mental tweezers as if the sliver had never been, she continued to the side table, where she’d left the invitations. She didn’t bother fanning through the elegantly addressed linen envelopes. She’d already checked them, twice, against her carefully prepared list. She could only imagine the responses they’d elicit when they were opened by their intended recipients.

      If she was in the same position as her guests, she wasn’t sure she would bother to attend a gala if she didn’t know its purpose or even the identity of the person who’d issued the invitation. Why should they? But then, everyone was usually intrigued by a little mystery. On that, she was counting. That, and the financial incentive of donations being made to their favorite charities if they intended to attend. And at this point, it was paramount that word not get out. Lord only knew the chaos that could ensue.

      She left the