A Dream Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер
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James moved closer to her and his bare hand came up to cup her face. ‘Ask me.’
Riley looked up at him with wide eyes. ‘Okay. Why is my mouse holding your grandmother’s diamond ring?’
James ran his thumb across an arched eyebrow. ‘I’m asking you to stay with me in New York—not as my girlfriend or my lover but as my wife. I’m asking you to marry me. To be mine. Share what’s mine. What do you think, Ri? You interested in any or all of that?’
Riley looked from him to the window to the ring and back to his face again. ‘Why?’ she softly asked, holding her breath. He had one chance to say the right thing here or else she was walking. It would kill her but she would walk …
‘I don’t have to understand love; I just need to love … to love you. I want you, I need you. I want to see your lovely face first thing in the morning, live in a colourful kaleidoscope of a home with you, change the nappies on our kids. I want to make love to you every day for the rest of my life, tell you how much I love you every day for the rest of my life.’
Riley took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. ‘And my job?’
‘This has nothing to do with your job or where you work. You can do what you want—work, don’t work. Design MI’s windows, start a new career, don’t work another day for the rest of your life. I don’t care! I just want you and I just want you happy. I can work around anything else.’
Riley’s breath hitched and a smile started to appear on her face. ‘You’re being serious.’
James huffed a sigh of impatience. ‘Do you think I’ve spent the last two days busting my ass to organise this if I wasn’t serious?’ He gestured to the window. ‘So what can I say—do—to get you to say yes?’
Riley’s hand burrowed underneath his coat and she placed it flat against his heart. ‘I just want this. I want all of this.’
His big hand covered hers. ‘My heart? It’s yours. For always. So, about that marriage thing …?’
She flashed him a smile. ‘You messed with my windows.’
‘I did. Do you want to marry me or not?’ James demanded.
‘Tell me how much you love me again and I’ll think about it,’ Riley said, stepping up to him, pushing her hands inside his coat to hold his sides. She rested her forehead on his chest.
James’s arm banded around her and she felt his lips in her hair. ‘I love you beyond distraction. I’ve never loved anyone but you.’
She sucked in her breath. ‘Okay, thought about it.’
James tipped her head up, his lips quirking. ‘And?’
‘I love you more than life itself and I’m sick of being miserable without you. I’d love to marry you.’ Riley blinked away her tears … more tears, but these were happy ones—she liked those. She stepped back and ripped off the glove on her left hand and waggled her fingers. ‘So, hotshot, how are you going to get your grandmother’s ring in the window onto my finger?’
James tipped his head. ‘Do you like that ring?’
No, not really. ‘What’s not to like? It’s about a million carats and is traditionally passed down to the eldest son’s bride.’ Riley bit her lip when James just kept looking at her. ‘Okay, I don’t really like it but I’ll wear it if you want me to. I just always hoped for something warmer, something like an emerald or a Maw-Sit-Sit—something the colour of your eyes.’
James dug in his pocket and pulled out another ring and held it between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Maybe something like this?’
It was a square-cut emerald, bordered by green diamonds—bold, unusual and arty. ‘Oh, my God.’ Riley’s jaw dropped open. ‘This is it … This is my ring! This … God, James … I love it. How? How did you know?’
‘It might have something to do with the fact that your best friend is a jewellery designer,’ James said wryly, sliding the ring onto her finger.
‘That would be why. So that’s why she wasn’t taking my calls!’
‘That’s why,’ James agreed. ‘She’s pulled two all-nighters to get it finished.’
‘Love her. Love. Her. And you for getting her to design it, make it.’
‘I knew that you would want her to.’
‘Thank you so much for my ring and for not asking me to wear that monstrosity,’ Riley whispered against his mouth. ‘And for asking me to marry you.’
Riley pulled his head down so that she could kiss him. As his mouth explored hers, her heart picked up its scattered pieces and started to patch itself back together again. It would be stronger, she realised. Happier, but never hers again, she realised. And she was super-okay with that.
She knew that James would take excellent care of it.
A long while later, James pulled his mouth from hers and placed his cheek on her head. ‘Let’s go home, Ri.’
‘Sure … race you there!’ Riley said, turning in the direction of his apartment. James’s hand on her arm halted her progress and she turned back to see him pointing at the SUV idling at the corner.
‘No, darling, we’re going home to Bon Chance. Our family is there, waiting for us.’
Riley’s heart jumped. His family that had always been hers. How right it felt that they were going home together.
‘We’ll head to your place, pick up your luggage; my bags and presents are in the car …’ James slapped a hand against his forehead. ‘It’s Christmas Eve … presents. Oh, damn. Damndamndamn.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Riley asked.
James pulled a face. ‘I don’t have a Christmas present for you … sorry. I’ve been a bit busy.’
Her laughter rang out in the freezing night. ‘James, I think a stunning engagement ring more than qualifies as a kick-ass Christmas present.’
Riley gave him a smacking kiss and her eyes sparkled with love and laughter.
‘And I also gave you my heart … James said on a broad smile, thinking on his feet.
Riley placed her hand on his cheek. ‘Which will always rate as the biggest, best, most treasured gift ever. Merry Christmas, Jay. Love you.’
‘Merry rest of our lives, Ri. Love you back, honey.’
* * * * *
The Blanchland Secret
Nicola Cornick
The Mistress of Hanover Square
Anne Herries
Nicola Cornick
For the first eighteen years of her life NICOLA CORNICK lived in Yorkshire, within a stone’s throw of the moors that had inspired the Brontë sisters to write Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. One of her grandfathers was a poet and her family contained teachers and avid readers who filled the house with books. With such a background it was impossible for Nicola not to become a bookworm.
Nicola met her future husband while she was at university, although it took her four years to realise that he was special and more than just a friend. Her husband, being so much more perceptive, had worked this