The Baby Who Saved Christmas. Alison Roberts
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“And what about you? What have you got to celebrate?”
“Ah …” Julien stared down at his ingredients without seeing them. Nothing. He was revisiting the grief from losing his sister. He had a major problem in what to do about the show that was due to start filming within days. He probably had to face a court case over custody of his nephew that was highly likely to get very nasty.
No. Nothing to celebrate there.
He looked up, ready to admit defeat and agree that champagne might not be the most appropriate thing to drink.
And then he got caught by those eyes again. What was it that he could see?
Hope?
Optimism?
A belief in fairy tales, even?
Something shifted in his chest and he found himself saying something he hadn’t thought of until now.
“I got to hold my sister’s baby for the first time today.” The words came out as little more than a whisper. He offered a crooked smile. “That is absolutely worth celebrating, n’est-ce pas?”
ALISON ROBERTS is a New Zealander, currently lucky enough to live near a beautiful beach in Auckland. She is also lucky enough to write for both the Mills & Boon® Cherish™ and Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™ lines. A primary schoolteacher in a former life, she is also a qualified paramedic. She loves to travel and dance, drink champagne and spend time with her daughter and her friends.
The Baby Who Saved Christmas
Alison Roberts
MILLS & BOON
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For Liz
With fond memories of our visit to
St-Jean-Cap-Ferrat
With love
Contents
SOMETHING WAS GOING very wrong for Alice McMillan.
She was not supposed to be enjoying herself right now.
‘I’m sorry...’
Silent, one-sided communication had become a habit even though the feeling of connection had faded over the months of this year. Now it only served to increase the prickle of guilt.
‘But it is gorgeous... You must have loved it, too.’
All those years ago. Twenty-nine, to be exact. A period of time that had included Alice’s conception.
Having stepped off the bus from Nice in the heart of the small town of Villefranche-sur-Mer, Alice crossed the road to start walking downhill, skirting around a man on a ladder who was part of the team installing a huge pattern of tinsel that would hang over the centre of the main street like a giant tiara. She’d printed off a map before leaving Edinburgh and the route looked easy enough. All she had to do was find the beach and follow it. At the other end was the start of the peninsula that was St Jean Cap Ferrat and the address she was heading for looked like it was within easy walking distance.
There was a small market happening on a grassed area opposite the bus stop. Stalls were selling things like cheese and preserves, hand-made soaps and Christmas decorations. There was music coming from somewhere and the smell of hot food made her mouth water. When had she last eaten? That bag of cheese and onion crisps and a bottle of water on the last leg of her long train journey didn’t really count.
She had to edge her way through a group of people who seemed to be there to socialise rather than shop but they made way for her politely and the smile of the man at the stall was welcoming.
‘Bonjour, mademoiselle. Qu’est-ce qu’il vous fait aujourd’hui?’
This might be her first day ever in France but Alice had been surrounded by the sound of this language since her arrival in Paris early this morning. She’d already learned that the best response was a smile and an apology that she didn’t speak French.
The apology was genuine. Most people learned at the very least to say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ in