Czytaj książkę: «The Caroselli Inheritance»
“I’m going to be a single mum.”
Nick sat back in his seat, looking stunned. “How? Who’s going to be the father?”
“I’m going to use a donor.”
After a long moment of silence, Nick said, “You really want to do it. Have a baby, I mean.”
“I really do.”
“What if I had a better way? For both of us.”
Both of them? She failed to see how her plan to have a baby could in any way benefit him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I know the perfect man to be the father of your baby. Someone who would actually be around. Someone willing to take financial responsibility for the rest of the baby’s life.”
Whoever this so-called perfect man was, he sounded too good to be true. “Oh, yeah?” she said. “Who?”
He leaned forward, his dark eyes serious. “Me.”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to my new series, THE CAROSELLI INHERITANCE! And the next installment of my “Getting to know Michelle” reader letters.
Spring has always been my favorite time of year. For the past twenty-two years, since we bought our first house, it’s meant that it’s time to plant the vegetable garden. I’ve had many hobbies over the years—drawing, painting, crafts, crochet—but by far my favorite and most consistent is gardening.
First I have to decide what to plant. Around the middle of February I make a list of what we’ll need for the year, then I fire up the lights in the greenhouse in my basement, run to English Gardens for seeds and soil, and get to work. I’ve been starting my own plants for several years now, although I used to buy them, and though I know it sounds a little silly, each year it continues to amaze me to watch the tender little seedlings sprout, then grow into thriving plants.
Strangely enough, the actual planting is my least favorite part, and I can’t say I’m thrilled picking weeds either, but when I bite into that first big, juicy tomato, snap a crisp green bean or slice a tangy clove of fresh garlic, it’s worth the work! Though by now most of the plants are probably shriveled and dead—if I’m lucky I may still have a sprig or two of broccoli to pick—that’s okay. I get to start it all over again in a few months!
Best,
Michelle
About the Author
MICHELLE CELMER is a bestselling author of more than thirty books. When she’s not writing, she likes to spend time with her husband, kids, grandchildren and a menagerie of animals.
Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, like her on Facebook, or write her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.
Caroselli’s
Christmas Baby
Michelle Celmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk
MILLS & BOON
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For Steve, who truly is my hero.
Prologue
“As your attorney, and your friend, I have to say, Giuseppe, that I think this is a really bad idea.”
Giuseppe Caroselli sat in his wingback leather chair—the one his wife, Angelica, God rest her saintly soul, had surprised him with for his eighty-fifth birthday—while Marcus Russo eyed him furtively from the sofa. And he was was right. This scheme Giuseppe had concocted had the potential to blow up in his face, and create another rift in a family that already had its share of quarrels. But he was an old man and time was running low. He could sit back and do nothing, but the potential outcome was too heartbreaking to imagine. He had to do something.
“It must be done,” he told Marcus. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“I can’t decide which would be worse,” Marcus said, rising from the sofa and walking to the window that boasted a picturesque view of the park across the street, though most of the leaves had already fallen. “If they say no, or they actually say yes.”
“They’ve left me no choice. For the good of the family, it must be done.” Carrying on the Caroselli legacy had always been his number one priority. It was the reason he had fled Italy at the height of the Second World War, speaking not a word of English, with a only few dollars in the pocket of his trousers and his nonni’s secret family chocolate recipe emblazoned in his memory. He knew the Caroselli name was destined for great things.
He’d worked scrimped and saved until he had the money to start the first Caroselli Chocolate shop in downtown Chicago. In the next sixty years the Caroselli name grew to be recognized throughout the world, yet now it was in danger of dying out forever. Of his eight grandchildren and six great-grandchildren, there wasn’t a single heir to carry on the family name. Though his three sons each had a son, they were all still single and seemed to have no desire whatsoever to marry and start families of their own.
Giuseppe had no choice but to take matters into his own hands, and make them an offer they simply could not refuse.
There was a soft rap on the study door, and the butler appeared, tall and wiry and nearly as old as his charge. “They’re here, sir.”
Right on time, Giuseppe thought with a smile. If there was one thing that could be said about his grandsons, they were unfailingly reliable. They were also as ambitious as Giuseppe had been at their age, which is why he believed this might work. “Thank you, William. Send them in.”
The butler nodded and slipped from the room. A few seconds later his grandsons filed in. First Nicolas, charming and affable, with a smile that had been known to get him out of trouble with authority, and into trouble with the ladies. Following him was Nick’s cousin Robert, serious, focused and unflinchingly loyal. And last but not least, the oldest of all his grandchildren, ambitious, dependable Antonio Junior.
His joints protesting the movement, Giuseppe rose from his chair. “Thank you for coming, boys.” He gestured to the couch. “Please, have a seat.”
They did as he asked, all three looking apprehensive.
“You are obviously curious as to why you’re here,” Giuseppe said, easing back into his chair.
“I’d like to know why we had to keep it a secret,” Nick said, his brow furrowed with worry. “And why is Marcus here? Is something wrong?”
“Are you ill?” Tony asked.
“Fit as a fiddle,” Giuseppe said. Or as fit as an arthritic man of ninety-two could be. “There is a matter of great importance we must discuss.”
“Is the business in trouble?” Rob asked. For him, the company always came first, which was both a blessing and a curse. Had he not been so career-focused, he could be married with children by now. They all could.
“This isn’t about the business,” he told them. “At least, not directly. This is about the Caroselli family name, which will die unless the three of you marry and have sons.”
That earned him a collective eye roll from all three boys.
“Nonno, we’ve been through this before,” Nick said. “I for one am not ready to settle down. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that another lecture isn’t going to change that.”
“I know, that’s why this time I’ve decided to offer an incentive.”
That got their attention. Tony leaned forward slightly and asked, “What sort of incentive?”
“In a trust I have placed the sum of thirty million dollars to be split three ways when each of you marries and produces a male heir.”
Three jaws dropped in unison.
Nick was the first to recover. “You’re seriously going to give us each ten million dollars to get hitched and have a kid?”
“A son. And there are conditions.”
“If you’re going to try to force us into arranged marriages with nice Italian girls from the homeland, forget it,” Rob said.
If only he could be so lucky. And while he would love to see each of them marry a nice Italian girl, he was in no position to be picky. “You’re free to marry whomever you please.”
“So what’s the catch?” Tony asked.
“First, you cannot tell a soul about the arrangement. Not your parents or your siblings, not even your intended. If you do, you forfeit your third of the trust and it will be split between the other two.”
“And?” Nick said.
“If I should join your nonni, God rest her saintly soul, by the end of the second year and before a male heir is born to any one of you, the trust will be rolled back into my estate.”
“So the clock is ticking,” Nick said.
“Maybe. Of course, I could live to be one hundred. My doctor tells me that I’m in excellent health. But is that a chance any of you is willing to take? If you agree to my terms, that is.”
“What about Jessica?” Nick asked. “She has four children, yet I suspect you’ve not given her a dime.”
“I love your sister, Nick, and all my granddaughters, but their children will never carry the Caroselli name. I owe it to my parents, and my grandparents, and those who lived before them to keep the family name alive for future generations. But I also don’t want to see my granddaughters hurt, which is why this must always remain a secret.”
“Do you intend to have us sign some sort of contract?” Tony asked, turning to Marcus.
“That was my suggestion,” Marcus told him, “but your grandfather refuses.”
“No one will be signing anything,” Giuseppe said. “You’ll just have to trust that my word is good.”
“Of course we trust your word, Nonno,” Nick said, shooting the others a look. “You’ve never given us any reason not to.”
“I feel the same way about the three of you. Which is why I trust you to keep our arrangement private.”
Tony frowned. “What if you die? Won’t the family learn about it then?”
“They won’t suspect a thing. The money is already put aside, separate from the rest of my fortune, and as my attorney and executor to my will, Marcus and Marcus alone will have access to it. He will see that the money is distributed accordingly.”
“What if we aren’t ready to start families?” Rob asked.
Giuseppe shrugged. “Then you lose out on ten million dollars, and your third will go to your cousins.”
All three boys glanced at each other. Knowing how proud and independent they were, there was still the very real possibility that they might deny his request.
“Do you expect an answer today?” Nick asked.
“No, but I would at least like your word that each of you will give my offer serious thought.”
Another look was exchanged, then all three nodded.
“Of course we will, Nonno,” Rob said.
Had he been standing, Giuseppe may have crumpled with relief, and if not for gravity holding him to the earth, the heavy weight lifted from his stooped shoulders surely would have set him aloft. It wasn’t a guarantee, but they hadn’t outright rejected the idea, either, and that was a start. And given their competitive natures, he was quite positive that if one agreed, the other two would eventually follow suit.
After several minutes of talk about the business and family, Nick, Rob and Tony left.
“So,” Marcus asked, as the study door snapped closed behind them, “how do you suppose they’ll react when they learn there is no thirty million dollars set aside?”
Giuseppe shrugged. “I think they will be so blissfully happy, and so grateful for my timely intervention, that the money will mean nothing to them.”
“You have the money, Giuseppe. Have you considered actually giving it to them if they meet your terms?”
“And alienate my other grandchildren?” he scoffed. “What sort of man do you think I am?”
Marcus shook his head with exasperation. “And if you’re wrong? If they do want the money? If they’re angry that you lied to them?”
“They won’t be.” Besides, to carry on the Caroselli name—his legacy—that was a risk he was willing to take.
One
Late again.
Terri Phillips watched with a mix of irritation and amusement as her best friend, Nick Caroselli, walked briskly through the dining room of the bistro to their favorite booth near the bar, where they met every Thursday night for dinner.
With his jet-black hair, smoldering brown eyes, warm olive complexion and lean physique, heads swiveled and forks halted halfway to mouths as he passed. But Nick being Nick, he didn’t seem to notice. Not that he was unaware of his effect on women, nor was he innocent of using his charm to get his way when the need arose.
Not that it worked on her anymore.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said with that crooked grin he flashed when he was trying to get out of trouble. Fat snowflakes peppered the shoulders of his wool coat and dotted his hair, and his cheeks were rosy from the cold, meaning he’d walked the two blocks from the world headquarters of Caroselli Chocolate. “Work was crazy today.”
“I’ve only been here a few minutes,” she said, even though it had actually been more like twenty. Long enough to have downed two glasses of the champagne they were supposed to be toasting with.
He leaned in to brush a kiss across her cheek, the rasp of his evening stubble rough against her skin. She breathed in the whisper of his sandalwood soap—a birthday gift from her—combined with the sweet scent of chocolate that clung to him every time he spent the day in the company test kitchen.
“Still snowing?” she asked.
“It’s practically a blizzard out there.” Nick shrugged out of his coat, then stuck his scarf and leather gloves in the sleeve—a habit he’d developed when they were kids, after misplacing endless sets of mittens and scarves—then hung it on the hook behind their booth. “At this rate, we may actually get a white Christmas this year.”
“That would be nice.” Having spent the first nine years of her life in New Mexico, she’d never even seen snow until she’d moved to Chicago. To this day, she still loved it. Of course, having a home business meant no snowy commute, so she was biased.
“I ordered our usual,” she said as Nick slid into his seat.
He loosened his tie, and gestured to the champagne bottle. “Are we celebrating something?”
“You could say that.”
He plucked his napkin from the table and draped it across his lap. “What’s up?”
“First,” she said, “you’ll be happy to know that I broke up with Blake.”
Nick beamed. “Well, damn, that is a reason to celebrate!”
Nick had never liked her most recent boyfriend—the latest in a long and depressing string of failed relationships. He didn’t think Blake had what it took to make Terri happy. Turned out he was right. Even if it did take her four months to see it.
But last week Blake had mentioned offhandedly that his lease was almost up, and it seemed silly that they should both be paying rent when he spent most of his time at her place, anyway. Despite being more than ready to get married and start a family, when she imagined doing it with him, she’d felt … well, not much of anything, actually. Which was definitely not a good way to feel about a potential husband and father of her children. It was proof that, as Nick had warned her, she was settling again.
Nick poured himself a glass of champagne and took a sip. “So, what did he say when you dumped him?”
“That I’ll never find anyone else like him.”
Nick laughed. “Well, yeah, isn’t that the point? He was about as interesting as a paper clip. With half the personality.”
She wouldn’t deny that he’d been a little, well … bland. His idea of a good time was sitting at the computer, with it’s twenty-seven-inch high-def monitor, for hours on end playing World of Warcraft while she watched television or read. The truth is, he would probably miss her computer more than her.
“He’s an okay guy. He just isn’t the guy for me,” she told Nick. One day he would meet the game addict of his dreams and they would live a long happy life in cyberspace together.
Their waitress appeared to deliver their meal. A double pepperoni deep-dish pizza and cheesy bread. When she was gone, Nick said, “He’s out there, you know. The one for you. You’ll find him.”
She used to think so, too. But here she was almost thirty with not a single prospect anywhere in her near future. Her life plan had her married with a couple kids already. Which is why she had decided to take matters into her own hands.
“There’s something else we’re celebrating,” she told Nick. “I’m going to have a baby.”
He bolted upright and set down his glass so hard she was surprised it didn’t shatter against the tiled tabletop.
“What? When? Is it Blake’s?”
“God, no!” She could just imagine that. The kid would probably be born with a game remote fused to its hands.
Nick leaned forward and hissed under his breath, “Whoever it is, he damn well better be planning to do right by you and the baby.”
Always looking out for her, she thought with a shot of affection so intense it burned. When he wasn’t getting her into trouble, that is. Although it was usually the other way around. It was typically her making rash decisions, and Nick talking sense into her. This time was different. This time she knew exactly what she was doing.
“There is no who,” she told him, dishing them each out a slice of pizza. “I’m not actually pregnant. Yet.”
Nick frowned. “Then why did you say you’re having a baby?”
“Because I will be, hopefully within the next year. I’m going to be a single mom.”
He sat back in his seat, looking stunned. “How? I mean, who’s going to be the father?”
“I’m going to use a donor.”
“A donor?” His dark brows pulled together. “You’re not serious.”
She shoved down the deep sting of disappointment. She had hoped he would understand, that he would be happy for her. Clearly, he wasn’t. “Completely serious. I’m ready. I’m financially sound, and since I work at home, I won’t have to put the baby in day care. The timing is perfect.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you were married?”
“I’ve pretty much struck out finding Mr. Right. I always said that I wanted to have my first baby by the time I’m thirty, and I’m almost there. And you know that I’ve always wanted a family of my own. Since my aunt died, I’ve got no one.”
“You’ve got me,” he said, his expression so earnest her heart melted.
Yes, she had him, not to mention his entire crazy family, but it wasn’t the same. When the chips were down, she was still an outsider.
“This doesn’t mean we aren’t going to be friends still,” she said. “In fact, I’ll probably need you more than ever. You’ll be the baby’s only other family. Uncle Nicky.”
The sentiment did nothing to erase the disenchantment from his expression. He pushed away his plate, as if he’d suddenly lost his appetite, and said, “You deserve better than a sperm donor.”
“I don’t exactly have the best luck with men.”
“But what about the baby?” Nick said, sounding testier by the second. “Doesn’t it deserve to have two parents?”
“As you well know, having two parents doesn’t necessarily make for a happy childhood.”
His deepening frown said that he knew she was right. Though he didn’t like to admit it, his childhood had left deep, indelible scars.
“I was hoping you would understand,” she said, and for some stupid reason she felt like crying. And she hardly ever cried. At least, not in front of other people. All it had ever earned her from her aunt—who didn’t have a sympathetic bone in her body—was a firm lecture.
“I do,” Nick said, reaching across the table for her hand. “I just want you to be happy.”
“This will make me happy.”
He smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. “Then I’m happy, too.”
She hoped he really meant that. That he wasn’t just humoring her. But as they ate their pizza and chatted, Nick seemed distracted, and she began to wonder if telling him about having a baby had been a bad idea, although for the life of her she wasn’t sure why it would matter either way to him.
After they finished eating, they put on their coats and were walking to the door when Nick asked, “Did you drive or take the bus?”
“Bus,” she said. If she thought she might be drinking, she always opted for public transportation. If the man who had plowed into her father’s car had only been as responsible, she wouldn’t be an orphan.
“Walk back to the office with me and I’ll drive you home.”
“Okay.”
The snow had stopped, but a prematurely cold wind whipped her hair around her face and the pavement was slippery, which made the two-block hike tricky. It was how she rationalized the fact that he was unusually quiet and there was a deep furrow in his brow.
When they got to the Caroselli Chocolate world headquarters building, it was closed for the night, so Nick used a key card to let them in. With a retail store taking up most of the ground floor, the lobby smelled of the chocolate confections lining the shelves. Everything from standard chocolate bars to gourmet chocolate-covered apples.
Nick felt around in his pockets, then cursed under his breath. “I left my car keys in my office.”
“You want me to wait down here?”
“No, you can come up.” Then he grinned and said, “Unless you’re an industrial spy trying to steal the Caroselli secret recipe.”
“Right, because we both know what an accomplished cook I am.” If there were a way to burn water, she would figure it out. Meaning she ordered out a lot, and the rest of the time ate microwave dinners.
They walked past the receptionist’s desk and he used his key card to activate the elevator. Only authorized personnel and approved visitors were allowed above the ground floor. And no one but the Caroselli family and employees with special clearance were allowed in the test kitchen.
Nick was quiet the entire ride up to the fourth floor, and while they walked down the hall to his office. She had to smile as he opened the door and switched on the light, and she saw the lopsided stacks of papers and memos on the surface of his desk, leaving no space at all to work. She suspected that this was why he spent so much time on the top floor in the kitchen.
He opened the desk drawer and pulled out his car keys, but then he just stood there. Something was definitely bugging him and she needed to know what.
“What’s the matter, Nick? And don’t tell me nothing. I’ve known you long enough to know when something is wrong.”
“I’ve just been thinking.”
“About me having a baby?”
He nodded.
“It’s what I want.”
“Then there’s something we need to talk about.”
“Okay,” she said, her heart sinking just the tiniest bit, mostly because he wouldn’t look at her. And he must have been anticipating a long discussion because he took off his coat and tossed it over the back of his chair. She did the same, then nudged aside a pile of papers so she could sit beside him on the edge of his desk.
He was quiet for several long seconds, as though he was working something through in his head, then he looked at her and said, “You really want to do it? Have a baby, I mean.”
“I really do.”
“What if I had a better way?”
“A better way?”
He nodded. “For both of us.”
Both of them? She failed to see how her plan to have a baby could in any way benefit him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I know the perfect man to be the father of your baby. Someone who would actually be around. Someone willing to take financial responsibility for the rest of the baby’s life.”
Whoever this so-called perfect man was, he sounded too good to be true. “Oh, yeah?” she said. “Who?”
He leaned forward, his dark eyes serious. “Me.”
For a second she was too stunned to speak. Nick wanted to have a baby with her? “Why? You’ve been pretty adamant about the fact that you don’t want children.”
“Trust me when I say that it will be a mutually advantageous arrangement.”
“Advantageous how?”
“What I’m about to tell you, you have to promise not to repeat to anyone. Ever.”
“Okay.”
“Say, ‘I promise.’”
She rolled her eyes. What were they, twelve? “I promise.”
“Last week my grandfather called me, Rob and Tony to his house for a secret meeting. He offered us ten million dollars each to produce a male heir to carry on the Caroselli name.”
“Holy crap.”
“That was pretty much my first reaction, too. I wasn’t sure I was even going to accept his offer. I’m really not ready to settle down, but then you mentioned your plan …” He shrugged. “I mean, how much more perfect could it be? You get the baby you want and I get the money.”
It made sense in a weird way, but her and Nick?
“Of course, we would have to get married,” he said.
Whoa, wait a minute. “Married? Haven’t you told me about a million times that you’ll never get married?”
“You know how traditional Nonno is. I don’t have a choice. But the minute I have the cash in hand, we can file for a quickie divorce. An ironclad prenup should eliminate any complications … not that I expect there would be any.”
“That sounds almost too easy.”
“Well, we will have to make it look convincing.”
Why did she get the feeling she wasn’t going to like this? “What exactly do you mean by convincing?”
“You’ll have to move into my place.”
A fake marriage was one thing, but to live together? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I have lots of space. You can have the spare bedroom and you can turn the den into your office.”
Space wasn’t the issue. They’d tried the roommate thing right after college, in an apartment more than spacious enough for two people. Between the random girls parading in and out at ridiculous hours—and the fact that Nick never picked up after himself and left the sink filled with his dirty dishes while the dishwasher sat empty, and a couple dozen other annoying quirks and habits he had—after two months she’d reached her limit. Had she stayed even a day longer, it would have either killed their friendship, or she would have killed him.
“Nick, you know I love you, and I value our friendship beyond anything else, but we’ve tried this before. It didn’t work.”
“That was almost eight years ago. I’m sure we’ve both matured since then.”
“Have you stopped being a slob, too? Because I loathe the thought of spending the next nine months cleaning up after you.”
“You won’t have to. I have a cleaning service come in three times a week. And for the record, I’m not particularly looking forward to you nagging me incessantly.”
“I do not nag,” she said, and he shot her a look. “Okay, maybe I nag a little, but only out of sheer frustration.”
“Then we’ll just have to make an effort to be more accommodating to each other. I promise to keep on top of the clutter, if you promise not to nag.”
That might be easier said than done.
“Think how lucky the kid will be,” Nick said. “Most divorced parents hate each other. Mine haven’t had a civilized conversation in years. His will be best friends.”
He had a good point there. “So that means you’ll be a regular part of the baby’s life?”
“Of course. And he’ll have lots of cousins, and aunts and uncles.”
Wasn’t a part-time father better than no father at all? And she would never have to worry financially. She knew Nick would take care of the baby. Not that she was hurting for money. If she was careful, the trust her aunt had willed her, combined with her growing web design business, would keep her living comfortably for a very long time. But Nick would see that the baby went to the best schools, and had every advantage, things she couldn’t quite afford. And he would be a part of a big, loving, happy family. Which was more than she could say for her own childhood. The baby might even join the Caroselli family business some day.
“And suppose, God forbid, something should happen to you,” he said. “Where would the baby go if he was fathered by a donor?”
Having lost her own parents, of course that was a concern. Now that her aunt was gone, there was no family left to take the child if she were in an accident or … Although the baby would probably be better off in foster care than with someone like her aunt. She would have been.
“With me as the father, he’ll always have a family.” Nick said.
As completely crazy as the idea was, it did make sense. “I think it could work.”
He actually looked excited, although who wouldn’t be over the prospect of ten million bucks? Why settle for the life of a millionaire when he could be a multimillionaire?
“So,” he said, “is that an ‘I’m still thinking about it,’ or is that a definite yes?”
Though she was often guilty for jumping into things without full consideration, maybe in this case overthinking it would be a bad idea. Or maybe she just didn’t want the opportunity to talk herself out of it. They would both be getting what they wanted. More or less.
“I just have one more question,” she said. “What about women?”
“What about them?”
“Will it be a different girl every other night? Will I have to listen to the moaning and the headboard knocking against the wall? See her traipsing around the next morning in nothing but her underwear and one of your shirts?”
“Of course not. As long as we’re married, I wouldn’t see anyone else.”
“Nick, we’re talking at least nine months. Can you even go that long without dating?”
“Do you really mean dating, or is that code for sex?”
“Either.”
“Can you?”
She could. The real question was, did she want to? But to have a baby, wasn’t it worth it?
“Maybe,” Nick said, “we don’t have to.”
“Are you suggesting that we cheat on each other?” Even if it wasn’t a real marriage, that could be an obstacle. And while she was sure Nick would have no trouble finding willing participants, with her big belly and swelling ankles, she was fairly certain no men would be fighting for the chance to get into her maternity jeans.
