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The Italian’s Christmas Proposition
by Cathy Williams
CHAPTER ONE
‘ROSIE! ARE YOU going to focus on what I’m telling you?’
The cut-glass accent was a mix of despair, impatience and long-suffering love and Rosie guiltily dragged her eyes away from the far more stimulating sight below of people coming and going, skis on shoulders, imbued with the unique excitement of being on holiday in the run-up to Christmas.
The luxury five-star resort—a jewel nestled in the heart of the Dolomitic Alps in the Veneto region of northern Italy—was the last word in the very best that money could buy and as good as a second home to Rosie, who had been coming here with her family for as long as she could remember. She could close her eyes and accurately visualise every beam of deep burnished wood, every swirl and curve of marble, the timeless cool greys of the exquisite indoor swimming pool area and the oversized chandeliers dominating the Michelin-starred restaurants.
Right now, sitting in the galleried landing with a latte in front of her, Rosie was in prime position to admire the dramatic twenty-foot Christmas tree
sweeping upwards by the reception desk, a vision of tasteful pink and ivory and tiny little electric candles. She could almost smell the pine needles.
‘Of course I am,’ she said with a suitable level of sincerity and enthusiasm. Across from her, her sister was on the verge of another of her laborious, long-suffering sighs. ‘You were asking me what I intend to do once the ski season is over. I don’t know, Diss. Right now, I’m just enjoying the ski instructing. It’s fun. I’m meeting some really lovely people and plus, let’s not forget, I’m looking after Mum and Dad’s chalet while I’m here. Making sure it...er...doesn’t get burgled...or anything...’
‘Because burglars are a dime a dozen here in Cortina?’
‘Who knows?’
‘You can’t keep flitting from place to place and from job to job for ever, Rosie. You’re going to be twenty-four on your next birthday and Mum and Dad...well, all of us—me, Emily, Mum, Dad...we’re all concerned that it’s getting to a point where you can’t even be bothered to try and...you know what I mean...’
‘Become an accountant? Get a mortgage? Find a decent man to look after me?’ Rosie flushed and looked away. She was particularly sensitive on the subject of men and, in her heart, she knew that this was what her parents were worried about—that she was never going to find Mr Right, as both her sisters had. That she was going to spend her life drifting from Mr Wrong to Mr Really Bad Idea to Mr Will Take Advantage. She had, as it happened, been down several of those roads in the past and, whilst she had put a cheerful face on each and every disappointment, each and every one had hurt.
At this point in time, if she never had another relationship in her life again, she wouldn’t lose sleep over it. The last guy she had gone out with had been a fellow traveller in India. He had been out there buying cheap Asian artefacts to sell for a profit in a market somewhere near Aldershot. They had had fun before he had taken a shine to a tall brunette and disappeared with her, leaving only an apologetic note in his wake.
The only saving grace in all these disappointing relationships, as far as Rosie was concerned, was that she hadn’t made the mistake of bed-hopping. One guy. That was it. The one guy all those years ago who had broken her heart. She’d been nineteen and finding her feet all over again, having dropped out of university, and he had been there to catch her as she was falling. A biker with a refreshing disdain for convention and the first guy who had been a world away from the upper-class posh boys she had spent a lifetime meeting. She had loved everything about him, from his tattoos to the ring in his ear.
He, in the end, had loved the financial package she came with more than he had loved her for who she was, and had thrown a fit when she had promised to dump all her worldly goods for him. She still shuddered when she thought about what could have been the biggest mistake of her life. Since then, she’d enjoyed life without getting in too deep.
‘Whoever said anything about becoming an accountant?’ Candice rolled her eyes and grinned, and Rosie grinned back, because Emily’s husband, wonderful as he was, could be a little tedious when he began pontificating about exchange rates and investment opportunities.
Still, he earned a small fortune, so he had obviously played the game right.
Whilst she, Rosie, hadn’t started playing it at all.
‘With Christmas just three weeks away...’ Candice shifted and Rosie looked at her sister with narrowed eyes, smelling a conversation ahead that she would not want to have.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the chalet is in tip-top shape for the family invasion. You know how much I love the whole decorating thing. Plus, I’ll make sure there are lots of chocolates hanging on the branches of the tree for Toby and Jess.’
‘There has been a slight change of plan. The snow is so magnificent at the moment that everyone’s coming over a little earlier than originally planned.’
‘Earlier than planned?’
‘Tomorrow, as it happens. I’m the advanced warning party, so to speak. I know you and I had planned a couple of girly days together but you know Mum and Dad...they can’t resist the slopes and the atmosphere here at Christmas. And there’s something else,’ Candice said in a rush. ‘They’re thinking of asking the Ashley-Talbots over for a long weekend. Bertie too. He’s something or other in the City and doing quite well, I hear. They think it might be nice for you two to...er...get to know one another...’
‘No.’
‘It’s just a thought, Rosie. Nothing’s confirmed. He’s always had that crush on you, you know. It might be nice!’
‘Absolutely not, Candice.’
‘Mum and Dad just thought that there’s no harm in actually meeting someone a little less...unorthodox.’