Italian Christmas Proposal

By Helen Scott Taylor

First in a Christmas trilogy set in Naples and the Amalfi coast

Desperate to forget her controlling ex fiancé and have a fresh start, Claire goes to Italy to write about how the Italians celebrate Christmas. Leo has his own troubled past to overcome, but when he rescues Claire from the rain and takes her home to meet his daughter, the magical Italian Christmas offers them both a second chance at happiness.

Other books in the Sweet Italian Christmas Series.
#2 Italian Christmas Baby. Emily has everything ready for the birth of her baby--the only thing left to do is tell the father!
#3 Italian Christmas Wedding. She runs from the mafia straight into his arms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Helen Scott Taylor
• Release date: Jun 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311847720

Helen Scott Taylor

Helen Scott Taylor's first novel, The Magic Knot, won the American Title contest in 2008, was a Golden Heart® finalist, and was chosen as one of Booklist's top ten romances of 2009. Since then, she has published other novels, novellas, and short stories in both the UK and USA. Her published works have been finalists in a number of contests including the Holt Medallion, the Lories, the Prism Contest, the Write Touch Award and the Maggies. Helen lives in South West England near Plymouth in Devon between the windswept expanse of Dartmoor and the rocky Atlantic coast. As well as her wonderful long-suffering husband, she shares her home with a Westie and an aristocratic chocolate-shaded-silver-burmilla cat who rules the household with a velvet paw. She believes that deep within everyone there's a little magic. www.helenscotttaylor.com

Book preview

Italian Christmas Proposal

By

Helen Scott Taylor

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Copyright © 2014 Helen Taylor

Cover design © Helen Taylor

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The right of Helen Taylor to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Copyright owner.

Chapter One

Claire Chadwick stared morosely out the tour bus window at the steely gray sky hanging over the churning ocean. The view bore little resemblance to the calm turquoise Mediterranean she'd seen in photos of the Amalfi coast.

Although it was the middle of December, she'd hoped Italy would be mild and sunny to give her a break from cold, wet England. The way her luck was going at the moment, she wasn't surprised to be disappointed.

What a miserable start to her career as a travel writer. Maybe she should just give up now like her ex had suggested?

At the thought of Jonathan's scathing comments about her prospects, or lack of them, she sucked in a determined breath and dug out her pad to write some notes. She would make a success of her travel website and show the jerk she wasn't a quitter, despite his attempts to crush her spirit.

The bus threaded its way through the narrow streets of the quaint Italian town and pulled up in an almost deserted car park by the seafront.

We'll stop here for thirty minutes. Your belongings will be safe if you want to leave them on board while you explore. Please make sure you are back at the bus in time. The tour guide's voice came over the crackly loudspeaker and Claire winced. How had she managed to pick the worst tour company ever? The rattling old heap of a bus should have been scrapped years ago.

The rest of the tourists scrambled out of their seats, all in a hurry to get off and make the most of their short time here.

Claire took a ten-euro note from her handbag and slipped it in her pocket with her phone, leaving the large tote on the seat. Then she grabbed her pad and pen, and followed the stragglers off the bus.

A cold wind whipped the fronds of the palm trees and topped the waves with foam. Claire huddled into her thin cardigan, wishing she hadn't left her coat in her hotel room.

Determined to enjoy herself and get ideas for her article on Christmas in Italy, she paced up the narrow cobbled street, past the small shops and brightly colored houses. She snapped numerous photos on her phone, enchanted by the shabby chic of the peeling paint and cracked plaster that only enhanced the quaint old buildings.

Glazed ceramic pots overflowing with crimson poinsettias decorated many steps and doorways. Christmas lights sparkled around windows and the Christmas greeting Buon Natale hung suspended across the narrow street.

What really fascinated her were the nativity scenes that the Italians called presepi. Southern Italy, especially the Naples area, was famous for them. Every time she saw a crib scene in a shop window, she photographed it and made a note to remind herself of the location.

Puffing from the steep climb, she paused to check the time on her phone and tried to ignore the latest message that had arrived from Jonathan while she ate breakfast. Give up this stupid idea and come home. You'll regret it if you don't.

Why couldn't he leave her alone? She'd broken off their engagement and given him back the ring, but he kept texting her.

Anyway, she didn't have time to worry about her difficult ex right now. The time had flown by. She only had ten minutes to get back to the bus. As she hurried down the hill, she looked out for a café where she could use the bathroom. Near the bottom of the hill, the aroma of coffee filled the air.

Claire paused at the café door, summoning her confidence. It was daunting going into a place alone when her Italian was so bad, especially when she was only going in to use their facilities. She pushed the door open, hoping the place was busy so the staff wouldn't notice her creep through to use the bathroom without buying anything.

Soft instrumental music filled the room. A scattering of tables topped with blue-checked tablecloths stood empty. The only people in the room were the barista and a man sitting on a stool at the bar. They were talking, but they paused and turned to look at her as she entered.

Her gaze passed over the older man behind the bar and settled on the gorgeous hunk on the stool. With thick dark hair and classical good looks, he wasn't easy to ignore. He gave her an archetypal Italian male smile, all white teeth and teasing brown eyes.

For a moment she couldn't breathe, her chest suddenly tight. She averted her gaze and scurried between the tables towards the door that was labeled Signore.

She used the facilities, wasting long seconds trying to work out how to flush the unfamiliar foreign toilet that had a pedal flush system. Then she quickly washed her hands and ventured out again.

She paused, wanting nothing more than to dash outside and escape the curious gazes of these two men. But it felt wrong to come in and use the bathroom without buying anything, even though the tour guide had said that everyone did this.

Rehearsing an Italian phrase in her head, she moved towards the bar. Her pulse sped up as she neared Signor Gorgeous. He twisted on his stool to face her as she stopped beside him, his grin wide and welcoming, his chocolate-brown eyes glowing with amusement.

"Um, vorrei un cappuccino, per favore." Claire's cheeks heated as she stumbled over the words.

A stream of Italian burst from the barista's mouth and he gestured wildly. Claire took a step back. Had she said something insulting by accident?

He doesn't serve cappuccino after eleven in the morning. It goes with breakfast here. The man beside her interpreted his countryman's tirade. His English was nearly perfect, delivered in a deep melodious Italian accent that stroked her senses.

Oh. Doesn't he do a big cup of coffee with milk in it? I don't like espresso. She pointed at his tiny cup of strong, dark brew.

Her interpreter conveyed her wishes, then addressed her again. "I've asked for caffè latte."

Thank you, she said to him.

You're welcome.

Claire pulled out her ten-euro note and pushed it across the counter. She glanced at the time on her phone. She only had a couple of minutes to get back to the bus.

Her gaze returned to the other customer. Will you ask if I can have it to go, please?

The two men exchanged a few more sentences in Italian. The barista rolled his eyes and complained before pulling a take-out cup from a cupboard.

Her interpreter swiveled his stool to face her and rested an elbow on the counter. So, you are here on vacation?

I'm on a bus tour at the moment. I'm staying in Naples.

The weather is not good for you. He gave a little grunt of displeasure and waved a hand at the window. Now it's raining.

Claire glanced over