Sunlight Through Sea Glass: Working Heart Romance, #1

By Emma Lewis

 

Working Heart Romances are closed-door romances about lonely heiresses falling in love with solid working men. Whether it's a first love, a second chance, or a fresh start, my heroines find friends, family, and love as my heroes share their lives.

 

Lily's life as a Boston heiress may seem like a fairytale, but it's a lonely existence. With no friends and no passion for her family's expectations of her future, she feels like a princess locked in a tower. But one fateful day, she falls from a balcony into the arms of a handsome gardener named Greg, and her world is forever changed.

 

Greg is captivated by Lily from the moment he saves her in his arms. He introduces her to a world full of vibrant colors and warm sunlight, a world that he knows Lily has never experienced before. As they spend time together, Lily finds herself falling in love with Greg's simple yet fulfilling life. But as an heiress to one of the wealthiest families in Boston, Lily knows that her family won't approve of her romance with a mere gardener.

 

Lily finds love and friendship for the first time away from the big city in the idyllic beach setting. Despite knowing that their time together is limited, Greg is determined to make every moment with Lily count. He wants nothing more than to make her happy and show her that love can exist outside of the glitz and glamour of her world. As Lily's time in the idyllic beach setting comes to an end, she must decide whether to follow her heart or succumb to the expectations of her family and society. One thing is certain: Greg will always hold a special place in her heart.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emma Lewis Romance
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223647591

Book preview

Lily

Falling into his arms was unexpected. I was just grateful he caught me.

All eyes were on me as I entered the foyer of the Rosalind Standish Museum of Art.

Head up, back straight. Smile! my mother ordered from behind me.

Smile? I was in a room full of sharks, and I was the bait, being dangled by my father. I wanted to run back to my home, lock the door, and never come out. We were here for the Fall Gala, an event for the rich to dig deep into their pockets for whatever worthy causes they’d decided on this year.

Lily, so good to see you again.

June Marchland came bearing down on me, her white-gloved hands outstretched. She was an imposing woman in her sixties, easily six inches taller than me, with white upswept hair and wearing a midnight-blue velvet dress I recognized from the fall collection, with a diamond choker around her neck.

She scared the hell out of most people she met, but not me. I adored my godmother. Instead of air kisses, I drew her into a warm hug, ignoring my mother’s hiss not to crush my silk dress.

Aunt June, you look wonderful as usual.

As do you, my dear. She stepped back and studied me. You’re the belle of the ball. I thought that dress would look divine on you.

It did, with matching pumps and clutch she’d also sent. My godmother and I had always shared a taste for the same designers, and the deep crimson of the silk matched the family rubies. I just wore the drop earrings and bracelet. The necklace was too heavy for my taste.

She looked over my shoulder at my mother and smiled. At least, it was supposed to be a smile. My mother probably had the same fangs-bared expression. Aunt June and my mother were on frenemy terms; too classy for an all-out catfight in public, but it was always there, just simmering below the surface.

Diana, so good to see you, and in that dress again.

I heard the outraged indrawn breath behind me and mouthed, Behave, at my Godmother. As if Diana Duchamp would ever wear a dress twice. Aunt June’s lips twitched. She lived to annoy my mother, but she loved me. She would rein it in just for me.

I took a deep breath, prepared for an evening of boredom. By contrast, my mother’s expression was alight as she surveyed the room, deciding who was worth her time. These events were catnip to her, and I was a huge disappointment as I showed a total lack of interest. But I was a Duchamp, and I did my duty, letting her wheel me out at various galas. I liked the dresses, if not the small talk.

Lily, you look stunning.

Of all the sharks in the tank, it had to be Jeremy Forrester to attack first. I pasted on a smile as I greeted him. He stood a shade over six feet, and my mother assured me he was every girl’s dream with olive skin, dark, glossy hair and deep blue eyes, and a smile of perfectly even white teeth. Every girl except me. He was your average billionaire; arrogant, sarcastic, witty and handsome. He did nothing for me, yet he persisted on pursuing me every time we met, despite my refusal to go on more than one date with him. He’d spent the whole evening on his phone conducting business. Call me old-fashioned, but I would have liked a conversation, not to listen to his boardroom battles.

Jeremy.

We air kissed and when we stepped back, he held my arm as he studied me, his eyes sweeping over me in obvious appreciation. I was tempted to snap my fingers in his face and point out my eyes were above my neck. Jeremy would have probably found it amusing, but my mother wouldn’t have appreciated me causing a scene.

You look more beautiful than ever, sweet Lily.

I gritted my teeth. He always spoke like I should be grateful for the compliment and hang on his every word.

Thank you, I managed, because my mother was in earshot. She wouldn’t hesitate to give me a lecture on manners in front of Jeremy.

Come, join us, he insisted.

I looked over to see the rest of his friends, their whole attention focused on me. Just as rich, just as handsome, just as brainless. I held back a shudder.

Maybe later, I murmured. I think Aunt June wants me to meet a business acquaintance.

She’d said no such thing, but he nodded, saying, It’s a date, and vanished back to his friends.

I could hear the laughter as he joined them, and one or two clapped him on the back, congratulating him for reeling me in. Not a date and never with you, I muttered under my breath.

Thankfully my mother was occupied with one of her cronies and I took the opportunity to escape, heading toward the Impressionists. The art galleries spread like a spider’s web from the foyer, but I had been to the Rosalind Standish Museum of Art many times over the years, and I knew the place like the back of my hand. Despite being a descendant of Rosalind Standish, I don’t think my mother had ever been further than the foyer where the galas were held. Visiting museums was something I had always done with my father, although we had done precious little of that in recent years. I was fonder of Post-Impressionism and spent hours in the galleries reveling in Cézanne and Van Gogh.

Between Post-Impressionism and Fauvism there was a short corridor which led to an outdoor balcony and café. I had spent many hours as a student, nursing a latte and a blueberry muffin and basking in the sun as I people watched. People fascinated me. Because of my family’s wealth and status, I had grown up very sheltered. Museums were some of the places I got to brush shoulders with everyone else. I still visited as an art history student, and this balcony was one of my favorite places to escape.

I knew the door would be open. Later on, people would drift out here, tempted by the bar, the chill of the Fall evening kept at bay by heaters spaced around the comfortable seats. For now, it was just me and the bartender. I shook my head when he offered me a drink. I leaned on the stone balustrade and stared out at the gardens. All I needed was ten minutes to myself before I faced the sharks again. I shivered, wishing I’d thought to bring my wrap.

Ma’am?

I turned to see the bartender holding out a blanket. Thank you.

You’re welcome. He inclined his head and vanished back in the direction of the bar.

I wrapped the plaid woolen blanket around my shoulders. It was itchy on my bare skin, but I appreciated the warmth. I sighed and held it a little closer, wishing the blanket could protect me from what was coming next.

The museum’s garden was mainly in darkness with just a few strategically placed lights. I could see someone moving around. Occasionally they would be illuminated by the lights, enough for me to see it was a man dressed in a thick sweater, jeans, and a cap. Not a guest of the gala then. I observed him pacing up and down, noting that he was tall, and he had broad shoulders. I watched him for a long while before it occurred to me he might be attempting to break into the museum. Would a burglar be pacing around the garden first?

I wandered over to the bartender who brightened as I approached.

Ready for a drink, ma’am?

He was blond, a few years younger than me, maybe early twenties. Probably just legal to serve drinks and failing to hide his bored expression.

A Pinot Grigio please. I didn’t really want wine, but it would give me a chance to ask the question.

Coming right up, he said.

Are the gardens open this evening?

No. Just a few galleries and this balcony.

He poured the wine and handed over the glass. I thanked him, sniffed the wine, inhaling the floral notes, then sipped it, appreciating the crisp dryness.

There is a man wandering around the garden.

He frowned and then his expression cleared. Oh, that’s old Gregory.

Old Gregory?

I think he’s the gardener. I only work events, but I always see him here. He’s kind of obsessed about plants. He’s nice though, he added hastily, as though he thought I might accuse him of being rude.

I nodded and took another sip of wine. How old is he? I couldn’t really judge from the few glimpses in the darkness.

He gave me a curious look, as if he were wondering why I was asking. Old. Late forties, maybe.

I held back a snicker at late forties being old. My mother, who had declared she was under fifty for the last ten years, would have been outraged. The bartender must be younger than I thought.

Just then the door to the museum opened and a stream of people poured out, though none of the sharks, thank goodness. I recognized a couple of the women and nodded to them.

Well, thanks for the wine and the blanket, I said to the bartender and drifted back to the balustrade, leaving him to serve the newcomers.

‘Old’ Gregory was in the far corner of the garden, and I couldn’t really see him beyond a shadow moving about in the darkness.

Here you are, dear.

I sighed. I’d been found. I was tempted to vault over the balustrade and into the shadows of the garden, but I turned to smile at my mother. Here I am.

Your father has been looking for you. I heard the chiding in her voice. He wants to introduce you to a friend.

He wants to sell me off to the highest bidder, I corrected.

Lily! How could you say such a dreadful thing? My mother sounded horrified.

You mean he’s not trying to arrange my marriage with one of his business cronies?

Not at all. I raised an eyebrow, and she huffed impatiently. He has your best interests at heart.

I softened for a moment because she was right, both of them did want the best for me. It was just a shame that their idea and my idea of what was best were diametrically opposed.

She brightened as she saw more people spill onto the balcony. What about Jeremy Forrester?

What about him?

He’s a lovely young man, and he really likes you.

He just wants to…date me. I stumbled over the word I really wanted to use.

Nonsense, she said briskly. He’s already approached your father about marrying you.

Oh, he has, has he?

My mother must have missed the sudden edge to my voice because she smiled at me as if it were all settled. I’ll call him over. She frowned at me as if she suddenly noticed what I was wearing. What have you got around your shoulders?

The bartender gave me a blanket. I was cold.

Take it off.

Then I’ll be cold again, I protested, hugging it closer to me.

You can’t wear that filthy blanket over that dress. What were you thinking?

She tugged at one corner, obviously disgusted to have to touch the blanket. I pulled away from her, but instead of taking back the blanket I kind of unraveled. I tugged harder, but my heel got caught in a grate and I over-balanced. I flung out a hand to save myself but instead I fell out of the shoe, staggered back and the momentum carried me over the balustrade. I didn’t have time to give more than a startled shriek and then I fell, arms out, expecting to hit the path below.

I landed in the arms of Old Gregory.

What on earth? he managed, his eyes wide, looking as shocked as I felt. His voice was like a distant rumble of thunder.

Two things went through my mind. One, that bartender needed his eyes tested. Gregory was in his mid-thirties at the most. Two, he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever met.

Where was I? In Gregory’s arms, and he hadn’t put me down.

Thank you for catching me. I really hoped I didn’t sound like the breathy starlet I heard in my head.

Uh…you’re welcome?

Greg

You’re welcome? You’re welcome? Could I be any lamer?

And what on earth had just happened?

One minute I’d decided I was finished for the evening and was heading back to the museum, the next I had a beautiful woman in a long silk dress in my arms and strawberry blonde hair in my face. I spat a few strands out of my mouth.

Sorry, she murmured, brushing her hair out of my face.

The woman was stunning. I’d noticed her from the moment she stepped out on the balcony. I’d been able to study her unobserved from my hiding place below. I’d intended to be finished before the gala started but I’d been running late. Then I saw her and all thoughts of leaving went out of my head. In her crimson dress, she was like a flame. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and I couldn’t help but notice her pensive expression.

Up close she was even more beautiful, with dark blue eyes, high, delicate cheek bones, and creamy skin. I wanted to hold her to my heart and never let her out of my sight.

Lily Duchamp.

I looked up at the sharp tone to see half a dozen faces staring at us over the balcony. The woman in my arms seemed in no rush for me to put her down.

Lily, what on earth do you think you’re doing?

The older woman in the center of the group looked furious. Was it my imagination or did Lily hang onto me a little tighter?

She’s going to kill me. Hide me, she muttered.

I stared at her. Hide you?

She wants to throw me to the sharks.

Sharks? In the middle of the city? Was she high?

Where are the sharks? I asked.

Up there.

I looked up. There were more curious eyes staring down at us. A number of men in expensive suits had gathered around the older woman. I recognized the type and decided Lily was rather perceptive. They did look a bit like their namesakes with their sharp eyes and flashing white teeth.

Lily! The older woman almost snarled the name. You’re making a scene.

I wanted to point out it wasn’t the woman in my arms who was shouting and snarling but I didn’t think it would help the situation.

Who is she? I murmured in Lily’s ear.

Did she just shiver?

My mother, Lily sighed. She’s kind of annoyed with me now.

No kidding!

She sounds fierce.

It wasn’t the politest of things to say about a stranger’s mother, but she just nodded.

You have no idea. You’d better put me down or she’ll send security after you.

I hastily did as she asked, because the last thing I needed was the museum security guards involved. She stood, the red silk slithering to the ground with the faintest of sighs. She was smaller than I expected, the top of her head barely reaching my chest. My arms felt empty without her, and I resisted the urge to gather her back up.

Lily winced, biting back a cry.

Are you hurt? I asked, worried that I’d injured her somehow. It wasn’t a long fall but neither of us had expected it.

She shook her head. A stone is digging into my foot. One of my shoes is up on the balcony.

I looked up at the crowd. There were less onlookers now that the drama, such as it was, was over. Could you throw down her shoe?

One of the sharks disappeared and returned a moment later holding a red pump with a broken off heel. He dropped the shoe which I caught easily, presenting it to Lily.

She smiled at me. My very own Prince Charming. Then she frowned and poked at the broken heel.

Oh no. I liked these shoes.

I caught the name on the wrecked pump. I had a sister in the fashion industry, so I knew that these probably—definitely—cost more than I earned in a month.

She slipped it on and stood awkwardly.

Want me to take the other heel off? I asked. I could do Michael Douglas in Romancing the Stone if asked.

No!

I grinned at her yelp.

Lily, I’m sending Jeremy down for you, her mother said imperiously.

I felt the shudder run through her. Whoever Jeremy was, she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

I looked up. No need, ma’am. I have it all under control. Miss Lily will be back with you in a few minutes.

I pulled Lily out of sight of the balcony before her mother could argue. She stared at me like