A Champagne Christmas: The Christmas Love-Child / The Christmas Night Miracle / The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle. Catherine Spencer
to switch her seat to an earlier flight.
Crossing the Atlantic that endless day, crammed into a middle seat between two large, snoring men who both hogged the armrests and overlapped her space, Grace kept her eyes tightly closed. If she started crying, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop.
She had more to worry about than a broken heart.
How would Grace save the house? How would she support her family? Now that her father’s life insurance was gone, her family was nearly destitute. And the economy was tough. How would Grace find employment when she’d just been fired for blurting out a billion-dollar secret in bed?
Grace clutched the thin airplane blanket to her chest. Funny to think she’d been so determined to not accept any gifts from Maksim. She’d returned the tiara and Leighton clothes. She’d refused his offer of the Maserati convertible and a new house and his many other suggestions of jewelry and clothes and luxury trips. She’d been so proud to stand on her own two feet. So proud to show Maksim she wanted him, not his money.
But money, it seemed, was all Maksim had ever wanted. Money. Revenge. Another billion or so dollars to pile on top of his fortune. She’d given him her virginity and her heart, but he’d only wanted money.
Money…and Francesca.
“SHE’S not here.”
Maksim looked up to see Alan Barrington staring down at him from the doorway of his town house. It was dark and gray, past twilight on Christmas Eve.
He’d been knocking on the door of Grace’s basement flat for the past five minutes without answer. He hadn’t expected to be so late. He’d promised he would take her to the airport for her late-night flight, but secretly he’d planned to talk her out of going home for Christmas. His private jet was waiting at a small nearby airport to whisk them away to the South of France.
But he was fifteen minutes late. Only fifteen minutes—that was something of a miracle, given all the surprises today! The merger was nearly a done deal. Thanks to Francesca, it had fallen into his lap, and he’d have been a fool to refuse. But he’d left the meeting halfway through. His people could mop up the details.
He wanted Grace.
He’d called her as soon as he got out of the meeting but hadn’t been able to reach her. “Where is she?”
Barrington glared at him. “Why would I tell you?”
“Her phone was disconnected. Any idea why?”
The man folded his arms. “The phone went with her job, which she lost this afternoon.”
“After all her loyalty, you fired her so quickly?”
“Loyalty? Some loyalty. Isn’t it enough you already took one woman from me? Now you want the other one?” Barrington turned his lips into a sneer. “I’m not her pimp.”
In three leaping steps Maksim had run up the stairs and grabbed him by the throat. “Are you calling Grace a whore?”
“Let me go!” the slender man croaked.
Maksim released him with a growl. “Apologize.”
“Oh, so now you’re her protector?” The blond man gasped, rubbing his neck. “You did this. You seduced and betrayed her. Not me.”
“I never betrayed her,” Maksim said, even as that strange, unpleasant prickle snaked down his spine. Guilt?
“Why bother denying it now?” Barrington snarled. “You’ve won. You’ve taken the merger. You’ve taken Francesca. You’ve gotten your payback—you’ve gotten rid of me for good. My shareholders have already issued a statement asking for my resignation.”
“Good.” But at this moment, Maksim’s revenge didn’t feel very satisfying.
“What do you care about some secretary?” Barrington looked at him with shrewd, beady eyes. “You have Francesca.”
Right. Francesca.
Maksim’s capricious ex-lover had shown up at his penthouse that morning, offering him Barrington’s head on a silver platter. “I’ve just told my father the truth,” she’d said, weeping artful tears from her lovely green eyes. “I never wanted Alan. It was you, Maksim, always you!”
Maksim’s furious retort had been interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Francesca’s father had moved swiftly. He’d always preferred that his company accept the offer from Rostov Oil; only his daughter’s fake engagement had made him consider Cali-West. Within half a day the merger proceedings had been well started, although it would take another several weeks before they would be fully signed, sealed and delivered.
Maksim had accepted the deal. But he’d chosen Grace. He’d never used the information she’d shared. He’d never betrayed her.
But he realized now it’d worked out exactly the same as if he had.
He clenched his fists. “Just tell me where she is.”
“Flying to Los Angeles, I expect, with the plane ticket I bought her. I hope it crashes.” Barrington slammed the door.
Coming down the steps from the Knightsbridge town house, Maksim dialed his private investigator to get her address. But that wasn’t all he discovered about her family’s situation.
An hour later he was on his private jet en route to California.
The little yellow cottage gleamed in the predawn darkness, a shining beacon on the cliff above the soft roar of the Pacific Ocean.
Breathing heavily after her uphill walk, Grace crept back into her house, tiptoeing as she walked past the artificial Christmas tree decorated with ornaments from her childhood, gleaming with colored lights.
“Gracie?” Her mother suddenly peeked around the kitchen door. “You’re awake early. I expected you to sleep in this morning.”
Grace hid the small purchase she’d bought at the twenty-four-hour drugstore half a mile away. “Um. Jet lag. I couldn’t sleep, so I went on a walk.”
“Oh, poor dear,” her mother said sympathetically, then brightened. “I’ll make you some coffee. Come chat while I baste the ham.”
“I’ll be right there, Mom.” Grace tried to calm her rapidly beating heart as she went to her childhood bedroom. She changed out of her jeans and back into her soft, comforting flannel pajamas and red chenille robe.
She set the bag down on her nightstand.
Her mother had been so happy to pick her up at L.A. airport last night, so joyful that she’d come home even earlier than expected. The boys had jumped up and down as they got her luggage from the carousel, and even seventeen-year-old Josh had hugged her, saying in a low voice, “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Her mother had driven them in the minivan back home to the northern beach town of Oxnard, an hour away, then made them all hot chocolate at midnight with marshmallows. Everyone finally went to bed to dream happy Christmas dreams.
Except Grace.
She hadn’t been able to tell them that they were about to lose the house they were sleeping in. She’d lied. No, not lied, she told herself angrily. Lying was for selfish bastards like Maksim. All she had done was put off the truth that would break their hearts. But she’d barely been able to stomach the hot chocolate, which was usually her favorite. A low-grade nausea had been with her for two days. As she went to bed late that night in her old bedroom still decorated with posters of rock bands and old teddy bears, even her breasts hurt.
That’s when the dreadful thought first occurred to her.
Nausea…dizziness…exhaustion. Painful breasts.
And