Shirley Jump - A Princess for Christmas

“Darcy has this crazy idea,” Jake said.

Mariabella froze at the words. Darcy. That woman who had almost recognized her. Did she know? Had she figured it out? Impossible. Wasn’t it?

“Oh…yeah?” She fiddled with the flowers.

“She thinks you might be a princess.”

Mariabella swallowed hard. She plucked out a daisy from the center and shoved it into a space on the side, then moved a rose from the right to the left. “Huh? Really?”

“Are you?”

The two words hung in her kitchen—heavy, fat with anticipation. Destructive.

Are you her?

It was over. Her life here. Her fantasy that she could be loved by a man like him as an ordinary woman. Once she told him who she was he would never look at her the same way again.

Dear Reader

If you’re reading this, chances are I’ve already got my lights and tree out at my house—and if they’re not up, they will be soon. I have a hard time waiting until after Thanksgiving before I start Christmas preparations. I’m worse than a little kid! That’s what makes writing these Christmas books so much fun for me. Every minute I spend in my characters’ Christmas world gives me another dose of the holiday, complete with the decorations, the food and the warm memories.

Someone asked me once in an interview to name my favourite element of Christmas. For me, it’s the music of the holiday. I start playing those songs as soon as they come on the radio, and I don’t turn them off until the day after Christmas. Every time I listen to a song like “Frosty the Snowman” I remember watching the Claymation movie with my kids (truth be told, they still haven’t outgrown that movie classic). Singing along with “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” or “Silent Night” reminds me what the holiday is truly about, and keeps me grounded in all the shopping madness.

I hope you have a wonderful holiday season, and a memorable Christmas this year. Please visit my website at www.shirleyjump.com, my blog at www.shirleyjump.blogspot.com, or write to me at PO Box 5126, Fort Wayne, IN 46895, USA. Merry Christmas—and may your stocking be filled with lots of books!

Best wishes

Shirley

New York Times bestselling author Shirley Jumpdidn’t have the will-power to diet, nor the talent to master under-eye concealer, so she bowed out of a career in television and opted instead for a career where she could be paid to eat at her desk—writing. At first, seeking revenge on her children for their grocery store tantrums, she sold embarrassing essays about them to anthologies. However, it wasn’t enough to feed her growing addiction to writing funny. So she turned to the world of romance novels, where messes are (usually) cleaned up before The End. In the worlds Shirley gets to create and control, the children listen to their parents, the husbands always remember holidays, and the housework is magically done by elves. Though she’s thrilled to see her books in stores around the world, Shirley mostly writes because it gives her an excuse to avoid cleaning the toilets and helps feed her shoe habit. To learn more, visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com

Praise for Shirley Jump:

‘Shirley Jump’s

MIRACLE ON CHRISTMAS EVE

has a solid plot and involving conflict,

and the characters are wonderful.’— Romantic Times BOOKreviews

About SWEETHEART LOST AND FOUND

‘This tale of rekindled love is right on target;

a delightful start to this uplifting,

marriage-oriented series [The Wedding Planners].’— Library Journal.com

About New York Times bestselling anthology Sugar and Spice ‘Jump’s office romance gives the collection a kick, with fiery writing.’— PublishersWeekly.com

BY

MILLS & BOON ®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

First to my readers—there

is no more special gift than your letters,

support and warm words.

You make writing an extra wonderful joy.

Second, to my family.

Every day with you is a treasured present.

THE woman in the painting whispered to Mariabella. Her deep green eyes, slightly hooded by heavy lashes, seemed to hold a quiet secret. One she kept close to her heart, one perhaps she hadn’t even shared with the man who’d held the paintbrush.

Mariabella reached out, traced the air around the painted woman’s eyes. Secrets. This woman had one.

And so, too, did Mariabella Romano.

“You like that painting, huh?”

Mariabella started, jerked out of her reverie. She turned at the sound of Carmen’s voice. More friend than employee, Carmen Edelman had worked for Mariabella ever since she’d opened the Harborside Art Gallery in the little coastal Massachusetts town almost a year ago. The quirky college graduate had walked in one day, her arms loaded with paintings, each one a gem. Ever since, Carmen had been unearthing wonderful finds, including the artist who’d painted the portrait of the mysterious woman, titled simply, She Who Knows.

Mariabella’s twenty-five-year-old assistant had an uncanny eye for quality work, and had been instrumental in helping Mariabella choose the paintings for the gallery’s upcoming Christmas show. Carmen’s bohemian personality gave the gallery—and Mariabella—a little something unexpected every day.

“I do love this piece,” Mariabella said, pointing toward the portrait of the brunette. “It has a certain depth and mystery to it. It is my favorite piece in the collection.”

“It does seem to have good karma, doesn’t it?” Carmen took a step back, propped a fist beneath her chin, sending dozens of silver and gold bracelets on a jingling race down her arm. “Such deep thoughts in each brush stroke. What do you think it’s saying?”

“Probably what she knows…and no one else does.”

Carmen turned and caught Mariabella’s eye. Her black pageboy haircut swung forward with the movement, and her red-rimmed cat’s-eye glasses slipped a little on her nose. “Oh, so perceptive! I can see that now. The way the woman has her chin tilted down just a bit, the way her hair is brushed across her eyes, like she wants to hide behind the bangs but can’t because they’re not quite long enough. Hmm…though that could just be a bad haircut. And then there’s the way her hand is coming up to cover her mouth. It’s like she has…”

“Secrets,” Mariabella finished, then wanted to catch the word and bring it back. But really, Carmen—like everyone else in town—didn’t know anything about the true identity of Mariabella “Romano.”

Who wasn’t a Romano at all.

Money and privilege provided the opportunity to buy anything—including a new identity and a temporary escape from a life that had chafed at Mariabella like a too-tight yoke.

Carmen’s scarlet lips spread in a wide smile. “This is why I love working for you. You’re, like, totally psychic about art. You have such a gift.”

The genuine compliment washed over Mariabella. She’d lived her life surrounded by people who had dropped compliments on her like confetti at a parade—with the words having about as much depth and meaning. She’d found herself feeling as vacant as those words, and needing something…more.

So a little more than a year ago, she’d left that insular, empty world behind, shedding her true name and her heritage to come here, searching for—

Reality. Peace. Independence.

Here, in Carmen’s words, her gaze, and also in the friends who filled the shops lining Harborside’s boardwalk, Mariabella had exactly that. People who saw her, not for her lineage, but for herself.