The Mills & Boon Christmas Wishes Collection. Maisey Yates

and let out a squeal. “Ice skates!” She kicked off her ballet flats and went to put them on.

      “No, no,” I said, laughing. “You can’t wear them inside! After lunch tomorrow, Daddy and I will take you skating on the lake.”

      “Tomorrow?” her voice pitched. “That’s for ever away!”

      Kids! Time moved so much slower for them.

      Amory bent and helped Millie put her ballet flats back on. “How about I get here bright and early and take you? Once you’ve opened up all of the gifts Santa brings you…”

      Mollified, she beamed. “Yes!”

      I knew Amory had matching skates, and they’d look a picture zooming around the ice hand in hand.

      Millie opened the rest of her gifts, while we finished setting the table.

      Amory winked and took fidgety Brooklyn from her capsule. There were presents for the baby too, Christmas books made from felt, and a rocking horse from Micah.

      We sat down to eat, Mom and Aunt Bessie fussing with the placement of dishes, while I poured champagne for the table, and sparkling apple juice for Millie.

      “A toast,” I said, as everyone took their places. “To another wonderful year at the lodge with the greatest family and friends anyone could have.”

      We stood and clinked glasses, laughing as we tried to edge around each other’s outstretched arms. Just then Millie piped up. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot,” she said, lifting her finger. “Mom, Daddy has this big sparkly ring for you in his pocket…” Before she could say any more Kai clamped a hand over her mouth.

      Everyone froze.

      “I forget just how good those little ears are,” Kai said, gently tugging Millie’s earlobe.

      Again the room fell silent. It could be a dress ring, an eternity ring, a pendant even, I told myself. It might not have been a wedding ring… I’d almost gotten used to the fact I’d planned the most glamourous weddings, yet had never walked down the aisle myself. We were busy, then we had the children and were even busier. And we loved each other, which was all that mattered, right?

      But still, my heart pumped with hope.

      “Well,” Kai said, taking my hand. “This wasn’t exactly how I planned this.” And then he dropped to one knee. “Clio, will you marry me?”

      I blinked back happy tears, but I was lost for words. Until Amory coughed and motioned for me to respond. Oh, right! “Yes, my answer is yes!”

      While I knew Kai loved me with his whole heart, I was a wedding and event planner, dammit, and I knew we’d have the most wonderful wedding that ever was. The wedding I’d been dreaming of since I was a young girl. And we’d have it right here, at Cedarwood Lodge, where I first clapped eyes on the man of my dreams…

       If you enjoyed Winter at Cedarwood Lodge, then why not try another Rebecca Raisin book from HQ Digital?

       Christmas with a Tycoon

       The Italian’s Christmas Child

       Lynne Graham

       The Greek’s Christmas Bride

       Lynne Graham

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       The Italian’s Christmas Child

      Lynne Graham

      A Christmas consequence

      Italian tycoon Vito Zaffari is waiting out the festive season while a family scandal fades from the press. So he’s come to his friend’s snow-covered English country cottage, determined to shut out the world.

      Until a beautiful bombshell dressed as Santa literally crashes into his Christmas! Innocent Holly Cleaver sneaks under Vito’s defenses—he wants her like no other before and decides he must have her.

      When Vito finds her gone the next day, he’s sure she’ll be easy to forget...until he discovers that their one night of passion has a shocking Christmas consequence!

      Christmas is one of my favourite times of year, it’s about family and friends, so this is dedicated to you.

       CHAPTER ONE

      THE MOORLAND LANDSCAPE on Dartmoor was cold and crisp with ice. As the four-wheel drive turned off the road onto a rough lane, Vito saw the picturesque cottage sheltering behind winter-bare trees with graceful frosted branches. His lean, strong face grim with exhaustion, he got out of the car ahead of his driver, only tensing as he heard the sound of yet another text hitting his phone. Ignoring it, he walked into the property while the driver emptied the car.

      Instant warmth greeted him and he raked a weary hand through the dense blue-black hair that the breeze had whipped across his brow. There was a welcome blaze in the brick inglenook fireplace and he fought the sense of relief threatening to engulf him. He was not a coward. He had not run away as his ex-fiancée had accused him of doing. He would have stood his ground and stayed in Florence had he not finally appreciated that the pursuit of the paparazzi and outrageous headlines were only being fuelled by his continuing presence.

      He had grudgingly followed his best friend Apollo’s advice and had removed himself from the scene, recognising that his mother had quite enough to deal with when her husband was in hospital following a serious heart attack without also having to suffer the embarrassment of her son’s newly acquired notoriety. Undeniably, his friend had much more experience than Vito had of handling scandals and bad publicity. The Greek playboy had led a far less restricted life than Vito, who had known from an early age that he would become the next CEO of the Zaffari Bank. His grandfather had steeped him in the history and traditions of a family that could trace its beginnings back to the Middle Ages when the Zaffari name had stood shoulder to shoulder with words like honour and principle. No more, Vito reflected wryly. Now he would be famous for ever as the banker who had indulged in drugs and strippers.

      Not his style, not his style at all, Vito ruminated ruefully, breaking free of his thoughts to lavishly tip his driver and thank him. When it came to the drug allegations, he could only suppress a groan. One of his closest friends at school had taken something that had killed him at a party and Vito had never been tempted by illegal substances. And the whores? In truth Vito could barely remember when he had last had sex. Although he had been engaged until a week earlier, Marzia had always been cool in that department.

      ‘She’s a lady to her backbone.’ His grandfather had sighed approvingly, shortly before his passing. ‘A Ravello with the right background and breeding. She will make a superb hostess and future mother for your children.’

      Not now, though, Vito thought, glancing at his phone to discover that his ex had sent him yet another text. Dio mio, what did she want from him now? He had perfectly understood her decision to break off their engagement and he had wasted no time in putting the house she had been furnishing for their future occupation back on the market. That, however, had proved to be a move that had evidently rankled, even though he had assured Marzia that she was welcome to keep every stick of furniture in the place.