Confessions of His Christmas Housekeeper by Sharon Kendrick

EPILOGUE

CHRISTMAS.

The most wonderful time of the year.

Yes. She would concur with that.

Louise looked out of the mullioned window of the ancient house, her heart brimming over with love and gratitude as she drank in the scene which lay before her. Outside, against the wintry sweep of Barton’s expansive grounds, her beloved husband was holding the mittened fingers of their little son, Leonardo, as they walked round and round the giant snowman, admiring their handiwork. And this definitely was the most magnificent snowman in the history of the world.

The house was filled with the scent of baking panettone, the giant tree was glittering in the dining room and alongside it stood the carved nativity set—which Louise carefully got out now, year after year. In a while the family would go down to Westover village, to gather in the little square and listen to all the carol singers. Louise made a mental note to herself. She must be sure to pack a pocketful of tissues for when Leo joined in with ‘Away in a Manger’, in his adorable little voice, because that reedy rendition got to her—every time.

She gave a contented sigh as she contemplated going to wake their other son—the mischievous toddler, Dante, who would wreak merry havoc from the moment he opened his eyes. She was so happy. Happier than she’d ever believed possible. Their lives seemed to get better with each day that passed. During the five years since Leo’s birth—and the two before that—her marriage had blown all her expectations out of the water, as had the man with whom she had recently retaken her wedding vows.

Had coming so close to losing each other made them value the love they shared more fiercely? She wasn’t sure. But that was the way it was. Giacomo had been by her side throughout her pregnancy with Leo, when she’d been scared of having another miscarriage, though trying very hard not to show it. She remembered the intense brightness in his eyes when she’d safely delivered their baby, and the way he had tenderly cradled his son afterwards.

He had vowed to be a hands-on father and—true to his word—had called a halt to most of his international working trips. These days he delegated. And Paolo, his aide, was delighted. In a quiet moment he had told Louise she was the best thing which had ever happened to Giacomo, and he was glad that his boss had seen sense at last!

These days the Volterra family spent most of their time in either England or Italy and, with a determined amount of practice and homework, Louise’s Italian was almost fluent. And that was important to her. She never wanted to feel like an outsider in the birthplace of her sons and her husband.

They had sold the penthouse Milanese apartment and bought a family home a short distance away from the city centre, with a garden big enough to cope with their growing brood. Summers they spent in the house on the Amalfi coast and Christmas—always—at Barton. In fact, it was there that Louise had invented her own take on the Italian Christmas classic panettone and had given it to one of her Milanese friends to try. Her good friend Maura had loved it and so had her large and extended family. Giacomo had introduced her to someone he knew who owned a food-manufacturing factory and before Louise knew it, the sweet bread had gone into production. This year, sales of Mamma’s Mincemeat Panettone had gone through the roof and Louise was being asked if she was interested in extending the line, to embrace a daring fusion of Italian and English cooking.

She looked up to see Giacomo and Leo trudging through the snow towards the house and heard them chattering away in Italian as she opened the cupboard to reach up for some marshmallows.

‘Here. Let me,’ said his voice behind her.

‘You’re so tall,’ she purred to her husband, aware that sometimes she sounded like a teenager in the first heady flush of love, rather than a thirty-year-old mother with a third child on the way.

‘And you should be taking things more carefully,’ Giacomo said sternly as he handed her the packet.

‘Mamma, Mamma!’ A dark whirlwind of a child hurled himself across the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her hips and placing his head on her swollen belly. ‘Can we go and sing carols now?’

‘Soon. We have to wait until Aunt Maeve gets here. Why don’t you go and get ready and then we’ll have some hot chocolate?’

‘Sì, Mamma!’

She watched as Leo scampered from the kitchen and then looked up to see the expression of love and pride glinting from her husband’s eyes.

‘Happy?’ he questioned.

‘So happy. I can’t tell you. Even Aunt Maeve seems to have been completely won over by our gorgeous sons. I can’t believe she’s coming—and that she actually seems to be looking forward to Christmas for the first time in her life!’

‘She’s family, mi amore. And we must all protect one another and stay close.’ For a moment he traced his finger over the taut drum of her belly before lifting her chin with the tips of his fingers, his voice as smoky as his eyes. ‘I cannot wait until we are alone together,’ he said huskily. ‘Because I want to make love to you very, very slowly. But in the meantime, this will have to do.’

He lowered his mouth onto hers and kissed her so long and so sweetly that Louise had to cling on to his broad shoulders, because she honestly thought she might melt into a puddle on the floor.

Eventually she opened her eyes and, side by side, they stared out of the ancient mullioned window of their English home.

‘Oh, look,’ Giacomo said softly, with nothing but satisfaction in his voice. ‘It’s snowing again.’