Coming soon! First look at A Novel Holiday

Hi there everyone! I’ve gotten a bad habit of waiting until the last minute to let you know what’s coming, but guess what! I had an idea for a story and it just kind of flew into the word document.  My plan is for release day to be December 1st-Just in time for the Holiday season!

Since we’re starting this preview, I’ll be posting the next chapter on my website on Monday, so make sure you look out for that! I also have a book going on sale next week, so that post will be up as well!

Prologue

The bell on the elevator chimed, the doors opened, and I stepped out and into my uncle’s foyer. A sizeable room with a curved staircase wrapping around one wall. “Zio?” My voice echoed through the marble-floored room as I stilled so I could hear his response.

“In here, Betta.”

I smiled. Although my name had been Elizabeth since birth, my uncle had been the only one to call me Betta, a throwback to his Italian heritage.

By the volume of his voice and the direction, he could only be in the library, so I headed for the door that was nestled under the staircase. I should’ve known he would be holed up in his favorite room. When he wasn’t sleeping or working, my uncle spent most of his time reading in the brown leather armchair by the windows. He had a view of the courtyard below and the rooftops of the Upper West Side, the part of New York City he loved.

As I entered, I tossed my gown, stole, and mortarboard onto the sofa, then plopped into the chair across from him. It had been an interminable day.

Zio, otherwise known as my uncle Luca Philips, marked his place in the large book he was reading and let it rest in his lap. The son of an Italian mother and an English father, he had been raised near Venice, yet still retained his Italian accent after living in America for close to sixty years. In fact, Zio meant uncle in Italian and had been what I’d always called him.

His blue eyes peered over his glasses at me. “Your father insisted you take a place at the company with him, didn’t he?”

I grimaced. “Of course, he did. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.” My father had spoken of nothing else but me joining Longbourn Investments since I first showed an aptitude for numbers. Only, eventually running a company that traded stocks and set up mutual funds was the last thing I wanted. The very idea sounded like the acutest form of torture. Even imagining it made my legs twitch in an effort to escape the noose slowly coiling around my neck.

My uncle’s olive-toned hands rested atop his book. More weathered than when I was a little girl, those strong hands had held mine many times over the years, particularly when my parents had disappointed me, which was often. “I’ve always known business was not what you held dear, but I’ve seen you adore many things since you were little: reading, cooking, playing the piano. You’ve finished a graduate degree you pursued more out of obligation than passion. But, what is your passion? I had hoped you would tell me in your own time, but you’ve never said a word. So, now I want to know. What is it you dream of doing?”

I gave a laugh that was odd, even to my own ears, and shook my head. “My father would never speak to me again. It’s impossible anyway.”

Zio leaned forward, his beloved hands grasping my own. “You haven’t lived with your parents since you began Columbia, and you truly only keep in contact with Mary. She won’t abandon you now—after all, she’ll soon be in a similar situation. Your father and mother will expect her to be what they wish, and she’ll need to decide whether she desires to pursue her own happiness or whether she’ll play the part of the dutiful daughter.”

That was true. Zio had offered me an apartment in one of the buildings he owned when I was accepted into Columbia—under the guise of being close to campus, of course. My uncle owned an enormous bookstore on the Upper West Side. He’d started small when he was younger, eventually purchasing a building that had once been a mansion. The house had been split into smaller homes over the years, but Zio gutted it and revamped it. He renovated the top two floors into a penthouse of sorts for himself. Over time, he’d acquired other adjoining buildings and had expanded the store. The year I’d graduated high school, he’d bought a smaller building next door. I don’t know what he’d planned for the property since other than offering me the apartment on the third floor, he’d left the bottom floors empty. His health had taken a turn, and I suppose he’d put the project on the back-burner.

His hands squeezed mine. “What is it, cara? You followed the path your father wanted. You attended Columbia and received your MBA from NYU, but what do you want?”

I bit my cheek and exhaled heavily. “Do you remember that baking class you and Zia enrolled me in as a Christmas present one year?” I’d spent an evening twice a week baking and decorating cakes. I’d enjoyed it so much; they’d given me one on pastries for my birthday.

He lifted back. “You want to bake?” The pitch of his voice was high. I’d surprised him.

I began tapping my foot. “More than that really. I’d bake cakes and pastries. I could take orders for weddings and birthdays, but I could also have a small café where I serve them as well as coffee and tea, maybe sandwiches one day…”

With a lift to one side of his lips, he rested back into his chair. “Do you know what I’d once planned for the building you live in?”

I shook my head.

“Some of those big chain bookstores have a coffee shop inside. I’d thought to expand with one on the bottom floor. There’s even the courtyard that wraps around that building where outdoor seating could be offered. When I had the heart attack, I put the plans on hold. Perhaps now would be a good chance to revisit them.”

My heart leapt into my throat, and I rocketed straight up in my seat. “Are you serious?”

He chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. You’ve learned to run a business, haven’t you?”

“Well yes,” I said with a one shouldered shrug. “But entrusting me to start a business you’re funding would be considered a huge risk to most. I’ve never put what I’ve learned into practice—not yet.”

One of his fingers rose. “I do have one stipulation.”

I nodded. “Of course, anything.” He’d be giving me what I wanted most. How could I say no?

“It’ll take time to renovate the building and prepare it for business. While that’s being accomplished, I’d like you to take pâtisserie courses at Le Cordon Bleu in London. I own a flat in Notting Hill where my father once lived. You may stay there while you go to school.” With the last, he pointed a knobby finger at me with a nod.

I made to speak, but he again held up a hand.

“While you’re in London, we’ll speak often to discuss the kitchen design as well as the aesthetic of the café, though we’ll want it to be a pleasing transition from the bookstore.” He set his book on the table and pushed up from the chair. “Come, let’s see about this course.”

“How do you know about culinary school?” My uncle owned a bookstore. I would’ve never expected him to suddenly be a fount of knowledge concerning baked goods.

“I ask questions, cara. Whenever we’ve hired chefs for certain events, your Zia and I always asked about where they learned their art. I remember the best desserts I’d ever tasted were from a young man who’d studied in London.”

Despite the knobbiness of his fingers, they flew over the keys of the laptop in his study with an agility that was unexpected. I pulled a chair around, and no more than an hour later, he had me enrolled in the first course, a seven-week intensive study during the summer. I’d take the intermediate course in the autumn—three months, then the study for the superior certificate starting in January. If all went according to plan, I’d return in late March or early April of next year. Yes, it would be almost a year before the business was up and running, but so many wait for decades to open their own bakery or restaurant. My uncle was offering me the opportunity of a lifetime. I’d also not be here for the fallout when my father was forced to accept that I was truly defying him. My heart beat so fast and so hard, it seemed like it would burst from my chest.

“Now, do understand that the bakery and café will be a part of the bookstore business, but you will run it, and the financials will be separate. For some of the marketing and other aspects, we will need to cooperate. If you need advice or have questions, I’ll always be available.”

I shoved my thumbnail in my mouth and bounced my knee.

He stopped my leg with a steady hand. “What’s running through that brain of yours?”

I sat back up with a jolt. “Forgive me, Zio. I feel terrible asking, but what if something happens to you? I mean, it was just six years ago you had that heart attack, and you’ve had a couple of scares since. I wouldn’t want—”

“You’ll keep your business, cara. I promise you that. Okay? I’d never have you lose your dream because I died.” He dipped his chin, lifting his bushy eyebrows as he leveled those shrewd eyes upon me. “You must know that I don’t intend to give in anytime soon. I miss your Zia, but she wouldn’t want me to hurry to my grave. She told me that often enough after the cancer spread. So, I honor her wish. Death is going to have to chase this old man down and take him by force.”

I often caught Zio talking to pictures of my aunt. He had them scattered all over the two-story home—on his desk, on his bedside table, in the library as well as in the living room and the parlor. He kept her near to him, always. I wanted that kind of love one day—not that I was ready for it now.

“Come, I have tiramisu in the refrigerator.”

I gasped. “Zio, you aren’t supposed to eat that!”

He waved off my chastisement. “Let an old man have his vices, especially before Mrs. Hill finds it and throws it in the trash. I’ve been fortunate to keep it in there for most of the day.”

Before we reached the kitchen, he stopped and faced me. “If you don’t know where your passport is, you’ll need to find it now. I’d rather have you fly to London sooner rather than later. My assistant will book the tickets, and he’ll need your passport number. You’ll want to get settled in before your classes start. It’ll also give you time to explore the local pâtisseries. I’m sure you won’t mind sampling their confections.”

I laughed. “No, not at all.” I rubbed my forehead. “I’ll need to figure out what to tell my father.” He’d be pissed!

Zio shrugged. “How difficult is it to say ‘no?’ Besides, your MBA will help with running the café. It’s not as though you won’t be using it at all.”

“He’ll rant and rave about the cost of school.”

A bark flew from Zia’s chest. “You mean the education I paid for? Not that I’d bring that up. Let him rant for a time and hang up. It’ll be better that way. Let your parents continue to fawn over Jane.”

I rolled my eyes. Jane had always been the perfect child. “Jane was valedictorian, Jane was accepted to Harvard law…Jane, Jane, Jane.” My older sister and I had once been close. That had deteriorated over the years, no thanks to my parents. Jane could do no wrong in their eyes as well as her own.

My uncle pulled the dish of tiramisu from the fridge and set it on the island. Soon, we each had a substantial serving and a glass of red Moscato.

My uncle held his glass in the air between us. “To celebrate your accomplishment. It’s not every day you graduate NYUs MBA program summa cum laude. Cheers, cara.” We tapped our glasses together. “And I heard what your mother said today at the ceremony. You are to ignore her. Do you understand?”

“My GPA is actually better than Jane’s was in law school.” I’d almost informed my mother of that fact—almost.

“Exactly. Your Zia never understood your mother, even though they were sisters. When you were born and as you grew, we suddenly understood why God never gave us our own children. You needed us to be the parents your own were not. We always hoped we fulfilled that duty.”

My eyes burned as I blinked back tears. “You did, Zio. You both did.” My aunt and uncle were present for every milestone from elementary school through college and graduate school. They were truly more my parents than my own had ever been.

I took a bite of my tiramisu, the creamy blend of mascarpone, sugar, vanilla, and coffee exploded on my tongue. A moan escaped before I could hold it in. Zio chuckled. As I took another bite, movement in the corner of my eye made me turn to where Mrs. Hill, my uncle’s housekeeper, stood ramrod straight with her hands on her hips.

“Luca Tommaso Philips! Where did you get that?”

“Merda,” he muttered.

All I could do was smile.

Five years later

I stepped off the elevator and into the foyer of my uncle’s home as I had so many times since I was a little girl, only this time, it was all I could do not to dissolve into a puddle of tears and sob upon the marble floor. My beloved Zio would never again answer my call from his library, he would never wrap me in his arms and comfort me, he would never make me laugh with his wicked sense of humor. He was gone. It didn’t seem real. I blinked hard. I would not cry—not again.

From the moment Mrs. Hill had called me this morning, I hadn’t stopped moving. I’d been here when the ambulance came, and when they’d pronounced him dead. Before I’d even had a chance to breathe, his assistant, Mr. Stone had brought me to the funeral home. Of course, Zio had arranged everything.

His obituary had been written, his urn selected, and his place in the mausoleum next to my aunt awaited his internment, but nothing could’ve prepared me for what came next. Weren’t wills usually read after the funeral or memorial service? In movies, it always seemed like days or weeks before people knew of their inheritance, but no, my uncle had apparently insisted it be done without delay.

“Oh, Lizzy, Mr. Stone texted to say the car service had dropped you off.” She came up and put her hands on my shoulders. “How are you, my dear?”

“He left me everything,” I said in almost a whisper.

“Well, of course he did.” Why was her voice so matter-of-fact? Was I the only one who didn’t see this coming?

My vision blurred through the tears stinging my eyes. “But I don’t want it. I want him back. How am I supposed to run everything without him? I need him.” With a sob, I collapsed into Mrs. Hill’s arms.

“Oh, dearest, you were the closest thing he had to a child. He loved you and your aunt more than anything and anyone. You also proved yourself with the Buttercream Beanery. You were the vision and the talent behind that endeavor, and you were the one who made it a huge success. He was so proud of you. You know that, don’t you?”

I nodded against her shoulder. He’d told me more than once that what he’d planned would’ve never been as successful as what I’d created. I never had room to doubt myself when Zio was there to provide encouragement and praise.

“Your uncle was a brilliant man. He recognized you had the acumen to run his bookstore and keep it earning a profit. How often did the two of you discuss books? The two of you also looked at the release lists on the publisher’s websites and predicted which would be successful. No, he knew exactly what he was doing.”

She drew me back with her palms on my cheeks. “Now, we’ll need to move your belongings from your apartment here. If you’d like to stay in your room here tonight, I can help you gather an overnight bag.”

The grandmotherly woman regarded me with raised eyebrows. She expected me to move in now? I hadn’t even had time to even consider the idea. Between the funeral home, the lawyer’s office, and Mr. Stone telling me all that would need to be done in the next couple of weeks in the car on the drive home, my brain was fried. It was all too much! Couldn’t I just crawl into bed, cover my head, and cry?

“Can I stay in my apartment for the night?” Why did I sound like a child asking for permission?

Mrs. Hill smoothed the hair back from my face. “Of course you can, dear.”

I glanced around the white foyer. “I need to go.”

The older lady did no more than watch me as I pressed the button for the elevator and stepped inside after the doors opened. When the construction had been done to connect the bakery to the bookstore, they’d also renovated the buildings in such a way that I could get from my uncle’s house to my apartment without going through the store or going outside.

It didn’t take long for me to navigate the offices on the fifth floor, unlock the adjoining door, then my apartment. As stumbled inside my living room, my shoes were kicked from my feet on the way to the bedroom, and I fell on the bed in a heap with another sob. A nudge to my head made me look up at the black and white tuxedo cat I’d adopted last year.

“I’ve had the worst day, Atticus. Zio is gone.”

He gave a loud “merow” and nudged me again before plopping down beside me, purring loudly.

I wasn’t fooled. The walking stomach, disguised as a rather large housecat, wanted food. He always wanted food and was willing to do anything to get it.

After cuddling with him for a while, I dragged myself out of bed, put some kibble in his bowl, then climbed under the comforter, pulling it over my head. I’m sure there was work to be done in the bakery, but I’d get up early and take care of it in the morning.

“Darce! I found it!”

I looked up from the paperwork in front of me. One of Pemberley’s corporate attorneys Charles Bingley, stood just inside my office door, a wide grin covering his face.

“What did you find?” I had him working on many things. How was I to know which he’d finally figured out?

“Luca Philips didn’t have a will; he had a trust. That’s why it was never filed and will never go through probate.”

I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. Pemberley Books had been trying to acquire Novel Books, an enormous bookstore on the Upper West Side for years. The owner refused to sell, and his store was popular enough with the locals that no chain retailer tried to compete, particularly once he added a café and bakery. It seemed like everyone in Manhattan ordered their cakes from that shop—heck, even Georgiana studied there with her friends at least once a week!

“That does explain a lot. Is that all you’ve discovered?” I’d have expected Charles to have more than that if he was coming to me.

“No, his niece, Elizabeth Bennet inherited it all—the bookstore and the café, which she masterminded from what I understand.”

My eyebrows lifted. “So, do you know if she’d be interested in selling? We wouldn’t be interested in the café or bakery. We’d just ask that she coordinate with us for certain events or sales.” The coffee shops in our stores were an agreement with a chain coffee shop, so that wouldn’t be a problem.

Charles sat across from me. “I actually spoke with her sister Jane. We met earlier this year while filing papers at the courthouse. I thought the connection might pay off one day, and I was right. She informed me of the particulars and that Elizabeth Bennet’s parents are suing for a portion of the company. Jane, who went to Harvard Law, is representing them. She’d been required to learn the particulars for the case.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You asked this Jane out, didn’t you?”

He grinned. “She’s an angel, Darce! I’m telling you. You should see her. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a body—well, you get what I mean.”

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. Charles liked the ladies, and the descriptions he offered of them were often very similar: hair color, eyes, and body. He definitely had a type!

My knee bounced under my desk. We could offer to buy the business and offer to take on the lawsuit for Elizabeth Bennet, but perhaps it’d be easier to wait until she could sell—.

“By the way, from what Jane, Elizabeth’s sister, understands, she won’t sell. Miss Bennet’s already been approached by two book chains about purchasing the store and its contents. Her parents want to sell and pocket the proceeds, which is why they’re suing. They were also expressly left nothing. Luca Philips stated it outright in the document.”

“Ouch.”

“I know, right?”

I flipped my pen, pushed it on the desk until my fingers had slipped to the end, then flipped it again. “Don’t approach Elizabeth Bennet.”

“What?” Charles had leaned forward a bit, his ear tilted in my direction.

“You heard me. Yes, I want that store, but if she’s been made two offers and her parents are suing, she’ll dig in her heels and refuse before she even hears a dollar amount. We’re going to wait.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if her parents win the lawsuit?”

I shook my head. “I think it’s doubtful. If Luca Philips wrote them out and went so far as to say it in the trust, then I doubt any judge will ever award them so much as one percent of the company. No, let’s see what this Elizabeth Bennet makes of it. After all, if she runs the bookstore into the ground, we’ll get it for less than what we’d be willing to offer her now.”

Charles blinked—appearing like a lost puppy. “But I’ve been working on this for years.”

“Yes, you made multiple offers to Philips, who rejected every single one. If he and this niece were close, she surely knows about them. When combined with the other offers and the lawsuit…No, we need to back off. We’ll revisit Novel Books in six months and ascertain whether they’re worth pursuing. Until then, keep an eye on how business is faring, but stay away. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.”

Let me know what you think!