Santas secret, p.1
Santa's Secret, page 1
Holiday Novels by Fern Michaels
Santa & Company
Santa Cruise
The Brightest Star
Spirit of the Season
Holly and Ivy
Wishes for Christmas
Christmas at Timberwoods
Christmas Anthologies
A Snowy Little Christmas
Coming Home for Christmas
A Season to Celebrate
Mistletoe Magic
Winter Wishes
The Most Wonderful Time
When the Snow Falls
Secret Santa
A Winter Wonderland
I’ll Be Home for Christmas
Making Spirits Bright
Holiday Magic
Snow Angels
Silver Bells
Comfort and Joy
Sugar and Spice
Let it Snow
A Gift of Joy
Five Golden Rings
Deck the Halls
Jingle All the Way
FERN MICHAELS
SANTA’S SECRET
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
PART I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
PART II
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
PART III
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
FEAST OF THE SEVEN FISHES
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
900 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2024 by Fern Michaels
Fern Michaels is a registered trademark of KAP 5, Inc.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
KENSINGTON and the K with book logo Reg US Pat. & TM Off.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2024936519
ISBN: 978-1-4967-4682-5
ISBN: 978-1-4201-5674-4 (e-book)
Prologue
Three Years Ago
Most class reunions are anticipated with either dread or extreme enthusiasm. It’s hard to find a middle ground. Either you feel a kinship with your former classmates and can’t wait to catch up, or you realize you probably have absolutely nothing in common with any of them. Who are these people?
Francesca “Frankie” Cappella had that very thought as she walked under the banner that read: WELCOME RIDGEWOOD HIGH ALUMNI. She couldn’t help noticing the edges on the banner were a little frayed and wondered how many reunions this worn piece of fabric had resided over. She took a deep breath and scanned the room, catching a glimpse of one of the few people she intermittently stayed in touch with. It was Nina Hunter. A well-known actress who had been on a popular sitcom, she and Frankie had bonded performing together in their high school plays. Frankie sang, Nina acted. Delighted to see each other, Nina and Frankie sidled up to the bar, and before long, two of their other high school theatre friends appeared on the scene. Amy Blanchard was the brainiac of the group—not that any of them were mental lightweights, but Amy was brilliant. Back in high school, she was in charge of the staging of their plays. Then there was Rachael Newmark, the dancer, also known for her delight in chasing men.
The four women were quite different in personality except for a few shared traits: they were smart, ambitious, and talented, and all had a passion for their work. It took less than a few minutes for them to find a table, where they huddled and exchanged impressions on how everyone in the room had aged. There were a few who looked like they could be “Real Housewives,” with their vacuous eyes, over-Botoxed foreheads, and lips that looked like they had been stung by a school of jellyfish. There isn’t anything wrong with trying to keep oneself “refreshed,” but too many women went over the top.
Nina had been under much pressure when she was living in Los Angeles and working in the film and television industry. Studio executives either wanted a well-known talent or an ingenue. Nina was well-known, but not well enough to continue an on-screen career as she maneuvered through her thirties. Talent was the least of media moguls’ priorities.
Frankie bemoaned that it was the same in publishing. Even though it was a female-dominated industry, the very top positions were held, by and large, by men. Frankie wasn’t necessarily interested in climbing the corporate ladder. What she was interested in was acquiring good books, but it seemed like her superiors were less interested in quality than they were celebrity.
Amy was feeling stifled in her job at a biotech company. Sure, she made tons of money, but it was just so boring.
Then there was Rachael. She was the only one who had gotten married and had children, but her marriage was a bust, and she was divorced. She had thought she would spend her days being a socialite—until her husband wiped out her trust fund and reality smacked her in the face. She thought she needed another man, but what she really needed was a job. In her search for a greater meaning in life, she opened a dance studio, which was quite successful, much to her own surprise. Yet, she was still in search of validation from another man, an error many women make.
After an hour of the torture of classmates they no longer had anything in common with, the four women left the past behind and regrouped at a nearby motel, where Frankie and Nina were staying, for an impromptu pajama party. Realizing they were all unattached, they made a pact that if they didn’t have dates for New Year’s Eve by Thanksgiving, they would do the unthinkable: go on a singles’ cruise.
The excursion provided a boon for all of them in different ways. The adventure proved to be one of enlightenment, romance, revelation, and renewal. Nina’s career went from being on television to writing for television. Amy went from Silicon Valley tech geek to a professor at MIT. Rachael began working with a world-famous dancer, and Frankie was promoted to executive publisher for Grand Marshall Publishing’s cookbook division. She also found romance: “right in her own backyard,” as the saying goes. Even Amy’s divorced father found love on the same ship on the high seas.
Their seafaring triumph encouraged them to devise a plan to meet again for another New Year’s Eve escapade a year later. They agreed on Lake Tahoe, where estranged friendships were rekindled, professional adversaries quashed, and lessons about snowshoeing were learned. The hard way. But persistence, love, and solid relationships prevailed, and a promise of another adventure was made.
Fast forward to the present. Brothers Marco and Giovanni Lombardi are partners in the eponymous family restaurant, Marco’s, located in the Flatiron District of Manhattan. It is a modest, neighborhood favorite for dinner and ideal for a casual business lunch. The food is authentic, and the atmosphere is cozy without being overcrowded like some New York restaurants where you’re practically sitting on a stranger’s lap. There is a laid-back bustle—an oxymoron if there ever was one, but an oddly accurate description. One can feel the passion the Lombardis have invested into the business over the past thirty years. The minute you walk through the door, your senses are immersed in the lush aromas of fine herbs, the distant sound of classical music, and warm lighting that filters through the lemon trees that surround the dining room. Whatever is on your worry list takes a brief hiatus once you are inside.
Marco and his wife Anita live in the apartment above the restaurant, just as Marco and Giovanni had when they were growing up. They are the third generation to be at the helm. They rarely have time to rest, let alone take a vacation. But that was going to change this winter.
The holidays are always frenetic, with private parties and their usual customers. But this year it will be different. Marco and Giovanni decided it is time to give all their employees a break; they will close the restaurant for ten days, from right before Christmas through the New Year so the staff can spend the holidays with their loved ones. The Lombardis will spend time with their family, too, in Italy. Marco’s two children are old enough to fly without annoying other passengers, and they will finally meet their cousins and Aunt Lucia.
Their now-widowed mother, Rosevita, had moved back to Italy to be with her long-widowed sister-in-law Lucia. Lucia had never set foot outside of Italy and still lives in the same house where their husbands were raised. It is a modest villa in the hills outside of the city of Salerno, but has ample room for Marco, Anita, and the kids, as well as Giovanni and Frankie. Giovanni was certain he could convince Frankie to spend the holidays with his family
For the past two years, Frankie and her parents have spent Christmas Eve at Marco’s restaurant, and then on Christmas Day, Giovanni would join them at Frankie’s parents’ house. Giovanni knew Frankie would love to go to Salerno, but he didn’t want her to feel any guilt about leaving her parents alone, so he devised an “offer they could not refuse.” He would pay for Frankie’s family’s airfare and secure a spot at a nearby Airbnb. It would be his Christmas present to them.
One morning in late August, over breakfast, Giovanni shared the details of his plans with Frankie. He posed it as a suggestion, hoping Frankie would be amenable. “You know my mama doesn’t want to leave Aunt Lucia alone since Sergio moved to Australia, and Aunt Lucia will never set foot on an airplane. Dominic moved to Baronissi, a few kilometers away, to be closer to the school.” Giovanni was referring to Lucia’s sons. “I was-a thinking, maybe you, me, your family could go to Italy for Christmas. I would pay for all the arrangements.”
“That’s very generous, Gio, but what about Nina, Amy, and Rachael?” Frankie asked with a slight frown. “We all agreed to plan another trip between Christmas and New Year’s.”
“Cara, we can still celebrate together. You, your family, and I will go to Salerno for Christmas, and we can meet the others in Rome, Firenze, or Napoli. Wherever they wanna, but I have to spend this holiday with Mama. It’s importante.”
Frankie understood the significance of his words. “Okay. I’ll figure something out.” Frankie got up from the table, rinsed her coffee mug, smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. “Time to put on my bossy pants!”
“You look so good in them!” Giovanni grinned.
She blew kisses to the kitties, grabbed her tote, and hustled her way to her office.
Later that day, she sent a Zoom invitation to the other women and hoped they wouldn’t protest her suggestion. She did some research and made a list of scenarios she would run through with them, making the trip as attractive as possible. Who wouldn’t want to spend the holidays in one of the most spectacular countries in Europe?
And so it began . . . a visit to Italy in search of another new beginning, a peek at a scientific wonder, a glimpse of ancient history, and the secret recipe for Mrs. Lombardi’s panettone.
PART I
Chapter 1
Frankie’s Pitch
Frankie left work at six and walked down Fifth Avenue, imagining the Christmas decorations that would be in place while she was devouring mozzarella di bufala from real Italian Mediterranean buffalos. Eating the soft, buttery cheese was almost required by law when you were in Campania, with Salerno and Caserta being two of its biggest producers. Speaking of laws, she had read that buffalo mozzarella sold as mozzarella di bufala campana had been granted the status of denominazione di origine controllata, a controlled designation of origin for thirty years, authenticating the product. She was salivating just thinking about it.
By the time she arrived at her apartment, Bandit and Sweet P. were patiently waiting right inside the door. She often wondered how they knew she was in the building. Must be animal instinct. “Hello puddie-tats! Did you miss your mommy?” Bandit would invariably walk ahead of her, directing her to the kitchen—if you could call it a kitchen. In New York, a typical kitchen was so small, it was barely functional. Only large enough for one person at a time, there was a compact refrigerator that could only hold a couple of quarts of milk, a dozen eggs, a head of lettuce, and a stick of butter. Don’t even attempt to roast a turkey in the miniscule oven they provide. In fact, any type of cooking was nearly impossible. Frankie thought it was a conspiracy between landlords and restaurant owners. Every day, there was a new take-out menu under her door or in the lobby. She often teased Marco whenever she got a new menu from his restaurant.
Bandit was rubbing against her ankles, alternating between one leg then the other as Frankie opened the can of cat food. “I am going to squish you if you’re not careful.” This was a ritual with them. Bandit made sure Frankie couldn’t escape from his dinner plans. Sweet P. was simply happy to have a warm place, a cuddle-buddy with Bandit, and regular meals. “Why can’t you be polite, like Sweet P.?” Frankie would often ask. “Look at her, sitting patiently.” Bandit would answer with a meow, and head-bump her ankle. It always made Frankie chuckle. “How is it that two little furry creatures can make me so happy?” She placed their bowls on the floor as Sweet P. sauntered in, all ladylike. Even though Bandit was the first to stick his head in his dish, and the first to finish, he never tried to nudge Sweet P. from hers. “Why can’t people be this considerate?” Frankie said out loud.
She rinsed the empty can of cat food, placed it in the recycling bin, and washed her hands. Frankie often wondered if the city was actually doing any recycling. Did they really, honestly separate the glass from the metal? Sure, there were machines that could do it, but New York was a small area with a lot of people. A lot. Millions, in fact.
Her cell phone rang, pulling her from her trash can musings. It was Giovanni.
“Ciao, bella! Come stai?”
“Molto bene!” Frankie answered. She knew she was way behind in learning Italian. Better start practicing.
“Have you spoken to your friends about Italy?” Giovanni asked.
“I have a Zoom call with them in two hours.”
“Bene. I know someone who has a big house near ours. It’s in Baronissi, a few kilometers from my family home. It has four bedrooms, so your friends can stay there if they wanna. It’s about an hour to Amalfi, Sorrento, and Positano.”
“It sounds very convenient.” Frankie was impressed at how much Giovanni was looking after the travel prospects for everyone.
“Sì. And only thirty minutes from Pompeii,” Giovanni added. “They said we can trade apartments. They come-a here. We go-a there.”
“Gio, your accent has been rather apparent lately,” Frankie teased.
“Scusi?”
“Your accent. Thick. Like a block of Parmigiano-Reggiano,” she chuckled.
“Sorry. I’m excited for the plans.”
“We still have four months to go.” Frankie couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.
“Yes, but we have to make-a the plans now. Time will be flying.”
“Very true.” Frankie paused. “I think I’ll be able to convince everyone that Italy would be the best place to spend New Year’s.”
“And you can tell them about all the fireworks. From Naples to Salerno. The sky is like-a diamonds, rubies, and emeralds.” Giovanni sounded like a kid who was about to go on his first field trip.
“So when will you and I leave?” Frankie was tapping her pen, ready to take notes.
“We have to help Mama shop a few days before.”
“And?” Frankie was waiting for Giovanni to give her an exact date and time. She was picky that way. “Details, please.”
“I’m-a think we should plan to arrive by the twenty-second. We leave the night before.”
Frankie checked her desk diary. The office would be closing the following day for the holidays. “Will that be enough time to get everything ready?” She knew not to question Giovanni when it came to planning meals, but she couldn’t help herself. “How many people are going to be there for Christmas Eve?”
Giovanni was counting in his head. “Maybe twenty. Christmas Day it will be people coming in and out, so Mama will have food ready for guests.”
Frankie was imagining a gastronomic exploration. “Seven fishes on Christmas Eve?”
“Sì, of course,” Giovanni replied.
“When do you think my parents should arrive?” Frankie sat with her pen poised.
“Maybe the twenty-third. Give them time to un-lag-a the jet.”
Frankie burst out laughing. “Jet lag.”
“Sì. My brain is working like a loco-motion. I cannot translate fast enough in my head,” he chuckled.
