by Amy DeLuca
He might be able to go twelve rounds with the toughest fighters on the planet, but when it comes to his two young daughters… he’s a lightweight.
Now that his ex has declared herself “done” with parenting and his spirited and mischievous little girls are living with him full-time, the single dad is realizing just how much he doesn’t know about raising kids.
His own upbringing in a tough neighborhood left a lot to be desired. He basically raised himself, and honestly, didn’t do all that great a job of it. And then there’s his demanding training schedule and the travel required for his career.
What he really needs is a live-in nanny. Yesterday.
But as a newcomer to Newport, Sully has no idea where or how to find the right caretaker for the two most important people in his life. So when his neighbors say they know the perfect person, he jumps at the chance to hire her.
She has experience with children, she needs a place to live, and she’s exactly the kind of classy role model he wants for his daughters.
There’s just one problem… the new nanny is everything he’s not—sweet, innocent, good.
It goes without saying she’s completely off-limits.
Oh, and she’s a total knockout.
The Billionaire’s Heart of Gold is a full-length sweet/clean billionaire romance fairytale retelling of Rapunzel.
It’s a standalone forbidden love /forced proximity /slow burn romance with no cheating or cliffhangers but plenty of humor and a gentle bruiser with a heart of gold.
Read on for a sneak peek at the first chapter, or Click here to download your copy and read the whole story now!
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The Billionaire’s Heart of Gold
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Angelina scrubbed at the modeling clay under her nails, using a small brush to dislodge the stubborn stuff. The children had enjoyed “art day” at the preschool where she worked even more today than they usually did.
The high-spirited three, four, and five-year-olds were more excited about everything these days—it was the last two weeks of school before summer break.
Unfortunately, that meant the schoolroom, and Angelina herself, were also a bit messier than usual. Her shirt and skirt were splotched with acrylic paint—washable, thank goodness. Her long, thick hair bore the evidence of the day’s first project which had involved white glue. And glitter. Lots and lots of glitter.
Ugh. Laughing at her disheveled appearance in the mirror, Angelina stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower.
She hadn’t planned on washing her hair today—it was too much of an ordeal to do daily—but there was no choice in the matter now. She was expected at her next-door neighbors’ house this evening. They were literal royalty—nice people, but still, you didn’t show up at the front door of a prince and princess looking like a walking, talking glitter bomb.
After her shower, Angelina sat in front of her bedroom window, drying the long locks. It always took forever, but at least the ocean view and warm breeze were enjoyable.
Her room was in the top of the stone turret that centered the rear of her family’s historic Newport, Rhode Island mansion. It was a modern castle of a house, built during America’s Gilded Age in 1891.
Her ancestors had clearly harbored a fascination with Europe and its royal palaces because the waterfront home could easily have suited a monarch with more than a hundred rooms including an opulent ballroom.
Not that anyone used all those rooms anymore. For all of her twenty-three years, only Angelina and her mother had resided there, and Mother was not the ball type or the cocktail party type either. They’d never had overnight guests, and even daytime visitors were rare.
As a child, she’d pretended she was a fairytale princess trapped in her lonely tower, waiting for a prince or even a willing dragon to come along and free her.
Now she loved the room for its unusual circular shape, refreshing sea breezes, and especially for its vantage point on Easton Bay and the Cliff Walk that bordered it. The Cliff Walk was among Newport’s top tourist attractions, a busy pedestrian path that divided the back lawns of the city’s famous Bellevue Avenue mansions and the rocky cliffs that dropped into the Atlantic Ocean they presided over.
More than a million visitors a year walked the path, which was in places wide and smoothly paved. Here at the southern end of Bellevue Avenue, where it curved and met Ocean Avenue, the Cliff Walk was more rugged. Pavement gave way to the natural rocky New England shoreline, necessitating a sure foot and a bit more attention to navigate.
There was always something to see when Angelina sat at her window. She loved watching the seabirds soar and dive into the deep gray-blue water, fishing for their meals. In winter there were harbor seals to look for and breaching whales to observe from April to October. Best of all were the people of all sorts and shapes and sizes.
Already today she’d seen a group of women walking together in their stretchy shorts and t-shirts, their laughter so loud it reached her tower and made her smile. Several young families had trekked to the end of the path and made their way back, leaving their strollers behind temporarily in order to make it to the very end of the path’s roughest part.
And then there were the joggers. Always plenty of those. The three-and-a half-mile length of the path paired with the cooling ocean breeze made it a perfect exercise venue.
Here was one now. Oh, she recognized him. This one ran a little faster than the usual jogger. She assumed he always got on the path somewhere near the middle. If he’d started at its beginning point, he’d have to possess amazing stamina to still be running this hard near the end of it.
Angelina had noticed him for the first time about two weeks ago, his incongruous speed catching her eye along with his unusual height and his head of thick black hair, which gleamed in the afternoon sunlight on clear days. He ran mornings and late afternoons, which might account for that unusual speed and stamina.
Today he wore a bright red t-shirt, and as she brushed and dried her hair, her eyes followed the scarlet beacon until it disappeared around the bend.
“Angelina.” A demanding voice echoed up the circular stairway that ascended to her tower room. “Where are you? I’m getting hungry.”
Angelina stood, tucking her brush and hairdryer back into the drawer of her vanity table. “Be right there Mother.”
Though her hair was fully dried now, and she knew Mother was waiting on her to come downstairs and prepare dinner, she lingered at the window a bit longer, anticipating the return of that red shirt. It had become almost a ritual in her life to clock the tall, dark-haired jogger’s round trips on the path.
But when he reappeared, the t-shirt was gone. Rather, it was tucked into the back of his shorts, flapping behind him like a tail as he ran with every bit as much energy as before.
He was running shirtless.
Angelina fell back into her chair, instantly light-headed. All thoughts of Mother’s hunger pangs and waning patience vanished. In fact, Angelina couldn’t think at all.
Or look away.
Or move.
Or breathe.
Though she must have seen other men running without shirts, none of them had looked like this. The black-haired jogger’s body was impressive—his chest wide and thickly layered with muscle. His tight abdomen contracted with each footfall.
His shoulders and arms were heavily muscled as well, and as he ran past, Angelina noted the back view was as remarkable as the front, revealing a wide, powerful upper back tapering to a lean waist.
As his long, strong legs pumped and carried him out of her sight, her face heated from neck to scalp. Wha
t was that?
Knowing she’d never be with a man, she’d never taken much notice of any before, certainly not in a physical way. But this one… well he was impossible not to notice. He was huge—a total brute—the last thing she’d ever have expected to appeal to her.
Slowly, her senses returned to her, accompanied by a hefty dose of guilt. Surely it was wrong to look at a man with such intense interest. At least for her it was.
There was no place for any man in her life—and certainly none for such a thoroughly masculine creature as this one. Maybe that was why he’d fascinated her from the very first time she’d seen him run by.
Beware the evils of men.
The phrase, repeated to her throughout her life, rose to the forefront of Angelina’s mind, shaming her. Shutting the window with a decisive click, she hurriedly twisted her hair into a thick coil at the back of her head (Mother liked for her to look neat and “respectable”) and practically ran down the spiral of stone steps to the mansion’s first floor.
As she made her way through the long, dark-paneled hallways, a vast collection of crucifixes and oil paintings depicting Biblical scenes seemed to judge her. She lowered her head and hurried to the kitchen.
Later during dinner, Mother peppered her with questions about her day. “Who did you speak to today? You haven’t been talking to any of the fathers at the preschool, have you?”
“No, Mother. It’s mostly moms who pick up their kids. And the fathers are all married anyway.”
“That doesn’t matter. You can’t trust any of them. Don’t talk to them. Don’t even look at them… lecherous beasts.”
“I know, Mother. I don’t,” Angelina rushed to say, eager to nip the usual tirade in the bud if possible.
Her mother hadn’t been in favor of her taking the job as a teacher’s assistant at the preschool. It had only been the intervention of the Benedictine sisters that had convinced her to allow Angelina to work there for the past couple of years.
They encouraged discerners to reflect and gather information, paying periodic visits to the religious community they intended to join while still living at home and working or studying.
“At least you won’t be there for much longer. Your postulancy will begin soon, and then you’ll be protected from the whole lot of them forever.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Angelina looked down at her plate and dragged the tines of her fork through her lasagna. Though she was an accomplished home cook and it was one of her best dishes, she was no longer hungry.
A queasy feeling unsettled her stomach as it did whenever she thought about moving into the monastery and beginning her postulancy and novitiate period, parts of the stages of formation that would culminate in her initiation into a life of religious service.
The multi-year process was meant to help an aspirant, as those who wanted to become nuns were called, gradually let go of the attitudes of the outside world and adapt to monastic life.
The problem was, Angelina had barely experienced the outside world. She hadn’t really thought about it until fairly recently, but it seemed almost ridiculous that someone her age would have experienced so little in life.
She’d never left Newport, except to visit the monastery, had not gone away to college like most of the other girls from her exclusive, private, and very small girls-only high school. Though Mother had inherited a fortune, she’d never taken Angelina on a single trip or vacation, preferring to remain secluded in her home most of the time.
They did not go to restaurants or movie theaters or shopping as some of her schoolmates discussed doing with their parents. Angelina had never been to a dance or a party or even a sleepover with girlfriends. She had no girlfriends—not really.
Mother redefined the word “overprotective,” forbidding her daughter to go anywhere other than directly to school and back, and in the past two years, to the preschool down the street.
She literally timed Angelina as she walked to and from the school building. Once when Angelina had stayed late to help the lead teacher decorate the classroom for the holidays, her mother had called the Newport police to report her missing.
All of it was in the name of safety—and to keep her “pure” for God’s service. Which had to be a good thing, right? Angelina couldn’t argue with that.
It was only recently that she’d begun to question whether there weren’t many ways a person could serve God. Ones in which she didn’t have to give up teaching, for instance. She loved her little students, and interacting with them was the joy of her life.
“I will miss the children,” Angelina finally said. “I think I would have made a good teacher.”
“You won’t miss them once you’re sequestered with your new sisters. You’ll be doing what the Lord has called you to do. When you were born, I promised God to give you into His service, and you must make good on that promise. Terrible things will happen to me if you don’t. Not to mention what would happen to you.”
It was the warning that had kept Angelina from stepping a toe out of line her entire life. As a little girl, whenever she’d had a naughty thought or urge to disobey, the image of her mother dropping dead on the spot had terrorized her and scared her back into compliance.
“I will. Of course I will.” She stood. “I’m finished. Can I get you anything before I go?”
“Go? Where do you think you’re going?” Mother demanded.
Angelina’s heart began to stutter. “Next door. Remember I told you one of the mothers at the school asked me to help plan the end-of-school party for the students? This is the night I’m expected at her house.”
Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Next door? You’re not talking about that floozy Cinda Brown, are you? She had a child out of wedlock and flaunted it without an ounce of shame before she went and married that prince fellow. And don’t even get me started on him, gallivanting around the globe, seducing women. Who knows how many illegitimate children he has?”
“Her name is Cinda Wessex now, and she’s one of the nicest women I’ve ever met.”
Angelina decided not to bring up the fact that Mother had also borne a child out of wedlock—her—a fact she conveniently overlooked while passing judgment on just about everyone else of her acquaintance.
“And there were good reasons she didn’t marry Prince Alexander until last year,” Angelina said. “It’s a very interesting story, as a matter of fact. You’d know all about it if you actually met the neighbors and got to know them.”
“I have no interest in associating with a woman of loose morals, and I don’t want you around her either—or that randy prince. I forbid you to spend any time in that den of iniquity.”
“Mother…” Angelina prayed for patience and wisdom. If she handled this wrong, she’d find herself on complete lockdown or even homeless. Mother was not above threatening to throw her out if she didn’t fall into step with her wishes.
“It’s part of my job,” she reasoned. “The party is a school event, and the last one I’ll be associated with before I move into the monastery. Sister Patrice said I should do my job to the best of my abilities. The party’s only two weeks away, and the school and Mrs. Wessex are counting on me. I gave my word I’d help.” She paused. “Breaking it now would be a sin.”
She held her breath, hoping that last point would clench it. Mother was terrified of anything that even held a whiff of sin, and she was more conscious of her daughter’s spiritual status than even her own—which was saying something.
Looking around the dining room at yet another display of crosses, religious paintings, and statuary, Angelina reflected that if the sheer number of religious artifacts one possessed could guarantee entrance into Heaven, her mother would be at the front of the line for sure.
“Well… I suppose you must keep your promise,” Mother said. “But you will not stay long. You’ll go directly there and come directly home. And after that party is over, you’ll spend the rest of the month in prayerful reflection, so you’ll be read
y for your postulancy.”
“Yes, Mother.” Angelina left the room before her mother could change her mind, carrying her plate and glass to the sink and washing them quickly before leaving the house. She hurried down the sidewalk to her neighbor’s drive, and with every step away from her own home she felt lighter. Freer.
The sound of children laughing and playing in a nearby yard compounded her good mood. By the time she reached the Wessexes’ front door, she felt almost giddy. Was it pathetic to be this excited about being away from home at night?
Though she’d only be helping to plan a children’s party, she would be in the company of other young women instead of reading quietly in the formal parlor with Mother until bedtime. It was honestly the social highlight of her year.
Cinda answered the doorbell herself, greeting Angelina with a wide smile and a brief hug, which caused her hugely pregnant belly to collide with Angelina’s hipbone.
“Sorry about that,” Cinda said and patted her stomach. “This thing needs its own zip code. I’m positively palatial at this point.” She stepped back, inviting Angelina into the elegant marble foyer. “Come in. I’m so glad you were able to make it. Not as glad as AJ is of course.”
The Wessexes’ five-year-old son AJ was one of Angelina’s students. She’d helped in his class last year as well—he had a late summer birthday, and his parents had elected to have him spend another year in preschool rather than put him into kindergarten at only a few days past the age of four. Though Angelina never picked favorites, she had always been incredibly fond of the sweet, intelligent boy.
“He talks about you a lot,” Cinda explained. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, “I think he’s a little bit in love with you.”
Angelina laughed. “Well, if that’s true, he’d be the first.”
“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Cinda said warmly. “Let’s go to the kitchen. My friend Kristal made her famous seven-layer dip, and her sister-in-law Bonnie brought some super-yummy desserts prepared by her French chef, Monsieur Laplume.”