Saved By An Angel
a novel
by Roberta Capizzi
© Roberta Capizzi 2015
All rights reserved.
This book is also available in print.
Cover art © Najla Qamber Designs 2015. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, institutions, organizations, places and incidents in this novel, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This novel is dedicated to Lucy Nolan.
May your guardian angel always watch over you.
Table of contents
Author’s note
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Other books by Roberta
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Author’s note
Dear reader,
This book is written mainly in American English, but since it is set in Ireland and the characters are Irish, you will find a few Irish English words and slang too, especially in the dialogues.
At some point in the story there are a couple of references to the Rose of Tralee. For those of you who are not familiar with this, the Rose of Tralee festival is a traditional beauty pageant held annually in August in Tralee, County Kerry and it was inspired by “The Rose of Tralee” love song.
The young woman who will be crowned “The Rose” will be the ambassador of Ireland around the world and will be selected based on her personality and talents, not on her beauty.
Each of the 32 counties in Ireland will select one Rose, and, in June, 6 finalists will be chosen to participate in the International Rose Of Tralee Festival that takes place in August.
Since the festival is celebrated among Irish communities all over the world, there are also international Roses from other European countries, as well as America, Australia, Canada, UAE and New Zealand.
I was in Tralee during the festival a few years ago and it was truly a beautiful experience, especially as I was there when the parade took place. The Roses went around the town on decorative floats, greeting all the young girls who dreamed that one day they too will be a Rose.
If you plan on visiting Ireland in August, make sure you spend a day in Tralee during the festival.
If you’re interested in knowing more about this festival and the traditions behind it, you can check out the official website: http://www.roseoftralee.ie/.
All this said, I hope you enjoy reading about the nerdy girl who has never wanted to be a Rose of Tralee and the handsome Irish man who fell in love with her.
Happy reading!
Roberta
Acknowledgments
Wow. Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun? A year has already passed since the release of my latest novel. Little did I know, a year ago, that I’d be writing this story, but David had been scrambling to get my attention ever since writing Hugged By An Angel, and I thought it was only fair that I’d tell his story, too. Mainly so he would stop shouting “Pick me! Pick me!” in my head.
So there you go, now you know how I came up with the idea for this book.
Now, back to the thank yous.
A big shout out to my beta readers as well as to my Irish friends who helped making the first draft presentable. Thank you Lisa, Breanna, Michelle and Fiona/Mary for your precious feedback and for providing all the info on the Irish school system. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Thank you, Lauren McKellar, my stellar editor who, as usual, did a great job with the first draft. Your funny and smart comments helped me turn the book into something special.
Thank you to my fantastic cover designer and online friend, Najla. I had no doubt you’d manage to turn my confused ideas into yet another wonderful cover. I can’t wait to work with you again!
Thank you to all the bloggers who’ve helped me spread the word about my books and who’ve given me a chance even though I’m not a NY Times best-selling author. Your help is vital for all authors, especially us indie authors and we appreciate all you do for us. Keep up the good work!
And lastly, thank you reader, for buying my books and leaving beautiful reviews. I’ll never tire of saying how important your feedback is for authors, and the fact that you took the time to write a few lines to help other readers discover my books was the biggest reward. Knowing you enjoyed my stories warms my heart every single time and it’s definitely the best part of being an author. It’s why I keep writing!
I hope you will all enjoy Claire and David’s story as much as I loved writing it.
Happy reading!
Roberta
Chapter One
Claire
I’ve always been the invisible one. In spite of my natural ginger hair, which should have stood out like a beacon in the night, nobody ever looked twice at me—especially men.
Maybe it also had to do with the fact that I’d always been an introverted, nerdy kind of girl, who’d rather spend her afternoons at the public library getting lost in an Agatha Christie book than at the mall checking out guys, or dressing up hoping to be the next Rose of Tralee in the famous Irish beauty pageant.
Whatever the reason, I was always the one who went unnoticed, and today was no exception.
As I dragged my huge rolling suitcase, a trolley and my full-to-near-explosion-point duffel bag down the platform of Galway railway station, I felt no more visible than I’d ever been. I dodged people, as I tried not to topple over and break something or hurt someone else, which would have been a poor start to my new life. After the events of the past few months, I’d relished my invisibility to the rest of the world, and I’d shied away from all human contact, needing to be left alone with my thoughts and my grief; right now, though, I wouldn’t have minded someone to notice me and lend a hand. The bigger suitcase kept bumping in turns against my hip and the trolley, causing the duffel bag on top of it to lose its balance and forcing me to stop every few steps to grab it before it fell off. Not a single man who passed me by even bothered asking if I needed help, although it was clear I was struggling to juggle two suitcases and a heavy bag on my own.
And they say chivalry isn’t dead. Ha.
But that was the story of my life. The one time a guy had shown interest in me—a hot rugby player buying me a drink in a pub and flirting with me all night had been quite spectacular, if not a once-in-a-lifetime event for me—I’d ended up with a bruised cheek and
a split lip, courtesy of said hot player. Lucky me. So from that moment on, even though I’d been only twenty-two at the time, I’d sworn off men, especially the hot, bulky ones, and I’d stuck my nose back into my beloved paperbacks, dreaming one day I’d find a job that would involve books, as I’d always dreamed since I was a child.
By the time I finally managed to reach the exit and drag my heavy luggage to the taxi rank, I was sweating. Luckily, chivalry wasn’t dead in the taxi-driver society, and when a middle-aged man came over and relieved me of my luggage I wanted to hug him.
“How on earth could a little thing like you carry all of this weight?” he asked, hoisting my luggage and storing it into the trunk of the white sedan. Obviously, he wasn’t referring to my height, since I was five-feet eight, but rather to my lanky build. I’d never been chunky but I’d never been thin either—I was a normal girl all through my teenage years. After what happened with my mother though, I lost a good few pounds, and now I was way thinner than I liked. Hopefully my sharing the house with someone who’d remind me to eat would help me regain all the weight I’d involuntarily lost. It’d be nice to finally stop swimming in my own clothes.
“Either you’re staying for a long while or you’re not a light traveler.” He grinned, closing the trunk with a loud thud. “Don’t know what it is with women always needing so much stuff. My wife always packs at least two suitcases for herself, even when we go away for a weekend.”
“I’m moving from Kerry,” I said with a shrug, hoping it would be enough of an explanation for him, and opened the door to get inside. I didn’t really feel like chatting with him right now. I wanted to enjoy the view of the familiar city streets I’d come to learn so well after living here for four years, and get my bearings before I reached what would be my new home.
I gave him the destination and he left the station, plunging into the city traffic. I hadn’t been back since I left Galway two years ago, but so far everything looked just the same as I remembered. We passed the famous Eyre Square and I noticed it was crowded, as usual, with tourists taking pictures and locals strolling along the paths across the trees and manicured flowerbeds. We turned left at the traffic light on the corner of the square, and headed toward the docks. I rolled down the window and breathed in the scent of salt and fish, while seagulls squawked and fought with one another over a fish. The taxi drove across the bridge, and we left the Spanish Arch and the Latin Quarter with all the pubs and shops behind as we headed toward Salthill, where my new home would be.
When the car stopped in front of a two-story brick house in a quiet cul-de-sac, reality finally kicked in. This would be my new home for a while—at least until I had the funds to afford a house for myself or until my landlady and friend, Ciara, decided she’d had enough of having a housemate and kicked me out. Even though I really hoped this wouldn’t be the case. We’d had fun sharing a room back in college; sharing a house, with our own separate rooms, should be even better.
While I was checking out the house and my surroundings, the driver carried my suitcases up the three steps to the front door, and even though I was a little short on money and should be careful not to spend it carelessly, I told him to keep the five-euro change he’d well earned.
I rang the bell, and a second later, footsteps shuffled toward the entrance. The door opened, followed by a shriek, and before I could even say hello I was wrapped in a bone-crushing hug, bouncing up and down in time with my friend.
“It’s so good to see you again, Claire!” Ciara squealed, nearly piercing my eardrums. I’d forgotten how exuberant she was. “I’ve missed being roomie with you—although technically we won’t be sharing a room anymore.” She giggled and flailed her arms, urging me inside.
“Come in. How’s your trip been? Oh, and when did you say your stuff would be arriving?”
I’d also forgotten Ciara talked non-stop. She took a step toward me, lifted my bigger suitcase and groaned.
“Jaisus, are you carrying a dead body inside this suitcase? I thought you said you’d be travelling light, but I guess you were talking about yourself, since you look like you’ve just been freed from a concentration camp. I’ll have to stuff you like a goose!”
I couldn’t help laughing at her statement. Being alone with my mother for the past two years—save for the occasional visits from my aunt—I’d forgotten how good it felt to spend some time with someone so lively and cheerful. I’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh and act like a carefree twenty-three-year-old, living for the moment and not worrying about the future. Moving in with Ciara was going to help me get back on my feet and press the play button for my life that had been in stand-by mode for too long.
“Let me in, and we can catch up over a cup of tea. What do you say?”
“I say, hell yes!” she shouted, fist pumping the air. She moved aside to let me into my new home, and as soon as the door closed with a click, a dog yapped in another room. A moment later a small black and beige fur ball came running toward us.
“And who’s this?” I asked as it stopped by my feet, looking up with his tongue lolling out as if he’d just run a mile. Considering the size of his paws, it might as well have felt like it to the poor pup.
“This is Robbie. My boyfriend gave him to me on Valentine’s Day. He won’t get much bigger than this. He’s a Morkie: half Maltese and half Yorkshire, or something like that.”
I smiled, and stared down at him for a moment. He was rather adorable, and I was sure we’d be best friends before long.
“You’re not allergic or scared, are you? If you are, I could buy him a shed or something and leave him outside if you—”
“No, it’s okay,” I reassured her with a headshake. “I’ve always wanted a puppy, but Mum was allergic to animal fur so we could never have pets. It’ll be nice to finally have one.”
Ciara grinned and picked Robbie up, scratched his tiny head and brought him close to her face.
“He’s a good boy—much cleaner than a man. Aren’t you, baby?” She spoke in a funny voice that people normally used with little children, and I couldn’t help smiling. “And he doesn’t leave the seat up.” She winked, and I laughed—something I hadn’t done in so long it almost felt unnatural now.
“So, Robbie, huh? He’s not by any chance named after Robbie Williams, is he?”
Ciara grinned again. Leave it to her to use the name of her favorite artist for her dog.
With Robbie still clutched to her chest like a teddy bear, Ciara walked down the corridor and I left my suitcases by the stairs on the right, before following her into a nice, modern kitchen, with lacquered burgundy cupboards and a huge double door fridge. Being the kitchen fanatic I was, I was already in love with my new house, and I didn’t care what my bedroom was like if I could cook in such a fantastic kitchen.
“Wow, this is fabulous.”
Ciara switched the kettle on, put Robbie down and turned toward me, beaming.
“It’s quite something, isn’t it? Too bad I’m a terrible cook.” She scrunched up her nose, and I smiled.
“I’d be happy to do the cooking, if you do the dishes instead.”
Ciara nodded and reached out her hand. “Deal.”
We shook and giggled like teenagers, then Ciara showed me where all the kitchen appliances, dishes and cutlery were before we finally sat on the high stools at the kitchen counter with our mugs.
“So how was your trip to Dublin? Did you get everything sorted?”
I nodded and stared at the bright red mug in my hands. After my mother’s funeral in February, I hadn’t really been in the frame of mind to take care of anything other than packing up my life and calling the movers to deliver most of my stuff to Ciara’s house. Once everything in Tralee had been taken care of, including leaving the sale of the house in the capable hands of an estate agent, I’d taken the bus to Dublin and spent a few days with my mother’s sister to sign a few papers and assist in the reading of my mother’s will.
“Mum had already arrang
ed most of the financial and bureaucratic stuff with an old friend of my aunt’s who’s an attorney in Dublin, so it all went rather quick and smooth.” I took a sip of tea, and hoped it would help me swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. My mother had been gone for more than six months now, but I’d been so busy with everything that it had never felt final until the attorney shook my hand and said goodbye. Talking about her made it real—and painful.
“What’s in the suitcase, anyway? It’s so heavy, I’m surprised your arm didn’t get pulled out of the socket while you dragged it behind you.”
I’d forgotten how good Ciara was at reading people. Being a psychology student, she’d always enjoyed using me as her guinea pig when we were college roomies, and I had to admit she was really good. I was sure once she finished her postgraduate studies and became a board-certified psychologist, her patients would love her.
Right now, I was grateful for the way she understood how much it still hurt to talk about it and had deftly changed the subject.
“My aunt insisted on giving me something for my new house,” I said, smiling as I recalled the pride on my aunt’s face when she’d given me my grandmother’s inheritance. “She gave me some linens and stuff my grandmother embroidered. A sort of family legacy to be passed on, from mother to daughter.”
Ciara smiled. “That’s sweet.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Some of it is a little old-fashioned, not something I’d use in my house, but there’s a nice crocheted blanket that’ll come in handy in winter.” I took another sip of the hot drink. It wasn’t that weird to be drinking tea in August, especially not in Galway, where the winds coming from the Atlantic made even a summer sunny day feel cold. “What about you? I take it you’re still dating that guy you met last Christmas? This must be the longest relationship you’ve had so far.”
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