Chantelle Rose is back. She has lived a fairytale. But will she ever get her Happy Ever After?

To find true happiness, she must discover who Robbie and Lionel really are. Their past holds the key to her future…

Her quest follows a trail that takes her to the depths of the Pampas lands of Argentina.

There, the beautiful Valentina awaits – and holds the key.

But who is Valentina? What is the mystery surrounding her?

And why is she so important to both Robbie and Lionel?

Will Chantelle discover the truth? And, more importantly, will she discover her destiny and the fidelity in her own heart?

   

 

PROLOGUE

The sun was setting leaving a golden hue all around, like fairy dust colouring a magical twilight. It would be autumn soon, and the leaves would fall russet and gold onto the ground below. Crisp autumn leaves that would twirl in the wind as they gently fall, to lie motionless on the floor until the wind blew and took them again. Mother Nature would whisper and do with them as she pleased.

He stood there, looking for one last time at the swirling water in front of him, then closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He could hear the water softly splashing as it followed its own path, the wind rustling the leaves and the evening song of a wood-lark nearby. Everything has a calling, everything has a moment, but he was lost. Lost to the enchantment, to the magic of nightfall, lost to her.

            He turned to go, and with a heavy heart made his way back home. He walked this time, blind to the setting sun and the cool breeze that now caressed his whole being, gently blowing back his hair, like a lover tenderly caressing his handsome face as he moved along.

It was over. Downhearted he continued his way home.

Home? Could he call it a home when there was nothing to keep him there? Could there be a home without a heart?

            He stepped through the front door. His mother was waiting for him, and stood quickly on seeing him enter. She wrung her hands together nervously then wiped them down the front of her dress in a habitual gesture of anxiety, stalling for time as she looked at him. He knew he had changed these last few months; the alteration wasn’t physical, it wasn’t even clearly emotional, it went deeper than that. Without a word his mother disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a dust-covered box, a little larger than a shoebox, and handed it over.

            There was no need for words; he guessed what was inside. He nodded and tried to smile. It was time, he realised. Time to find his way, his identity.

            First thing the following morning, before anyone stirred, he departed…