"Not a bad effort - for a girl"

As Mills & Boon enters into an era they will misguidedly describe as their renaissance, the public relation gurus of News Corp. International have found inventive ways to spread the message that their product is no longer for lonely housewives, lonely old ladies and the chronically-demented. While that dependable audience will continue to be catered for, new and lucrative markets are simultaneously being pursued. Modernisation was the buzzword of yesteryear. Now Mills & Boon have moved onto new words, such as realism and contemporariness. The days of colour-coordinated front covers are over, albeit ongoing, and the archetypal characters and chauvinistic plots are being complimented by new novels with subversions of industry standards. Gone are the days when a Mills & Boon book could be described succinctly by the Oxford English Dictionary as, 'a popular romantic novel.' Fans should not panic, however, as the romantic and novel parts of that description remain intact.

For greater insight, who better for the Daily Telegraph to speak to than one of the next generation of authors that have been chosen to bring Harlequin into the near-present. According to trendsetters, popstars are beyond sexuality, social media is a theme, beauty no longer exists and marketing forces dictate that everyone is attractive to everyone all the time. Radhika Sanghani marked the publication of her debut novel with an article for the Daily Telegraph in which she notes how times have indeed changed. Sanghani explains that Mills & Boon are moving away from, 'Chivalrous knights and coy maidens waiting to be deflowered,' and it is about time. Chivalry is dead and virgins haven't been coy since the 1860s. History belongs in the still-very-popular Historical subgenre. As if to prove the many points she has yet to make, Sanghani has entitled her book Virgin. The titular character's presumed modesty is implied.

The move towards progress has been ongoing for three years now, and undertaken naturally, spurred on only by happenstance. For the corporation, a widening of the potential markets saw Mills & Boon aim with a scattershot approach to younger women, teenagers and the intellectually mature who always believed Romance Fiction to be beneath them. The heroines are no longer just innocent ingénues, bakers, secretaries, maidens and Bridget Jones'. Now they are still them, albeit facing greater complexities, including bereavement and infertility. For example, the winner of So You Think You Can Write was notable for concerning a heroine unable to conceive, and the arrogant Sicilian billionaire playboy who seduces her. The new, improved formula has extended beyond competition winners and into the realm of non-competition winners, and has been hinted at, attempted and introduced to readers stealthily over several decades.

Sanghani elaborates, 'Anouska Knight's A Part of Me tells the story of a couple trying to adopt a child. It goes into detail about the role of social workers, and what it means for a woman to be childless, and though there is a romance plot, this comes second to the heroine’s quest to have a child.' It might appear that romance and child-having are mutually-exclusive plotlines, but this is probably inaccurate. What has changed from the standard setup is a twist on how the author prioritises themes. Where once the preference of Romance Fiction was on the romance, the appropriately-dubbed Women's Fiction has placed emphasis on the women. Knight's earlier attempt, Since You’ve Been Gone, is not the novelisation of a Kelly Clarkson song, despite the world's calls for such a thing, but is instead about a young woman’s journey through widowhood. Just when this sounds as if it has strayed too far from the Romance remit, details come to the rescue. 'Admittedly the heroine, Holly Jefferson, is distracted by charming men, but unlike the typical Mills & Boon maidens of old, she’s also focused on her career: a bakery business.'

Moving on, 'Fiona Harper’s The Little Shop of Hopes and Dreams tells the story of a woman, Nicole, who works at an agency where she helps men to stage proposals for their future fiancées. It taps into themes of social media and entrepreneurship, while containing a love story.' The Little Shop of Hopes and Dreams probably shouldn't have been mentioned in a bid to improve the publisher's image. Still, how about Maybe This Christmas by Sarah Morgan? 'A girl marries her childhood sweetheart, after he splits up with the mother of his teenage daughter.' So many questions about the ages of those characters, but doesn't the synopsis have all the trappings of a typical romance? 'It has all the trappings of a typical romance, but also explores issues of bullying.' Perhaps bullying your childhood sweetheart into leaving the mother of his teenage daughter is a suitable opening for a different kind of romance novel, one where the heroine does not care about coming across as likeable. There is almost no need for her hair to frizz on sunny days.

After those less than appealing examples, what about you, Radhika Sanghani, and Virgin? Are there damsels in distress? 'There are no damsels in distress; instead readers meet Ellie Kolstakis, a 21-year-old student who’s desperate to lose her virginity.' After all, just what is the definition of a damsel anyway? While checking the dictionary, aren't desperation and distress synonymous? These are minor quibbles, of course, when compared to the originality of a twenty-something virginal heroine. 'Virginity is, of course, a common Mills & Boon trope, but Ellie doesn’t want to lose it to The One. Unlike a more old-school romance, the novel doesn’t end with true love; instead Ellie finds herself, and she finds feminism.' Old School Mills & Boon authors have argued that Feminism can be found in all life choices, and that includes sacrificing your innocence in exchange for money. Yet, the real issue with Virgin is less its attitude towards sexual politics and more its finale. Can a Mills & Boon novel without a Happy Ever After still call itself a Mills & Boon novel? The answer may be as simple and disappointing as a solitary tear running down the unblemished cheek of a coy maiden.

Surely women's favourite emotion factory will not desert what made them famous, influential and handsomely rich. The company has always been proud of its history, their back catalogue merely a reflection of the decades their books were written in. A move into the crowded marketplace of Young Adult will need a major facelift to remove the out-dated, misogynistic taste from the collective mouths of the readership. Yet, for the most part, Sanghani speaks of necessary alterations to keep up with the times. The focus of the evolution should have been in the quality of the writing, with more ambitious plotlines and richer characterisation. Sanghani does at least appear to be working to improve half of the last one. 'The more passive traditional heroines have been sidelined for stronger, younger women who don’t just want a man, but a fulfilling career, too. Gender roles are reversed in a way that reflects a wider social change.' If there is one direction heroines need to head it is younger. Yet how unrecognisable must Mills & Boon become, and for what purpose?

In Neurosurgeon... and Mum! the novel's heroine yearned for a family and found one, gaining confidence from their love and restarting her career in medicine. MacKenzie's Promise begins with a baby being kidnapped. In The Dad Next Door our lonely heroine inserts herself into a family recovering from divorce and the loss of a child. The author of Accidental Princess kills several families to bring her heroine to the throne. The majority of Romances involve blackmail, prostitution, unwanted pregnancy, arranged marriage, bad weather, office bullying, sexual harassment, gypsies, death and the pressure of arranging the perfect wedding at short notice. Tragedy and the occasional pirate attack are nothing new to the genre Mills & Boon single-handedly invented. Playing catch-up with reality seems an embarrassing failure on the part of the publisher, and yet the company remains dedicated to market whims, if feminism can be considered a whim. The inclusion of difficult subject matter is not a revolutionary idea, but greater complexity and deeper insight would be. Still, how can it be considered escapist fantasy if you have to solve your own problems?

"A woman alone is a deserted temple, full of the echoes of her dreams"

Hidden away rather appropriately at the University of Reading is Boons Mots: An Anthology of Artless Extracts, a fifty-year old pamphlet compiled anonymously by Mills & Boon editors. Highlights include favourite lines from aspiring authors and a letter from Violet Winspear, whose novels include Satan Took a Bride, Bride of Lucifer, Devil in a Silver Room, Dearest Demon, Lucifer's Angel, Darling Infidel, The Passionate Sinner and, just as a pattern appears to emerge, Palace of the Pomegranate. Winspear asks after the future of romance fiction, with questions ranging from the eerily prescient to the timelessly adorable. We may never know what prompted Winspear to write a list so long that lettering it proved myopic, but we may also never know any of the answers.

Much has changed in fifty years, of course, and modern Mills & Boon authors show little interest in the etiquette of bedroom door positioning, but there are several thoughts that require thinking about. As always, into this void steps Bewildered Heart. 'Are the books too long by present day standards?' Violet begins. Whether present day means the historical present of yesteryear when Winspear broached this subject, or the present day of today or the present day of the future when this will be read accidentally by someone searching for Hugh Jackman photographs, romance novels have always been longer than necessary. The formulaic demands of word count do not help and while Winspear offers solutions such as shorter passages of dialogue and cuts to descriptive detail, superficial alterations do not affect the larger problems of form. Nevertheless, was this crusading writer requesting a technical discussion on inherent romance structures, or was she looking for a simple yes or no? Romance novels are shorter than the majority of other genres, and therefore the answer is simple. The books are not too long by present day standards, but should still be shorter, unless extra words would make them more interesting, as well as longer.

Perhaps Violet Winspear wrote her letter seeking statistical proof that many of the archetypes and clichés of Romance actually work. This, after all, is a manifesto asking for permission to revolt. 'Are backgrounds more popular if foreign?' she asked. 'Are heroes more desirable if foreign? Are successful heroes and virtuous heroines passé? Are heroes required to be more ordinary? Are heroines required to be more ordinary? Are established romantic ideas out of date?' As it turned out, a handful of decades later, authors eventually covered every possibility, with local characters, down-to-earth sheikh surgeons and impoverished billionaires all making an entrance to varying degrees of popularity. Given that each book sold an identical number of copies, the Mills & Boon of Winspear's age found a way to avoid measurements of fashion. Nowadays, an in depth undertaking of what sells would be possible had anyone such an inclination.

There is a wider point of Winspear's befuddlement. What is convention? With a product such as Mills & Boon, the designs that have become so universal they are the generic jokes of anti-romance criticism were created not necessarily from readership desire but from a lack of diversity. As the author herself asks, 'Are readers satisfied with the romances? Are readers stating specific requirements? Are readers stating specific dislikes?' Once the publisher begins dictating requirements to their authors based upon the findings of market research creative freedom is diminished and Mills & Boon lose the individual voices it claims to crave. Yet Harlequin is a corporate entity motivated by profit. Original work is heralded and increasingly the company has looked to branch out, creating new imprints for more daring directions.

Despite this, playing to a formula, whether real or imagined, seems safe, especially in light of the victory for Resisting the Sicilian Playboy in the most recent So You Think You Can Write competition. Why Sicilian, modern day versions of Winspear might ask. Are Sicilian playboys that much more appealing to consumers than playboys from less exotic locations? Romance fiction has traditionally tended towards the far away, idealised backdrops of abroad. Thus it has been and the standard has rarely been questioned. New subgenres emerged to allow a move away from the norm.

When it came to offering alternative visions of classic romantic tropes, however, Violet Winspear preferred an innocent damsel in an exotic location. Her heroes were the hunters, hard-muscled, sardonic, rich, frightening and fascinating. She caused outrage when she commented, 'They must be the sort of men who are capable of rape: men it's dangerous to be alone in the room with.' Beneath the cynical exterior, however, her alpha males are lost, lonely and in need of love. Due to this, her heroines are passive creations by comparison, lacking in modern ideals such as self-esteem and sexual awareness. This was partly because of the era, but her novels are marked by old-fashioned attitudes towards sex, contriving plots of kidnap and forcible marriage to relieve the heroine of desire and moral responsibility in choosing to have sex.

Perhaps Winspear saw this as a necessary means to an end. She asks her editor, 'Are we to suppose (our) readers a bit dim?' It seems a worthwhile question and is followed later by Zb, 'Are authors to suppose their readers remain mentally backward?' Assuming that a writer begins their career in romance fiction under this assumption they would be wise to periodically check that they should continue to believe it. The answer then and today, for this question and most of the others is, 'Yes, but they shouldn't.' However Winspear defined mental backwardness is unknown, but it seems unlikely that this is a ringing endorsement of the intelligence of her readership. Mills & Boon novels do not challenge their readers with such demands as complicated sentences, politics, sociology, tension, unpredictability or even lengthy words, but there are powerful cultural undercurrents to what Winspear said and did not say. She wrote seventy novels in a career spanning twenty-seven years. Her books may belong to her time, and Romance has evolved to whatever it is now. Many of queries Winspear asked remain relevant, and continue to be unanswerable.

The type-written page of Boon Mots concludes with an insight into the direction Winspear saw her genre heading. 'Are authors to suppose sex measures maturing romance? Is sex the new name for romance? Are authors permitted to rebel against the above question?' The future played out as expected. In these times no one uses romance as anything other than a euphemism for pornography. Mills & Boon is a gateway to erotica, and the most popular exponents of the sex genre are published only if they contain light bondage as an indication of emotional development. Without regular sex scenes authors and readers have no idea how successfully a courtship is maturing.

Heroes are no longer capable of rape and heroines occasionally dare to be the aggressors, knowing what they want from a man and not being afraid to ask for it in exchange for money. Romance fiction of the 1960 and 1970s would look on forlornly, shaking its head at what has become of revolution. Where are the timid virgins, they would ask? Where are the dominating alpha males exercising control through wealth and masculinity? Why aren't all the novels set on islands in the colonial Dutch East Indies? What is escapist about reality? Romance fiction of the 1960s and 1970s, however, is misguided. Not much has changed, really, the business still caters for all tastes, but a little room has been made at the edges, for those authors who were allowed permission to rebel.

"I concentrate on my bagel"

Due to it being the perfect occasion for a dubious dating decision, Valentine's Day was chosen as the day to release the cinematic adaptation of Fifty Shades of Grey. The adult-only erotic blockbuster has broken box office records, taking $85million dollars in its opening weekend and comfortably knocking the previous erotic blockbuster, The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie: Sponge Out of Water, off the top spot. Christian Grey is all about the money, of course, as well as feeding the world and subjugating women monogamously, but what said the critics and the real critics, members of the public? Receipts in the United States dropped by seventy-five per cent in its second week of release, suggesting word-of-mouth had been unhelpful. Reviews, meanwhile, have been vitriolic, but the filmmakers might have expected this, especially when considering how bad the film they made turned out to be. Despite this drop, the $23.4million earned at the U.S. box office was enough to keep the movie at the top of the charts. Sequels and spin-offs are inevitable and given how abruptly the first film finishes, there should be no doubt that the audience's punishment is far from complete.

Fifty Shades of Grey: The Movie scores a twenty-five per cent approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Early indications suggest this is twenty-five per cent higher than initial predictions. Many critics have praised the film for not being the book, and this appears to be the movie's main strength. The major failings of Fifty Shades of Grey: The Novel were found in the writing of E.L. James. The book was long, the plotting was tedious, the sex scenes were gratuitous, the inner goddess interior monologues were infuriating and the lengthy descriptions of the hero's perfection exhausted the reader's patience. The new and exciting medium of film alleviates these problems by swapping prose for images. Who needs to hear how beautiful Christian Grey is when director Sam Taylor-Wood fills her frames with Jamie Dornan staring intensely at the middle distance, looking all handsome? Who needs to be told of Grey's opulence when behind Jamie Dornan is proof in the form of product placement? Who needs to know what Ana Steele thinks? The screenplay pares down James' five-hundred pages into two hours of moving pictures, thus removing a huge number of offending words. The remaining offending words are still offensive, but there are fewer of them.

In her review for Sight & Sound, Jane Giles begins by listing classic romances. 'Like Cinderella, Bluebeard, Pygmalion or Twilight, (Fifty Shades) is a romantic fantasy and a fairytale, a story of sexual awakening in which the innocent heroine’s inherent strengths allow her to battle monsters, in this case capitalism and a male sexuality twice-warped by childhood abuse and adolescent manipulation.' The critics have joined the filmmakers in the psychological nightmare that is attempting to find subtext in softcore titillation. Capitalism is a monster humankind cannot fight with naïve virgins alone. Still, Ana doesn't so much fight oppressive economic models as she does admire all that they buy and then marries a billionaire for a life of financial comfort. The main antagonist Ana faces, besides the crazed stalkers, ex-girlfriends, parents, college students and mechanical malfunction, is male sexuality. She does this with a straightforward ease most becoming of how women behave in erotic novels. She asks Christian to change, which he does because the narrative requires it. Then she asks him to change again, in much the same way as before, except this time he refuses, again because the narrative requires it.

Critics have noted that the filmmakers were constricted by the source material and the author's sway over all elements of the process. Giles admits, 'One suspects that Taylor-Johnson was never free even to push at the edges of sexual representation, and the film’s lack of explicit imagery and grit is one of its disappointments.' Following a similar conclusion Margot Harrison at Seven Days noted, 'A more adventurous writer and director could have turned this twisted fairy tale into a full-fledged surreal fantasy, using its inconsistencies as assets. But James, who wielded considerable control over this production, surely wouldn't have given her OK to such escapades.' E.L. James is not solely to blame for wanting the film adaptation of her novel to have similarities with what she wrote. Audiences, too, were keen that their favourite scenes were loyally translated to the big screen. Had a writing team featuring Kelly Marcel, Patrick Marber and James herself deviated from the source material, changing characters or cutting those long, redundant sequences that readers loved, the disapproval of the viewers would have been felt in box-office figures. Fortunately, Taylor-Wood stayed true to that classic scene where Ana sits at her new laptop and tries to think of something clever to write.

Speaking of which, for there to be cheap sex there must be alternatives in terms of price; expensive, modest, reasonable, bargain. There are possibly others. Fifty Shades of Grey falls across categories. On the one hand, it is sleazy exploitation, but that hand is gloved in decadence as designed by Armani. This presents an unobtainable vision of beauty and affluence to an audience just wanting to be aroused by an acceptable pornographification of status. To the uninitiated Fifty Shades may appear to be a subversive twist on the fairytale romance between prince and pauper, but it instead belongs to the Solicititilation tales of Mills & Boon. Ana refuses money from her lover-cum-owner, and his extravagant gifts are considered loans. She does not want Christian for his wealth and life of luxury, preferring to pretend there is her ideal man behind the emotional sterility and violence. His violence is not real violence, of course, but rather the fluffy kind of subjugation that is both pleasurable and sensitively-undertaken. Ana concludes her story victorious, married to the billionaire and with all the beauty and affluence that entails.

When an example of female empowerment is offered, where better to look for insightful critique than Playboy magazine? Stephen Rebello has few kind words. 'This gift to the world of schlock cinema tries valiantly to elevate the Twilight fan fiction-inspired source material to a level of melodrama worthy of ‘60s stuff like A Summer Place or Strangers When We Meet. It sometimes succeeds but just as often it sloshes around in a bubble bath of high camp a la 9 ½ Weeks.' Despite this less than impressive beginning, Rebello does admit that there are positives to be found in the glossy, fetishistic look of a perfume commercial, the film's lurid convictions and fifteen minutes of sex scenes so timid no one should be forced to shift awkwardly in front of confounded grandparents. 'The plot is as simple as its sexual politics are muddled,' he adds. Readers might have assumed this from their memories of reading, but fans of Romance fiction who missed Fifty Shades will assume this as well.

As to be expected from a Playboy article, the review ends a criticism that could just as easily be thrown back in its direction, with the sexes reversed. 'It floats in a female wish-fulfilment world of ridiculously handsome, chiseled dudes so engorged with desire that they whisk away average-looking virgins on their self-piloted private jets to their lavish penthouses featuring walk-in closets the size of Texas, drawers lined with an endless assortment of grey silk ties and, just for fun, a secret torture chamber.' Nothing says female wish-fulfilment quite like a lack of colour in decorative accessories, and yet, as we all know, there are only fifty shades of grey tie and that hardly constitutes an endless assortment. Despite this oversight, Rebello's review is consistent with those who have felt the need to weigh in on Fifty Shades. The overwhelming critical disdain was written resignedly, as nothing would stop the money train from pulling into every station. The Turner prize-winning director, the Academy Award-nominated co-scribe and the Oscar-winning producers combined their high-brow credentials for the veneer of artistic credibility, but their movie was always going to escape the box-office poison of expert opinion.

“Don’t you dare speak about the man I love that way”

The winner of So You Think You Can Write was announced shortly after contestants had submitted their entries. The champion was none other than the most predictable, Resisting the Sicilian Playboy by Amanda Cinelli. Nothing says Mills & Boon quite like a handsome tycoon overcoming resistance through a combination of handsomeness, money and strength, and the judges agreed. All those underwhelming rip-offs of Sleeping with the Enemy were no match for an underwhelming rip-off of everything Mills & Boon has ever published. For her part in the success, Cinelli receives the bounty of victory, which culminated in having her novel published on Valentine's Day 2015. Therefore Bewildered Hearts should look out for Resisting the Sicilian Playboy on bookshelves near them, taking pride of place among such titles as The Silician's Innocent Mistress, Love Slave to the Sicilian Billionaire, Bought for the Sicilian Billionaire's Bed, Captive at the Sicilian Billionaire's Command, Resisting the Billionaire, Bedded by the Italian Playboy and What the Greek Can't Resist.

The novel is available, in exchange for a modest fee, for all those who didn't manage to read it when it was free to download on the So You Think You Can Write website. The pitch introduced us to the characters and then to the plot, but the book itself tells a similar story with an equally predictable conclusion, albeit with thousands of extra and unnecessary words. Leo Valente is notorious among readers of tabloids, although the cause of his infamy is left vague. Still, wedding planner Dara Devlin needs his family estate for her client. Leo has only one request, that Dara work for him, as his entertainment-consultant and girlfriend. She accepts, as wedding planners are fearless pioneers willing to risk anything for the perfect wedding plan. What follows is largely guessable from the title, a playboy, an exotic location and some resistance. Dara's occupation suggests wedding planning, which leads us to assume the novel will end with a wedding in an exotic location.

The first chapter begins suitably enough with product placement and a heroine straddling a balcony ledge of a Milanese nightclub. Quickly come the Chick-lit asides that display a misunderstanding of how to wear footwear, 'A woman stood by her shoes, no matter how sticky the situation.' Dara is a woman only a sidestep away from being fully dressed, but there are bigger problems to deal with. Originally from Ireland, based in Syracuse and taking frequent trips to the mainland, Dara knows a thing or two about going the extra distance. Yet her latest assignment has been a series of failures. Desperation pushes her into a foolish plan, which she organises pedantically into three stages. Firstly, she must break into Platinum 1, which is either reopening or celebrating its ten year anniversary, Cinelli changes her mind. Secondly, she must find the owner, Italy's most beloved playboy Leo Valente. Thirdly, she must convince him of something. Her plan is both foiled and achieved when Leo finds her scaling a glass wall.

Leo Valente is not your standard sort of enigmatic hero. His hair is slightly askew. His eyelashes are overgrown. He has stubble. His gaze is smouldering. His voice sounds like silk, were silk able to make noise. His eyes are a unique shade of dark forest green. His chest is quite hairy. Despite these physical imperfections, he does at least have unresolved father issues. Herein lies the crux of the novel. Dara wishes to use his Sicilian castle for the wedding of Portia Palmer, the most famous English actress Ireland has ever produced, and requires Leonardo's permission. Leo has no interest in being reminded of another piece of property he owns, because this one just happens to be a metaphor for his arrogance and intimacy issues. Dara and Leo must wrestle for control of a metaphorical building that is also a building, only then will they be able to live happily ever after in the metaphorical building that has changed its metaphorical representation from his emotional aloofness to their empathetic love.

Leo has furnished the opulent Castello Bellamo with haunting memories. This explains Cinelli's follow-up prequel, The Sicilian Playboy's Incompetent Interior Decorator. Meanwhile, in the present, our titular playboy is a troubled man without paint or photographs of nice things. His father's ruthless business actions have alienated him from his homeland, the fictional town of Monterocca. At this moment, a beautiful blonde breaks into his private floor and offers him several opportunities. After all, she is on first name terms with Mr. Umberto and Mrs. Gianni Lucchesi, despite Gianni changing her name to Gloria halfway through the novel to avoid confusion when a man named Gianni Marcello turns up. With her reputation bolstered by the approval of potentially important characters, Leo realises that Dara's plans could repair his broken image among the poverty-stricken yokels of Sicily. More fundamental to life than business, family, island economy and identity, of course, is a visible bra strap. Leo and Dara have gone so long without sex the only thing they need to have sex is each other. This seems sure to happen, but a phone call interrupts their conversation and the first chapter ends abruptly, without much of a story to show for itself. Fortunately for those still interested, the second chapter soon follows and ends within a few sentences.

In the third chapter, Leo takes Dara to his favourite restaurant in Milan, known for its magic coffee cups. They talk for pages about their personalities and readers are well-advised to skip over this sequence. From there they head to the party Leo has asked Dara to organise in the few minutes between courses. Her skills at uniform designing and party-guest-separating impress Leo, who until meeting Dara had only hired inanimate objects to do his thinking for him. Yet Leo does not want Dara for her meticulous eye for detail, although he does also want her for that. No, Leo wants Dara to be his fake girlfriend, and not just any fake girlfriend, but a fake girlfriend he can have sex with and treat much like a real girlfriend. Why not just ask her to be his real girlfriend if he always intended on seducing her? Such are the vagaries of the Sicilian playboy. Still, a game is afoot. Can Dara resist? Will Dara's femininity melt Leo's heart and allow him to open up to estranged family members? Will Leo be disgusted by Dara's premature menopause or will his love prove to Dara her only physical flaw need not be an impediment to happiness? Will the wedding of the century go off smoothly, making Dara's career and allowing her to plan the weddings of whatever minor brittish royalty is?

For those wishing to read the completed manuscript, this can be achieved in the usual variety of manners. However, for those who prefer their books with all the grammatical mistakes and continuity errors left in, the winning draft submitted by Cinelli remains available online. Unlike many of entries Resisting the Sicilian Playboy defeated in the competition, its title was considered suitable enough to be retained. How much has changed in the few months Harlequin editors had to work with Cinelli can only be known by reading both original and published stories. This seems unnecessary punishment, even for those driven by an insatiable curiosity. Resisting the Sicilian Playboy is indistinguishable from the usual fare of the Modern subgenre. The indefinable certain-something that Mills & Boon look for and believe they found in Cinelli is nothing more than marketability.