His Very Convenient Bride

by Sophie Pembroke

  ‘No working on honeymoon,’ she said, plucking the phone from his hand and dropping it into her ridiculously large straw bag.

  Gia’s face tensed behind Helena. Flynn suspected she’d seen this between guests before, and that it didn’t always end well. Except he and Helena weren’t most guests, were they?

  ‘I hope you can find that again in there,’ he said mildly. ‘It’s got all the rest of our honeymoon activities scheduled on it.’

  ‘All of them?’ Helena asked with arched brows, and Gia laughed.

  ‘Perhaps not all,’ Flynn allowed.

  ‘Good.’ Helena twirled back to face Gia. ‘Because I might have one or two surprises to add to it.’

  Flynn’s body tightened, just a little, at the warmth and promise in her voice that had been so absent the last few days, and he took a moment before following the women along the path. Maybe he’d plan a few surprises for Helena, too. The moment he had that contract signed.

  Gia ended their tour right back where they had begun—at the back door to the farmhouse. Flynn wasn’t sure if he’d learned very much about growing grapevines, but he was certainly ready for the wine-tasting.

  As Gia opened the door to let them back into the kitchen, a man’s voice floated out over a babble of childish nonsense. ‘Trust me, baba, you won’t like that one.’

  ‘Is he after the salami or the wine today?’ Laughing, Gia crossed the kitchen to give both man and baby a kiss on the cheek. ‘Helena, Flynn. This is my husband, Roberto, and our son, Casper.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Flynn said, glancing over at Helena. She stood, mesmerised by the child, her lower lip trapped between her teeth. Was she thinking of the child they might have soon? He hoped so. ‘I’m Flynn Ashton, and this is my wife, Helena.’

  Breaking her reverie, Helena smiled suddenly and waved at Casper. ‘Hi.’

  ‘We’ll get out of your way now,’ Roberto said. ‘Everything should be set out. We’d have left already if somebody hadn’t got a little hungry.’ He held up a small bowl with some fresh fruit cut into baby-sized pieces. ‘Come on, Casper. Let’s see what birds we can spot from the terrace today.’

  As Roberto and the baby wandered back out again, Gia watched them go. They were a nice family, Flynn thought. Obviously working together to keep everything—childcare and wine-making—running smoothly. He admired that.

  He wanted that for himself. He’d discussed it with Thea, of course, although he’d planned to do so in greater detail after the wedding. He didn’t want a wife waiting at home for him, organising parties and social events while sending her children off to boarding school, the way Isabella had done. He wanted a family where every member belonged and felt at home.

  Watching Helena in the sunlight, he’d almost been able to picture it—more so even than he’d ever managed with Thea. It was possible, he thought with a smile, that losing his fiancée on his wedding day might turn out to be the best possible thing for his future. Whatever Helena said about their union being temporary, if they wanted, her behaviour said otherwise. If she didn’t intend for it to last, why would she have accosted him in that negligee on their wedding night? No, Helena wanted this to work as much as he did—seeing her staring at the baby only confirmed that for him.

  They’d talk, just as he planned. Maybe over lunch. Once she understood what this marriage meant to him, the contract negotiations were bound to go more smoothly. And then they could get on with properly enjoying the honeymoon.

  He smiled again at the thought, before realising that Helena had already sat down at the tasting table and Gia was pouring their first wines. He slipped into the seat beside his wife and thought, just for a moment, about taking her hand.

  But when he looked across, he saw a frown line marring her forehead and realised that the sunny, happy, teasing Helena he’d admired outside had gone—and he had no idea what had changed.

  But he planned to find out.

  * * *

  Helena barely remembered anything from their tasting, later. She hoped she’d nodded in the right places, and said the right things, but she had no real idea. Flynn hadn’t said anything, so perhaps she’d managed to keep up the show. To pretend that everything was fine and normal. That seeing Casper hadn’t sent her mind spiralling back eight years.

  Normally she was better at this—at being around babies and children. But today, with Flynn there beside her, a hopeful look in his eyes...all she’d been able to think about was the baby girl she’d given away.

  Eventually, Flynn checked his watch and gave Gia an apologetic smile. ‘This has been absolutely fascinating. Thank you so much for taking the time to show us around, and letting us taste your wonderful wines.’

  ‘It’s been my pleasure,’ Gia said, beaming.

  Roberto and Casper came out to wave them off and Helena tried to ignore the tug that still pulled at her middle, even after all these years. Instead, she plastered on a smile as she waved back then got into the car.

  As the driver pulled away from the farmhouse, Helena handed Flynn back his phone, tipped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. But her mind still filled with babies.

  Casper was a beautiful child, she thought, remembering his pudgy fingers clenched around a piece of apple, and his big brown eyes under dark curls. Nothing at all like the girl she’d given away eight long years ago, with her fine, pale baby down on her head and her unfocused blue eyes. There was no reason for him to remind Helena of her own child, except that every baby she saw did.

  Probably always would, she’d realised by now.

  But the life her daughter lived...she hoped that was like Casper’s. Happy and full of family and laughter in a way it never could have been if Helena had kept her.

  She’d done the right thing, however much it hurt. And sometimes that was all she could cling on to.

  Squeezing her eyes tighter for a moment, willing away any tears, any signs of weakness, Helena tucked away all those feelings, all the regrets and what-ifs that rose up when she least wanted them, and returned to the present day. To her husband. Blinking a few times, she watched the Tuscan countryside flashing past the car window, all greens and reds and yellows and bright, bright blues.

  How could she be sad when the world around her was so beautiful?

  Composed again, she twisted in her seat to look at Flynn. He was engrossed in his phone screen so she gave it a few moments before clearing her throat. Still nothing.

  ‘Where are we going for lunch?’ she asked.

  ‘Hmm?’ Flynn’s head moved as if he were paying her his full attention, but his gaze remained attached to the screen in front of him. Helena almost laughed, but decided not to encourage him.

  Instead, she snatched the phone from his hand again and selected his calendar app. ‘Let’s see...’

  Flynn’s fingers closed over the screen, warm against her own hand. ‘I thought you wanted spontaneity and surprises with your romance.’

  ‘Not when you already planned it. Or your PA did.’

  ‘It’s a surprise to both of us that way,’ Flynn pointed out.

  Helena rolled her eyes. ‘I really don’t think you understand spontaneity.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now anyway,’ Flynn said, taking the phone from her and tucking it in his top pocket as the car slowed to a stop. ‘We’re here.’

  She’d known she wasn’t getting that phone back.

  The driver opened her car door and Helena stepped out into the sunshine again, her head a little heavy from the drive and the wine-tasting. The trattoria they’d arrived at looked almost like someone’s house, with its beautiful window boxes overflowing with flowers and the painted shutters thrown open. Helena spun slowly around to take in the view; nothing but fields and sunshine for miles, and the glint of a village a few miles down the road.

 
‘You like it?’ Flynn asked. He’d put on his sunglasses and Helena wished she could see his eyes. Surely even he had to admire the romance of a place like this.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ This was the sort of place she could imagine living—or at least designing. Nothing quite as grand as the villa they’d borrowed for the wedding, but cosy and homely and filled with good food and red flowers. It wasn’t just beautiful; it was perfect.

  ‘Then let’s go in.’ Flynn held his hand out to her and, after staring at it for a moment, Helena took it. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, if it was a planned or spontaneous gesture. Either way, his hand felt warm and right in hers, so she decided not to ask.

  Inside, parts of the restaurant’s stone walls had been left bare, while others had been plastered and painted a creamy white that reflected the sunlight. Helena smiled at the happy mix of rustic and modern, finished with bright blooms in hand-blown glass vases, crisp table linen and an oversized clock hanging over the stone fireplace.

  It was almost exactly how she’d have chosen to decorate it, given the chance.

  They were shown to their table by an olive-skinned Italian girl in a neat black and white uniform. It wasn’t a huge place—the ground floor had been mostly knocked through to make a large dining area, with the kitchen added on at the back of the house, as far as Helena could tell. Still, the fact that almost every other table was already occupied, considering such an out of the way location, gave Helena great hopes for the quality of the food. Despite the bread and antipasti she’d enjoyed at Gia’s vineyard, her stomach started to rumble.

  ‘What are you in the mood for?’ Flynn asked as Helena cracked open the menu.

  ‘Everything,’ she answered, feasting on the lists of dishes printed on creamy paper in front of her. There was just the right amount of choice, she decided. Not too much, or it became impossible to decide, but enough that she felt she could consider each dish individually before picking her absolute favourite.

  Flynn laughed. ‘You like food, don’t you?’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ The only question was: did she feel in the mood for meat or fish? And should they have a separate pasta course or just starters and mains? She reached for an olive from the bowl on the table between them to help her think. ‘Everyone needs to eat.’

  ‘Yes, but for some people it’s just fuel. You really enjoy it.’

  Helena glanced up to find his gaze settled on her, as if she were something to be studied, catalogued and understood. It was unnerving. But then, didn’t she want to do the same to him? Understand where he came from, and where they were going? Maybe Flynn’s thoughts had followed a similar thread, in which case the rest of the meal might go easier than she’d expected.

  Closing the menu—she was settled on the porcetta anyway—Helena returned Flynn’s interested gaze.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Do you cook? Or do you survive on takeaway Chinese like Thea when she’s working?’

  ‘I cook.’ Flynn settled back in his chair. He hadn’t even looked at the menu, she realised. ‘Not often, but I can when the mood strikes me. I like eating fresh.’

  ‘Me too. Fresh and in season always tastes better than pre-packaged.’ She flashed him a grin. ‘So, we do have some things in common, then. That’s good.’

  ‘It is,’ Flynn agreed. ‘But really, given our families, I never doubted we’d find some common ground.’

  Helena gave a slight shrug. ‘I don’t know. I never really felt like a typical Morrison, not like Thea. I mean, I didn’t go into the family business or anything.’

  ‘No, but you grew up with the same expectations and weight of that family name,’ Flynn said, more insightfully than she’d expected.

  ‘And you grew up with those of the Ashton name.’

  ‘Not really.’

  A waiter approached before she could ask him to elaborate. Flynn ordered them wine, then asked for recommendations for food and ordered them without ever opening the menu, which Helena respected. For herself, she took the suggestion of risotto alla Milanese to start, but stuck with her porcetta for the main course.

  As soon as the waiter had cleared the table, though, Helena pressed the point. ‘What do you mean—not really?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Flynn had his phone out of his pocket again, but placed it face down on the table when she spoke.

  ‘You said “not really” when I talked about you growing up with the expectations of the Ashton name. What did you mean?’

  Flynn shrugged. ‘Just the obvious. I’m not a real Ashton.’

  ‘Of course you are! I mean, I know your father...’ She trailed off. How exactly could she describe the way Ezekiel Ashton treated his sons? ‘I know he wasn’t always exactly even-handed with you and Zeke.’

  ‘You mean he played us off against each other.’ Flynn’s voice was still even, but he stabbed at the nearest olive rather forcefully with the little stick. ‘I know exactly why he gave me the job that was always promised to Zeke when I graduated. He wanted Zeke to have to fight me for it.’

  ‘Except Zeke left instead.’

  ‘And I stayed.’ Another olive suffered a violent and pointy end.

  ‘Why?’ She’d wondered before, of course. Not originally, but ever since Zeke came back. She’d never got the full story, although she suspected Thea had. But either way, what had happened between Zeke and their father had influenced Flynn’s life hugely. If she wanted to understand her husband, she had to understand that.

  Flynn paused, a poor, defenceless olive halfway to his mouth. ‘Where else would I go?’

  ‘Anywhere, I suppose. Zeke did.’

  ‘No. I...owed my father. Whatever else he did, and whatever his reasons, he took me in and gave me a home and a future when my real parents offered me neither.’ A chill settled around Helena’s heart at his words. ‘I always knew that my place would be working at Morrison-Ashton, wherever I could be of most use.’

  ‘You don’t...’ Helena swallowed, imagining a younger version of Flynn, always so neat and sensible and kind. Was it all because of a sense of debt? Had his adoption really coloured his whole life that way?

  Had her daughter’s?

  And how would Flynn react when he found out about her past?

  ‘You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your own life and happiness to the company, though,’ she managed in the end. ‘Wasn’t there ever anything else you wanted to do?’

  Flynn shrugged. ‘I never really considered it.’

  ‘That’s...that’s awful.’

  With a gentle smile, Flynn shook his head. ‘Not really. Finding a place at the company...that was always the key for me, the way to assure my place in the family, too. But, in the end, that wasn’t enough. Even Zeke turning the CEO role over to me... Our father had spent so long making it clear that it was meant for Zeke, that it had to stay in the family, it wouldn’t have been enough.’ He looked up and met her eyes, and Helena felt the warmth from them before he took her hand between his. ‘You made it possible for me to be a part of the family. Marrying you...you have given me the place I always wanted. And I need you to keep it.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THOSE BLUEBELL EYES were so very wide Flynn wondered if he might have pushed too far. But it was important that Helena understood exactly how serious he was about making this marriage work, even if it meant partially explaining why.

  He didn’t want her pity, or to spill his bleeding heart story all over her. But if they were going to make a future as husband and wife, she had to know him. As he needed to know her, he supposed. And, after today, he hoped he was getting closer to that.

  ‘Look. Zeke gave me the position that was always meant to be his, and our father had to accept that. I don’t expect him to like it, ever, but it is now a fact. Before long there’ll be contracts—’

  ‘An
d we all know that paperwork is king,’ Helena interjected, a wry smile on her lips.

  ‘Indeed. The world has changed now, and so has the company. I want to be...worthy of that. I want to use this opportunity to bring Morrison-Ashton fully into the twenty-first century, build it up to even greater heights. I want to make our fathers proud. I want to make my wife proud.’

  She glanced away at that, but her fingers tightened around his just for a moment. Almost, Flynn thought. He almost had her, and all he’d had to do was tell the truth.

  ‘You’ve got it all planned out,’ she murmured.

  ‘I like to know where I’m going,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I find it helps make up for never knowing where I came from.’

  Her eyes widened, and her gaze fixed on his face. ‘Do you really feel that?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ Flynn frowned a little. ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just...’ She took a breath, and he could almost see her trying to calm herself. But why? His adoption had never been a secret and, living as closely as their families had, none of this could really be considered a surprise. ‘I always knew you were adopted, and I realised before I was very old that it made Ezekiel treat you differently. But you were always one of the family to me—to us. Even to Isabella, I think. And Zeke...’

  ‘I’ve made my peace with Zeke,’ Flynn said, remembering the last conversation he’d had with his brother before he left. Before he took Flynn’s bride with him.

  ‘Even now?’

  ‘Especially now.’ He stroked the back of her hand lightly, just enough to remind her that they were connected now. ‘Zeke didn’t take Thea; she chose to go. And yes, that might not have been in my plan. But, as a result, I got to marry a beautiful, bright, wonderful woman. One who always considered me family, which means more than you can know. Trust me, I’m happy with how things turned out.’