by Nina Milne
‘Well, they were an item. My father loved her and she threw him over in favour of royalty.’ Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the anger from her voice. ‘Broke his heart.’ Thus doomed his marriage to her mother from the outset. ‘In return for the crown jewels.’
Now anger zig-zagged in his grey eyes; his hands were clenched and she could see the effort it took him to unfurl his fingers. ‘My mother was not a gold-digger.’
‘Then why did she marry Alphonse?’
‘According to Roberto Bianchi because Roberto persuaded her into it—he saw it as a grand alliance, believed she would make a great princess, and he wanted to scotch the romance between her and your father. Partly because of their social disparity, partly because your father was already engaged.’
‘She didn’t have to agree.’
‘No, she didn’t. But she didn’t agree for the money or the prestige. She wasn’t like that.’
His tone brooked no argument and his eyes were shaded with so much emotion that she stilled in her chair even as her own emotions were in tumult inside her.
Part of her wanted to howl, How do you know that? But she bit the words back. Stefan had the right to hold a rose-coloured vision of his mother, but Holly had no wish to share it. Her childhood had been blighted by Eloise; she had been the reason for acrimony, slammed doors and misery. So Holly had no wish to hear any defence of the woman who had doomed her parents’ marriage. The only thing that might have salvaged it was a son. When that hadn’t happened the bitterness had continued for eight years of Holly’s life. Until Eloise had left Lycander; soon after that her mother had walked out.
‘I know what you want to do, Thomas. You want to follow her. You never got over a woman who rejected you, treated you like the dirt beneath her designer shoes.’
Her mother’s voice had been full of weary venom and Holly had put her hands over her ears in a familiar futile attempt to block it out.
‘Go if you wish. But I will not be here when you come back, rejected again. I have had enough. We could have been happy if you could have returned my love.’
‘I always told you, Angela, that our marriage would not be one of love; it would be one of duty.’
‘And it could have been happy if you had been able to let go of her, given us a chance.’
‘I could say the same to you.’
That had been her father’s weary voice.
‘Would you have loved me if I’d given you a son?’
‘Perhaps I would have cared for you more if you could have shown love to our daughter.’
‘What does she have that I don’t? Why do you love her when you can’t love me?’
‘She is my daughter—my flesh and blood. How can I not love her? Her gender isn’t her fault.’
Holly had pulled the blanket over her head then—variations of that conversation had been played out so many times. But that time there had been a different end: the next day her mother had packed her bags and gone. All because of Eloise.
Holly tore off a minute piece of croissant, glanced down at it, rolled it between her fingers and told herself that none of that was Stefan’s fault. Or his business.
‘Perhaps we need to focus on the here and now. I believe my father has complicated feelings about this marriage because of who you are, but he understands the role he needs to play and he has explained the will to the staff and workers and told them the same story we’re telling the world. All we need to do today is reassure everyone that nothing will change—that their jobs are safe.’
Stefan studied her for a moment, then nodded tersely. ‘Understood. Let’s get this show on the road.’
The journey to Il Boschetto di Sole was achieved in silence—a silence that contained a spikiness that neither of them broached or breached. The memories evoked by mention of Eloise swirled in Holly’s mind in an unsettling whirlwind, and worry surfaced about her father’s state of mind and whether all this would impact his physical health.
The car slowed as they approached their destination. Further memories floated into its interior as she rolled the tinted window down so the fragrance of lemon could waft in. The familiarity of the scent soothed her, calling up images of the beauty of the lemon grove, reminding her of times tagging along at her father’s heels, racing through the fields of trees, watching in fascination as the lemons were harvested, loving the tart hit of the juice.
But there had been other, less salubrious times. Despair at her mother’s treatment of her counterbalanced by gratitude for her father’s kindness. The fairy tale of falling in love with Graham and the pain of the betrayal that had followed. Somehow now only the pain felt real, because the happy times with Graham had been nothing but an illusion.
A glance at Stefan and she saw his look of concentration, the way his eyes were scanning the surroundings as though in search of something. Perhaps it was an attempt to picture his mother, the girl she’d once been, the young woman who had apparently spent happy times here. Eloise. His mother. Her nemesis.
Sudden guilt ran over her—she hadn’t even given him a chance to talk about Eloise. Eloise had left Lycander when Stefan had been a child—whatever her shortcomings, that must have hit him hard. Lord knew she could sympathise with that.
Almost without meaning to she moved a little closer to him. ‘There are people here who will remember your mother,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll make sure I introduce you. If you want.’
There was a pause. His grey eyes seemed to look into the distance, perhaps into the past, and then he nodded. ‘Thank you. I’d like that. And Holly...?’
‘Yes.’
Reaching out, he took her hand in his. ‘About earlier. Whatever happened between your father and my mother all those years ago it sounds like your father ended up hurt, and I’m sorry for that. I truly believe my mother acted as she thought best, but I accept I can’t know how it all went down.’
Neither could she. The realisation was ridiculously shocking. In truth, all she had was her own interpretation of her parents’ viewpoints. Eloise could never put her side forward now.
The car arrived on the gravelled driveway and Holly saw that the entire staff had congregated to greet them. Embarrassment tinted her cheeks. ‘Sorry... I wasn’t expecting this.’
‘No worries. It’s good practice. In a few weeks we’ll be on show for the world en route to the altar.’
‘That makes me feel heaps better.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ Stefan smiled, and all of a sudden, against all logic, she did feel better.
Franco opened the door and she climbed out, saw her father at the head of the group and ran forward.
‘Papa.’ Anxiety touched her—Thomas looked older than when she’d seen him a couple of months before. ‘Are you taking your medicine?’ She made sure she kept her voice low and the smile on her face.
‘Of course. You must not worry. The past days have been very emotional, that is all. That the Romanos will own part of this... That you are marrying Prince Stefan... It is a lot to take in.’
‘The marriage is for one year only, Papa. You do understand that?’
Worry began to seep in along with her sense of guilt. Thomas looked thinner, even his face was gaunter than a year before. She shouldn’t have run to London. Since her mother had left she had looked after her father—made sure he ate, took the medication he needed to manage his heart condition. Provided he followed all advice the doctors were confident he could go on for many years. But had he been following the advice?
‘Of course I do. Now, let us move on. Introduce me.’
Stefan moved forward, his hand held out, and the older man took it. ‘Welcome, Your Highness,’ he said, his voice full of dignity.
‘Please call me Stefan. It is good to meet you, sir.’
‘You too, Stefan.’
For a long moment grey eyes met blue, and Holly
felt a jolt of something akin to her jealousy of years before. Was her father looking at Stefan and thinking of what might have been? That this was the son he might have had with Eloise? Was he wishing Holly away?
Stop. That way led madness.
‘I thought you might like a tour.’
‘Very much so.’
Thomas stepped back and smiled, though Holly could see the strain in his eyes. ‘I think it would be fitting if Holly shows you round. Soon this land will belong to the two of you.’
‘I told you, Papa. It will belong to you.’
‘It will belong to our family.’ He turned to Stefan. ‘When you are done come and join me for a drink and I will answer any questions you may have. And of course feel free to ask anyone whatever you wish.’
With that he turned and headed towards the house. Holly submerged her anxiety, tried to quell the worries, suspecting that her father was overcome with emotion because the sight of Stefan had triggered memories of the past, of wandering round Il Boschetto di Sole with Eloise.
Later. She would speak with him later. Now it was all about Stefan and the creation of a good impression. Soon some of these employees would work for Stefan—men and women Holly had grown up with, people who had looked out for her and after her. Others she knew less well...a couple were new faces completely. But to a degree she held the responsibility for their well-being, and the idea was both scary and challenging.
She started the round of introductions, then stood back to allow the staff to assess Stefan, watching with mixed emotions as their wariness and in some cases suspicions thawed as they spoke with him. Stefan was courteous without being fawning, and best of all he seemed genuine.
When he spoke to each individual he listened and focused his attention on that person, which allowed Holly to observe him. The way he tipped his head very slightly to the left as he concentrated, the glint of the autumn sun on his dark hair, the strong curve of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze, the firm line of his mouth, the contained power of his body.
‘I have a lot to learn,’ he said, once he had spoken with everyone. ‘But I’ll do my best to be a willing pupil. I want to get to know Il Boschetto di Sole, to understand how it works.’
Once the employees had dispersed Holly looked at him in query. ‘Did you mean that?’
‘If I am going to own it then I accept the responsibilities that go with it. Now, how about that tour?’
* * *
Five minutes later Stefan followed Holly through a mosaic paved courtyard and up a steep flight of drystone stairs cut into the mountainside. He came to a standstill as he gazed out at the panorama of terraced areas that positively burst with lemon trees, the fruit so bright, the fragrance so intense that he felt dizzy.
‘This is...incredible.’
For a strange instant the whole moment transcended time and he could almost picture his mother here, walking amongst the trees, inhaling the scent, lost in dreams of a happy future.
Next to him Holly too had stilled, perhaps reliving memories of her own childhood. Then she grinned up at him, as if pleased that he shared her appreciation of the vista.
‘It’s pretty cool, yes? This is the last couple of months of harvest; some people say the lemons are at their best earlier, but I reckon these are damned good. Come and try one.’
She wended her way through the trees, surveyed each and every one, finally decided on the lemon she wanted, reached up and plucked it. His eyes didn’t waver from her, absorbed in the lithe grace with which she moved, the way her floral skirt caught the breeze, her unconscious poise and elegance as she turned and handed him the fruit.
‘Just peel it and taste!’
The fruit was surprisingly easy to peel, the burst of scent tart and refreshing, and as he divided it into segments and popped one into his mouth he raised his brows in surprise. ‘I thought it would be more bitter.’
Holly shook her head. ‘It’s what makes our lemons stand apart; their taste is unique—tart with a layer of sweetness.’
He handed over a segment to her, felt a sudden jolt as his fingers, sticky with juice, touched hers. He watched as she raised it to her mouth and rubbed it over her lips.
‘And the texture is pretty amazing too; they stay firm for longer. That’s why—’
His gaze snagged on the luscious softness of her parted lips and suddenly all his senses were heightened. The taste of the lemon lingered on his taste buds with exquisite sharpness, the trees took on an even more intense hue; the noise of a circling bird was preternaturally loud. Holly had broken off, her blue eyes had widened, and he forced himself to snap out of it. Before he did something foolish...like kiss her.
‘Why what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes, it does.’ Shaking away the tendrils of desire, he realised it did matter. ‘Come on. I’m really interested.’
She shrugged, continued to walk through the tree-lined area. ‘That’s why I believe we should focus on a different aspect of the business.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, at the moment we stock the majority of Lycandrian supermarkets and we have a pretty successful export market. All of which is great. But—’
Again she broke off and he came to a halt. ‘Go on.’
‘I want to make it more...personal. I’d like to install a factory. Make products with the lemons ourselves. We could make lemonade, cakes... There are Romano recipes going back generations. My grandmother made the best lemon cake in Europe! And there are other dishes as well—really amazing ones. Lemon chutneys and jams... And I’d like to do tours, have a museum. Honestly, the history of this place is amazing and the history of the lemons themselves is... It’s really interesting. Did you know this lemon has taken hundreds of years to get like this? Originally it was a fraction of this size and inedible, bitter. Farmers were intrigued, though, and they crossed it with local oranges and eventually we ended up with this.’
‘So why not do it? Take these ideas and run with them?’ The enthusiasm in her voice lit her face.
Holly shook her head. ‘The cost would be phenomenal; my father won’t do it. I’m not sure he would want tourists here, or to be involved in making and selling products. To him all that matters is the production of the best lemons in Lycander.’
Stefan frowned. ‘And he is to be commended for that. But in today’s day and age you are right—other markets should be considered. You are the future of Il Boschetto di Sole and these ideas are good.’
‘Maybe. But they need experience I don’t have, even if I could persuade my father to implement them. You said it yourself—you didn’t build your business overnight.’
‘No, but I was starting from scratch. You already have a means of raising money. But I agree—you do need more experience first. So why not pursue the marketing idea? That would give you excellent additional experience on top of what you have already learnt. Why not ask Lamberts if they would train you?’
Holly shook her head. ‘Because I don’t think it would work. They’ve already offered me a trainee position for next year.’
‘That’s brilliant.’ There was a silence and he frowned. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘It’s kind of them, but I refused.’
‘Why?’
‘For a start they’re only offering it because of my new elevated status as soon-to-be princess. For a second thing there’s no point. My future is on Il Boschetto di Sole. My half of it.’
‘If you believe you can do the job it doesn’t matter why they’re offering it. Plus, this job would help with your future plans for Il Boschetto di Sole.’
‘I really don’t think my father will buy the idea. Plus, I’d need more than a year’s experience. Plus, I don’t want to be based in London after our year.’
‘OK. Then you could transfer to a PR company here. Even better.’
Holly
sighed. ‘Maybe I will do that one day. But not yet. My father wants me here...learning the ropes.’
There was something else. ‘I’m missing something, aren’t I?’ he asked. ‘I don’t get why you can’t do both. Have a job you love in marketing and learn the ropes. There’s no rush. Why not have it all?’
‘Because there are other things I want to do with my life as well.’
‘Such as?
‘Just let it go.’ Holly’s voice was low now, as they emerged from the shade of the grove.
‘No.’
For a moment a warning bell pealed in his head. This was none of his business; there was no need for him to get involved in Holly’s life choices. Yet he couldn’t help it.
‘I can see how much you want to pursue marketing, and use it to take Il Boschetto di Sole forward. I recognise that fire because I’ve felt it myself.’ In his case it had been born of a determination to succeed, in whatever he undertook. For Holly it was a real passion, born of itself. One life. ‘This is your life, Holly, take the risk. Go for it.’
‘It’s not that easy.’
The words ricocheted with an intensity that impacted him.
‘It’s no secret—you’ll find out soon enough. My father is ill.’
‘I am so sorry...’
Before he could say any more she waved a hand. ‘It’s OK. He has a long-term heart condition, managed with medication and a healthy lifestyle. But there is a chance he won’t make old bones, and I want him to see his grandchildren. I want my children to have a shot at knowing their grandfather. Even more so now. I want my father to know the Romano dynasty will continue. I want him to see his grandchildren running around these lemon trees, watch the lemons grow.’
The words silenced him, because he could see her point, but... ‘I understand that—I really do. But your father may live for years. And to have children you need...’
‘A father for them. I know.’ Her mouth took on a rueful twist.
‘Also, having children doesn’t preclude having a career.’
‘I know that too. But I want to spend time with my father and I want to be here for my children. Full time.’ The words vibrated with sincerity, even with love for these as yet unborn children. ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t agree with women working—I do. But for me it’s important to give my all to being a mother. I can always go for a career later on.’