by Nina Milne
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘No—because they are full of unopened bags of pasta, unopened everything. I don’t think he’s cooked anything since I left. I think he’s been getting take-aways and he’s done a big clean-up before I arrived.’
‘Surely that is his choice to make?’
‘So you suggest that I sit back and allow him to jeopardise his health?’
Stefan considered her words. ‘Pretty much, yes. Sure, you can advise him to take care, remind him, but other than that it is up to him. He’s a grown man; he is also a man with huge responsibilities on the work front. I can’t believe he is incapable of sticking to a healthy diet.’
‘It’s not incapability. It’s habit. He’s just used to someone doing it for him.’
‘Then hire a housekeeper.’
‘He doesn’t want to do that. Says he prefers family around him. Jessica Alderney is a friend—she’s also a trained nurse and an excellent cook—but she isn’t family.’
Stefan frowned. ‘So you will live on Il Boschetto di Sole for life?’
Through duty. Do the right thing, marry her supposed paragon, have Romano heirs, look after her father. It was not his business—and who was to say she was wrong?
‘You make it sound like a prison sentence. It isn’t. Look at this place. Plus, my father is entitled to my support and my help. I love him and I have a vested interest in keeping him healthy.’
They came to the end of a small wooded copse and she stopped.
‘OK. We’re here. Forester’s Glade—or Radura dei Guardaboschi.’
The view stopped his breath. The glade had an aura of magic, conifers, a babbling brook, meadow flowers, a waterfall.
‘I always used to imagine sylvan nymphs lived here,’ Holly said softly. ‘My father used to bring me up here sometimes when I was small and I’d play for hours. Anyway, would you prefer if I left you on your own?’
‘No. It’s fine.’
Stefan hauled in a breath, inhaled the scent of the conifers overlaid by the meadow flowers, looked at the verdant greens mingled with the deep copper brown of the soil, the blue of the late afternoon sky. He wondered if his mother had come here to make the fateful decision to marry his father—whether she had done it because she had been pressured into it by her guardian, persuaded to do her duty because it was the ‘right’ thing to do.
In so doing she’d made a grave mistake. And he didn’t want Holly to do the same. Before he could change his mind, he turned to her.
‘My mother...’ he began. ‘I know you have doubts about her, and in truth I don’t know the history between her and your father. What I do know, from what Roberto Bianchi said, is that he pushed her into marriage with my father for the sake of duty. Perhaps she stood right here and made the decision. And perhaps she figured it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she was swayed by the idea of the pomp and glamour of being a princess. Perhaps she did want to rule—to be the mother of royalty. Perhaps she believed she was doing the best for your father. Roberto Bianchi would never have permitted them to marry. Maybe she did what she thought was right. Just like you are trying to do.’
As he talked they continued to walk through the glade. They came to a stop at the edge of a cliff and he sat down on a grassy tussock, waited as she settled beside him.
‘There is a lot I don’t know—will never know now—but what I do know is that her marriage was worse than miserable. All the possessions in the world didn’t change that.’
He didn’t look at her—didn’t want to see her expression of dismissal or disbelief. He knew that many in Lycander did still believe that his mother had been at fault. Instead he focused on the horizon, on the feel of the grass under his fingers.
‘She didn’t complain, but I sensed her unhappiness, saw how my father treated her—he made no attempt to hide it. Perhaps their marriage was doomed because she didn’t love him. Because she loved your father. Alphonse claimed to love her, but it seemed to me that he treated her like a plaything—a remote-controlled toy that he needed to control. If she didn’t comply, made a mistake, it made him angry. I saw the bruises on her. I just didn’t understand where they came from.’
He sensed Holly’s movement, her shift closer to him. Her body was close and so he continued, hoping against hope that she’d believe his words.
‘So whatever her reasons for marrying him—doing her duty, doing what she felt to be right—it was a mistake. If she could have turned the clock back she wouldn’t have made the same decision.’
‘Maybe she would because she had you.’
The words cut him like a knife. ‘No. I was the reason she was in my father’s control—he had the power to take me away from her.’
He’d been the pawn that had ensured her compliance and in the end had brought her down. So it had all been for naught; she should have cut her losses long before.
‘She loved you, Stefan. Be glad of that.’
Glad—how could he be glad when her loving him had cost her so much? Enough. This was not a conversation that he wanted or needed to have.
‘Holly, just take heed. Live your life as you want to live it—you’ve got one shot. Don’t waste it, or throw it away to do what is “right” for others.’
Holly sighed and he turned, saw the tears that sparkled on her eyelashes.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s all so sad...’
A swipe of her eyes and then she shifted to face him, leant forward and kissed his cheek. The imprint of her lips was so sweet his heart ached.
‘Thank you. For sharing.’
Warning bells clanged in his head. Again. A chaste kiss should not evoke an ache in his heart. Time to pull back—way, way back.
‘You’re welcome.’
A glance at his watch, a final look around the glade and he rose to his feet, stretched out a hand to pull her up. He noted the feel of her fingers around his, the jolt it sent through his whole body.
Make that time to pull way, way, way back. This marriage was a business deal, and he had no intention of blowing it with an injudicious sharing of emotion.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HOLLY OPENED HER EYES, relieved to see that this morning she was firmly on her side of the pillow barrier. A quick glance over showed that Stefan’s side was empty, and she wondered if he’d even made it to bed. He had cited work the previous evening on their return from Il Boschetto di Sole, and remained glued to his laptop for the duration.
Part of her had welcomed the time to reflect, and part of her had wanted to hold him, to offer comfort after he’d given her that insight into his parents’ marriage.
Guilt and mixed emotions had swirled inside her. She had grown up believing Eloise to be evil incarnate, the harbinger of all her parents’ troubles. Now that picture no longer held good; the woman evoked by Stefan had been a victim just as much as anyone else. Another victim of love and duty. Could Stefan be right? That sometimes following the dutiful path wasn’t the right way?
No! Her situation was a far cry from Eloise’s. Her father loved her, and she wasn’t in love with anyone else... The choice to look after her father was made from love, not duty, and she wanted a family. Yet doubt had unfurled a shoot, and she swung her legs out of bed, determined not to contemplate it or allow it to flourish.
Showered and dressed, she emerged into the living area, found him sitting again in front of the screen.
A continental breakfast was already spread on the table and he glanced up, gestured towards it. ‘Help yourself.’
As she ate, he pushed the screen aside and came to join her. ‘Have you looked at the itinerary for the day?’
‘Of course.’ She sensed the question was part rhetorical, part designed to indicate that today was all about business. ‘We’re visiting a nursery, a school and a community centre. Are you feeling OK?’ Surely he must feel some trepid
ation about the day ahead; the idea of putting himself out there to many Lycandrians.
‘Of course,’ he returned. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing if Frederick is making a difference.’
The statement had an edge to it, and she wasn’t sure whether he hoped his brother was succeeding or failing.
The rest of breakfast was a silent affair, only today the silence didn’t feel comfortable, and later, when they left the hotel, although he took her hand it felt false—she would swear she sensed reluctance in his fingers, knew it was done solely for the sake of their charade.
The car drove them through streets that spoke of the rich elite that Lycander was known for, filled with colonial mansions, freshly painted terracotta villas, but gradually, as they proceeded, the surroundings became dingier, evidence of poverty more and more apparent in graffiti and an air of dilapidation. Yet there were signs of change: construction under way, the hum of lorries transporting building materials, rows of newly built houses.
Still, the contrast between the glitz and glamour of Lycander’s centre and its outskirts was stark indeed.
Franco pulled up in a narrow street outside a ramshackle building that, despite its lopsided air, did attempt a sense of cheer. The walls were painted bright yellow, and a sign jauntily proclaimed ‘Ladybirds Nursery’. Yet Stefan’s face looked grim as they emerged from the car, stepped forward to meet Marcus.
‘Does this building comply with any building standards?’
‘Yes.’ Marcus’s voice was even. ‘I know it doesn’t look like much, but it is safe—and, as you can see, the staff have made an effort to make it look welcoming. The children are also looking forward to showing you the garden at the back. Feel free to inspect every centimetre of it yourself. It is safe or I would not allow it to be open.’
Stefan relaxed slightly, and his smile was in place as the nursery leader came out with a group of young children to meet them. A small pigtailed girl approached Holly, curtsied, and handed her a posy of flowers
Holly went down on her haunches to thank her. ‘Thank you, sweetheart. What’s your name?’
‘Sasha.’
‘Well, Sasha, these are beautiful, and we are really looking forward to seeing your nursery.’
‘I love it,’ the little girl confided. ‘My big sister is really jealous, because it wasn’t here when she was little. The teachers are really nice, and we have lots of fun. And it means my mum can go and work. “So everyone wins,” she says.’ She gave a hop of excitement. ‘And we get lunch here and it’s really nice. Me and my best friend Tommy are going to show you and the Prince around the kitchens. Is it fun being a princess?’
‘Well, I’m not quite a princess yet. But I think one of my favourite things will be meeting people like you!’
Sasha looked up at Stefan, then back to Holly. ‘Is it OK if I ask him something?’ she whispered.
‘Of course it is.’
Stefan, who must have overheard the whispered words, smiled down at her. ‘Go right ahead—what do you want to know?’
‘Are you like a prince from the fairy tales?’
Stefan smiled, but Holly caught sadness behind the smile.
‘No, I don’t think I am. But I want to be a good prince if I can. I want to help people.’
The words, though simple, were sincere, and Holly knew with gut-deep certainty that he meant them. That this wasn’t all part of the charade.
‘Now, Holly and I would love it if you’d show us round.’
Sasha slipped her hands into theirs and they entered the nursery. The converted house, though small, had been subdivided into four rooms, each one brightly painted, its walls covered with children’s paintings and letters and numbers. Boxes stored toys that, though clearly second-hand, were serviceable and clean; the children were a mix of shy and confident, tall and small.
‘We set up as a voluntary place after the major storm that hit last year,’ the leader explained. ‘It was somewhere parents could leave their children safely whilst they tried to cobble their lives together...rebuild their homes. But now the crown is funding this nursery and others—not completely, and we do still rely on donations, but we can afford to pay our staff something and the children get one good square meal a day. Now, I think these children desperately want to show you round.’
Even as Holly focused on the children, admired their work, laughed at their jokes and answered their questions as best she could, she was all the time oh, so aware of Stefan by her side—his stance, his relaxed air, the way he treated each child as an individual.
Once in the garden, the children proudly showed off the vegetable plots, as well as the sunflowers that stretched towards the sky with an optimism that seemed to reflect this nursery. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a little boy come forward, urged on by the pigtailed Sasha. But he pulled back and the two engaged in a spirited conversation.
Stefan had spotted it too and he headed towards them, looked down at the little boy, and Holly saw sudden compassion touch his eyes.
He leant down and spoke with them both. The words were too low for Holly to overhear, but she saw the little boy’s face light up, then saw Sasha and the boy high-five.
Later, as they prepared to leave, Sasha bounded up and wrapped her arms around Stefan’s legs. ‘I think you’re a very good prince. Better than a fairy tale one. And you did help.’
‘What did you do?’ Holly asked, once they were in the car en route to their next visit.
‘It’s no big deal.’
‘It was to the little boy. I saw his face light up.’
‘He and his brother were trapped in a building during the storm. A beam fell on his leg and now he can’t play football any more. Both he and his brother are ardent football fans. Sasha wanted me to help cheer him up. All I did was say he and his brother could be the mascots at the next game of their favourite team.’
‘That is a big deal. For those kids it’s a huge deal.’ Warmth touched her at what he had done.
‘Yes, but maybe the house they were in wouldn’t have collapsed if it had been built properly in the first place.’
‘Which is why there is a whole new housing programme under way, and new standards and regulations are now being enforced.’
‘My father has a lot to answer for.’
Anger darkened his face and she could sense him pull it under control, contain it.
‘I think your brother is trying to do just that.’
He opened his mouth and then closed it again. She could almost see him make the decision to close the conversation down. To close her out.
He said politely, ‘I’m sure you are right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to sort out this mascot issue.’
Two weeks later
Stefan glanced at Holly over breakfast, saw that she looked a little pale, with dark smudges under her eyes, and wondered if she too found it hard to sleep every night next to that damn barrier of pillows, knowing how close and yet so far she was from him. But, difficult though it had been, he’d stuck to his resolve—made sure he kept a physical and emotional distance from her when they weren’t in the public eye.
Every day he held her hand, looped his arm round her waist, inhaled the strawberry scent of her shampoo, and every day his libido went into overdrive—only to be iced as soon as they entered their hotel room.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You look tired. I know this isn’t what you signed up for, but you’ve been incredible.’ She truly had, and guilt prodded him that he hadn’t thanked her before. He had been so busy closing any connection down that he had failed to acknowledge her efforts.
‘I am tired, but I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.’
He raised his eyebrow. ‘Even the TV interview?’
‘Fair point. Not the television interview. That terrified me and I’m still not sure we pulled it off.’
‘We did OK.’
Hours of coaching from April had allowed them to put forward a pretty credible performance—perhaps the ‘L’ word had sounded a little forced, but Holly had laughed it off, blamed her falter on nerves and how hard it was to declare emotion in front of a global audience.
‘Are you sure it’s not all getting too much? Especially with the wedding plans as well?’
‘It’s not too much. Seeing all the problems Lycander faces, meeting the people affected by the floods, by the lack of public funding over the years, but also seeing how people cope in adverse conditions, how they pull together is...humbling. It’s made me realise what a bubble I live in at Il Boschetto di Sole.’ She hesitated. ‘It has also made me realise what a great job Frederick is doing and how much there is left to do.’
‘Yes.’ Stefan refilled his coffee cup. ‘He is.’
Like it or not, Holly was correct: his older brother did appear to be doing a sterling job and Stefan had no issue in supporting that. He had appeared with Frederick at some official events, and had indicated his willingness to continue to do so. But despite that the couple of attempts he and Frederick had made to spend ‘brother time’ together had been disastrous.
Not that he had any intent of discussing that with Holly. Not her problem, not her business. In truth, it didn’t need to be a problem. Their deal had not included the establishment of a brotherly bond.
Aware of her scrutiny, he cleared his throat. ‘Do you need any input on the wedding plans?’
Holly picked up the final flakes of her croissant with one finger as she considered the question. ‘To be honest, Marcus and his department have done loads of the work. But there are a few things we need to figure out. For example, we need a song.’
‘Huh?’
‘The bride and groom start the dancing at the reception—take to the floor to whatever “their” tune is.’
‘You pick.’
‘Actually, I thought maybe we could put a different twist on it.’ Holly hesitated. ‘Did your mother have a favourite song?’
‘She loved jazz—she had a whole collection.’