by Nina Milne
‘Your precious Eloise with her son—something else she could have given you that I can’t. That is what you want more than anything—a Stefan of your own.’
Those words had imbued her three-year-old self with an irrational jealousy of a boy she’d never met. Holly had wanted to be a boy so much she had ached with it. She had known how much both her parents had prayed for a boy, how bitterly disappointed they had been with a girl.
Her mother had never got over it, never forgiven her for her gender, and that knowledge was a bleak one that right now, rationally or not, added to the linger of a stupid jealousy of this man. It prompted her to duck down in a curtsey that she hoped conveyed irony. ‘Your Highness,’ she said, with deliberate emphasis.
His eyebrows rose and his eyes narrowed. ‘Ms Romano,’ he returned.
His deep voice ran over her skin, and before she could prevent it his hand had clasped hers to pull her up.
‘You must have missed what I told Mr Simpson. I prefer not to use my title.’
Holly would have loved to have thought of a witty retort, but unfortunately her brain seemed unable to put together even a single syllable. Because her central nervous system seemed to have short-circuited as a result of his touch. Which was, of course, insane. Even with Graham this hadn’t happened, so until now she would have pooh-poohed the idea of sparks and electric shocks as ridiculous figments of an overwrought imagination.
And yet the best her vocal cords could eventually manage was, ‘Okey-dokey.’
Okey-dokey? For real, Holly?
With an immense effort she tugged her hand free and hauled herself together. ‘Right. Um... Now introductions are over perhaps we could...?’
‘Get down to business,’ James Simpson interpolated. ‘Of course. Please have a seat, both of you.’
In truth it was a relief to sink onto the surprisingly comfortable straight-backed chair. Focus.
James Simpson cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for coming. Count Roberto wrote his will with both of you in mind. As you may or may not know, the bulk of his vast estate has gone to a distant Bianchi cousin, who will also inherit the title. However, I wish to speak to you about Count Bianchi’s wishes with regards to Il Boschetto di Sole—the lemon grove he loved so much and where he spent a lot of the later years of his life. Holly’s family, the Romanos, have lived on the grove for many generations, working the land. And Crown Princess Eloise spent many happy times there before her marriage.’
Next to her Holly felt Stefan’s body tense, almost as if that fact was news to him. She leant forward, her mind racing with curiosity.
James steepled his fingers together. ‘In a nutshell, the terms of Roberto’s will state that Il Boschetto di Sole will go to either one of you, dependent on which of you marries first and remains married for a year.’
Say what?
Holly blinked as her brain attempted to decode the words. Even as blind primitive instinct kicked in an image of the beauty of the land, the touch of the soil, the scent of lemons pervaded her brain. The Romanos had given heart and soul, blood and sweat to the land for generations. Stefan Petrelli had turned his back on Lycander. And yet if he married the grove would go to him, to Eloise’s son. No.
Before she could speak, the dry voice of the lawyer continued.
‘If neither of you has succeeded in meeting the criteria of the will in three years from this date Il Boschetto di Sole will go to the Crown—to Crown Prince Frederick of Lycander or whoever is then ruler.’
There was a silence, broken eventually by Stefan Petrelli. ‘That is a somewhat unusual provision.’
Was that all he could say? ‘“Unusual”?’ Holly echoed. ‘It’s ridiculous!’
The lawyer looked unmoved by her comment. ‘The Count has left you each a letter, wherein I assume he explains his decision. Can I suggest a short break? Mr Petrelli, if you’d care to read your letter in the annexe room to your left. Ms Romano, you can remain here.’
Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out two envelopes sealed with the Bianchi crest.
Stefan accepted his document and strode towards the door indicated by the lawyer. James Simpson then handed Holly hers and she waited until he left the room before she tugged it open with impatient fingers.
Dear Holly
You are no doubt wondering if I have lost my mind. Rest assured I have not. Il Boschetto di Sole is dear to my old-fashioned heart, and I want it to continue as it has for generations as an independent business.
The Bianchi heir is not a man I approve of, but I have little choice but to leave a vast amount of my estates to him. However, the grove is unentailed, and as he has made it clear to me that he would sell it to a corporation I feel no compunction in leaving Il Boschetto di Sole elsewhere.
But where? I have no children of my own and it is time to find a new family. I wish for Il Boschetto di Sole to pass from father and mother to son or daughter, for tradition to continue. So of course my mind goes to the Romanos, who have given so much to the land over the years.
You may be wondering why I have not simply left the grove to your father. Why I have involved Prince Stefan. To be blunt, your father is getting on, and his good health is in question. Once he is no longer on this earth Il Boschetto di Sole would go to you, and I do not know if that is what you wish for.
You have chosen to live in London and make a life there. Now I need you to look into your heart. If you decide that you wish for ownership of Il Boschetto di Sole then I need some indication that this wish is real—that you are willing to settle down. If you have no wish for this I would not burden you.
Whatever you decide, I wish you well in life.
Yours with affection,
Roberto Bianchi
The letter was so typical of Count Roberto that Holly could almost hear his baritone voice speaking the words. He wanted the land he loved to go to someone who held his own values and shared his vision. He knew her father did, but he didn’t know if Holly did or not. In truth, she wasn’t sure herself. But she also knew that in this case it didn’t matter. Her father loved Il Boschetto di Sole—it was the land of his heart—and to own it would give him pure, sheer joy. She loved her father, and therefore she would fight for Il Boschetto di Sole with all her might.
Simple.
Holly clenched her hands into fists and stared at the door to await the return of the exiled Prince of Lycander.
CHAPTER TWO
STEFAN SEATED HIMSELF in the small annexe room and glared down at the letter, distaste already curdling inside him. The whole thing was reminiscent of the manipulative ploys and stratagems his father had favoured. Alphonse had delighted in the pulling of strings and the resultant antics of those whom he controlled.
During the custody battle he had stripped Eloise of everything—material possessions and every last vestige of dignity—and relished her humiliation. He had smeared her name, branded her a harlot and a tramp, an unfit mother and a gold-digger. All because he had held the trump card at every negotiation. He’d had physical possession of Stefan, and under Lycandrian law, as ruler, he had the final say in court. So, under threat of never seeing her son again, Eloise had accepted whatever terms Alphonse offered, all through her love for Stefan.
She had given up everything, allowed herself to be vilified simply in order to be granted an occasional visit with her son at Alphonse’s whim.
In the end even those had been taken from her. Alphonse had decided that the visits ‘weakened’ his son, and that his attachment to his mother was ‘bad’ for him. That he could never be tough enough, princely enough, whilst he still saw his mother. So he had rescinded her visitation rights and cast Eloise from Lycander.
Once in London Eloise had suffered a breakdown, followed by a mercifully short but terminal illness.
Guilt twisted his insides anew—he had failed her.
Enough.
He would not walk that bleak memory-lined road now. Because the past could not be changed. Right now he needed to read this letter and figure out what to do about this unexpected curveball.
Distasteful and manipulative it might be, but it was an opportunity to win possession of some important land in Lycander in his own right. The idea brought him a surge of satisfaction—his father had not prohibited him from inheriting land. So this would allow him to return to Lycander on his terms. But it was more than that... The idea of owning a place his mother had loved touched him with a warmth he couldn’t fully understand. Perhaps on Il Boschetto di Sole he could feel close to her again.
So all he needed to do was beat Holly Romano.
Holly Romano... Curiosity surfaced. The look she had cast him when she’d learned his identity had held more than a hint of animosity, and that had been before they’d heard the terms of the will. Perhaps she had simply suspected that they were destined to be cast as adversaries, but instinct told him it was more than that. There had been something personal in that look of deep dislike, and yet he was positive they had never met.
No way would he have forgotten. Her beauty was unquestionable—corn-blonde hair cascaded halfway down her back, eyes of cerulean blue shone under strong brows, and she had a retroussé nose, a generous mouth...and a body that Stefan suspected would haunt his dreams. Whoa. No need to go over the top. After all, he was no stranger to beautiful women—the combination of his royal status and his wealth made him a constant target for women on the catch, sure they could ensnare him into marriage.
Stefan had little or no compunction in disillusioning them.
Enough. Open the damn letter, Petrelli.
The handwriting was curved and loopy, but strong, Roberto Bianchi might have been ill but he had been firm of purpose.
Dear Stefan
I am sure you are surprised by the terms of my will. Let me explain.
Your mother was like a daughter to me. I was her godfather, and after her parents’ death I became her guardian. As she grew up she spent a lot of her time at Il Boschetto di Sole and I believe she was happy there, on that beautiful, fragrant land.
It was a happiness that ceased very soon after her marriage to your father—a marriage I deeply regret I encouraged her to go through with.
In my—poor—defence I was dazzled by the idea of a royal alliance, and Alphonse could be charming when he chose. I believed he would care for your mother and that she would be able to do good as ruler of Lycander.
I also did not wish to encourage her relationship with Thomas Romano—a man of indifferent social status who was already engaged.
Stefan stopped reading as his mind assimilated that information. His mother and Thomas Romano had been an item. A pang of sorrow hit him. There was so much he didn’t know about Eloise—so much he wished he could have had time to find out.
As you know, your parents’ marriage was destined for disaster, and by the time I realised my mistake there was nothing I could do.
Your father forbade Eloise from seeing me, and not even my influence could change that. In the end he made it a part of the custody agreement that if Eloise saw me she would be denied even the very few visits she was allowed with you.
Stefan stopped reading as white-hot anger burned inside him. There had been no end to Alphonse’s vindictiveness. Familiar guilt intensified within him. Eloise had given up so very much for him, and had had no redress in a court in a land where the ruler’s word was law.
When Eloise left Lycander I was unable to find her—I promise you, I tried. I wish with all my heart she had contacted me—I believe and I hope she would have if illness hadn’t overcome her.
If Eloise were alive I would leave Il Boschetto di Sole to her. Instead I have decided to give you, her son, a chance to own it. In this way I hope I can make up to you the wrong I did your mother. I want to give you the opportunity to return to Lycander as I believe your mother would have wished.
Eloise was happy at Il Boschetto di Sole, and I truly believe that if she is looking down it will give her peace to see you settled on the land she loved. Land you could pass on to your children, allowing the grove to continue as it has for generations—as an independent business that passes from father and mother to son or daughter.
If you wish this, then I wish you luck.
Yours sincerely,
Roberto Bianchi
Stefan let the letter fall onto his knees as he considered its contents. He hadn’t set foot in Lycander for eight years. The idea of a return to his birthplace was an impossibility unless he accepted his brother’s charity. But now he had an opportunity to return under his own steam, to own land in his own right, defy his father’s edict and win the place his mother had loved—a place she would have wanted him to have.
He closed his eyes and could almost see her, her delicate face framed with dark hair, her gentle smile.
But what about the Romano claim?
Not his concern—he hadn’t made this will. Roberto Bianchi had decided that the grove should go either to Holly Romano or himself. So be it. This was his way back to Lycander and he would take it. But he was damned if he’d jump to Roberto Bianchi’s tune.
* * *
Holly watched as Stefan re-entered the room, his stride full of purpose as he faced the lawyer.
‘I’ll need a copy of the will to be sent to my lawyers asap.’
James Simpson rose from behind his desk. ‘Not a problem. Can I ask why?’
‘Because I plan to overturn the terms of the will.’
The lawyer shook his head and a small smile touched his thin lips. ‘With all due respect, you can try but you will not succeed. Roberto Bianchi was no fool and neither am I. You will not be able to do it.’
‘That remains to be seen,’ Stefan said, a stubborn tilt to the square of his jaw. ‘But in the meantime perhaps it would be better for you to tell us any other provisions the Count saw fit to insert.’
‘No matter what the outcome, Thomas Romano retains the right to live in the house he currently occupies until his death, and an amount of three times his current annual salary will be paid to him every year, regardless of his job status.’
Holly frowned. ‘So in other words the new owner can sack him but he will still have to pay him and he can keep his house?’
She could see that sounded fair enough, but she knew that her father would dwindle away if his job was taken from him—if he had to watch someone else manage Il Boschetto di Sole. Especially Stefan Petrelli—the son of the woman he had once loved, the woman who had rejected him and broken his heart.
‘Correct.’ James Simpson inclined his head. ‘There are no other provisions.’
Stefan leant forward. ‘In that case I would appreciate a chance to speak with Ms Romano in private.’
Suspicion sparked—perhaps Stefan Petrelli thought he could buy her off? But alongside her wariness was a flicker of anticipation at the idea of being alone with him. How stupid was that? Hard to believe her hormones hadn’t caught up with the message—this man was the enemy. Although perhaps it didn’t have to be like that. Perhaps she could persuade him to cede his claim. After all, he hadn’t set foot in Lycander in years—why on earth did he even want Il Boschetto di Sole?
‘Agreed.’
The lawyer inclined his head. ‘There is a meeting room down the hall.’
Minutes later they were in a room full of gleaming chrome and glass, where modern art splashed bright white walls and vast windows overlooked the City and proclaimed that Simpson, Wright and Gallagher were undoubtedly prime players in the world of law.
‘So,’ Stefan said. ‘This isn’t what I was expecting when I woke up this morning.’
‘That’s an understatement.’
His gaze assessed her. ‘Surely this can’t be a surprise to you? You knew Roberto Bianchi, and it sounds like the Rom
anos have been an integral part of Il Boschetto di Sole for centuries.’
‘Roberto Bianchi was a man who believed in duty above all else. I thought he would leave his estate intact. Turns out he couldn’t bear the thought of the grove being sucked up by a corporation.’
‘Why?’
Holly stared at him. He looked genuinely bemused. ‘Because to Count Roberto Il Boschetto di Sole truly was a place of sunshine—he loved it, heart and soul. As my father does.’ She gave a heartbeat of hesitation. ‘As I do.’
Something flashed across his eyes—something she couldn’t fathom. But whatever it was it hardened his expression.
‘Yet you live and work in London?’
‘How do you know where I work or live? Did you check me out?’
‘I checked out your public profiles. That is the point of them—they are public.’
‘Yes. But...’ Though really there were no ‘buts’—he was correct, and yet irrationally she was still outraged.
‘I did a basic social media search—you work for Lamberts Marketing, as part of their admin team. That doesn’t sound like someone whose heart and soul are linked to a lemon grove in Lycander.’
‘It’s temporary. I thought working for a marketing company for a short time would give me some useful insights and skills which will be transferrable to Il Boschetto di Sole. My plan is to return in six months.’
Yes, she loved London, but she had always known it was a short-term stay. Her father would be devastated if she decided not to return to Lycander, to her life on Il Boschetto di Sole. She was a Romano, and that was where she belonged. Of course he wouldn’t force her return—but he needed her.
Ever since her mother had left Holly had vowed she would look after him—especially since he’d been diagnosed with a long-term heart condition. There was no immediate danger, and provided he looked after himself he should be fine. But that wasn’t his forte. He was a workaholic and the extent of his cooking ability was to dial for a take away.
