by Nina Milne
‘Even if your lawyers can’t find a loophole and you have to get married?’ Perhaps she was clutching at straws, but she had to try. ‘You said the thought of marriage makes you break out in hives. Imagine what actually going through with it would do to you? Surely you’d rather ask Frederick to grant you a land licence?’
Forget shutters. This time the metaphorical equivalent of a metal grille slammed down on his expression.
‘Nope. If I have to get married for a year I’ll suck it up.’
‘But it’s more complicated than that.’
‘How so?’
‘What about children?’
‘What about them?’
Holly sighed. ‘As I’ve already mentioned, Roberto Bianchi wanted Il Boschetto di Sole to pass from generation to generation—from father to son, or mother to daughter. That means that technically you’d need a son or daughter to pass it on to.’
He placed his fork down with a clatter. ‘Without disrespect, Holly, Count Roberto is dead, and he certainly cannot dictate whether or not I choose to have children.’
‘No, but surely you want to respect his wishes?’
‘Why? I think the whole will is nuts—that’s why I am trying to overturn it.’
‘And I agree with that. But I don’t think we can ignore what he wanted long-term. He truly loved Il Boschetto di Sole.’
‘And I hope it brought him happiness in his lifetime. Now he is gone, and I will not alter my entire life to accommodate him. I certainly won’t bring children into this world solely to be heir to a lemon grove. That would hardly be fair to them or me.’
She couldn’t help but flinch, and hastily reached out for her wine glass in an attempt to cover it up. After all that was exactly why her parents had wanted a child so desperately—only they hadn’t just wanted a child. They’d wanted a son.
His forehead creased in curiosity as he leaned over to top up her wine glass. ‘Would you do it?’
‘No. Not only for that!’
And yet she found her gaze skittering away from his. Her whole life her father had impressed upon her the importance of marriage and children, the need for a Romano heir to carry on tradition.
‘Yes, I wanted to get married and have a family, but not only for the sake of Il Boschetto di Sole. I wanted it for me.’
The whole package: to love and be loved, to experience family life as it should be. With two loving parents offering unconditional love, untinged by disappointment.
One of those detestable eyebrows rose. ‘Wanted? Past tense?’
Holly speared a lightly roasted cherry tomato with unnecessary force. ‘Want. That is what I want.’
‘So what happens if your children don’t want to run a lemon grove? If they have other dreams or ambitions? What if they want to become a pilot or a doctor or a surfer?’
‘Then of course they can.’ And if he raised that bloody eyebrow again, so help her, she’d figure out a way to shave it off.
‘But what about tradition and duty then? Surely if it’s right for you to follow the path of duty it is right for them too?’
‘I want to follow that path. I hope my children will want to as well, but if they don’t I won’t force them to.’ Could she sound any lamer? Time to change tack. ‘Anyway, at least I’ll have a shot at fulfilling Roberto’s wishes. Are you saying you have no plans to have children?’
‘Got it in one. I have no intention of getting married if I can avoid it, or entering into any form of long-term relationship, and I won’t risk my child being torn between two parents. It is as simple as that.’
His tone was flat, but for a second Holly had a glimpse of the younger Stefan, who had been torn between two parents. The custody battle, whilst one-sided, had been long and drawn-out, though the outcome had never been in doubt. An outcome that Alphonse had, of course, claimed to be better for Stefan—after all, Eloise had been condemned as an unfit mother, an unfaithful wife who had only married Alphonse for his money.
Holly had believed every word—after all, Eloise had already ruined her parents’ marriage.
But... ‘Some parents manage to negotiate a fair agreement.’
‘That’s not a risk I’m willing to take. I will not bring a child into this world unless I can guarantee a happy childhood. As I can’t, I won’t.’
‘You could opt for single parenthood. Adopt?’
He shook his head. ‘Not for me. There are plenty of couples out there who want to adopt and can offer way more than I can. So, no. If the lawyers can’t get us out of this I’ll get married for a year. I’ll do what it takes to win. Or my offer still stands. I’ll buy you out here and now. You can start afresh—start a whole new Romano tradition if that’s what floats your boat. That way you have a guaranteed win. Or you fight it out and risk ending up with nothing.’
The waiter returned, removed their empty plates and placed the dessert menu in front of them with discreet fluid movements, giving her a moment to let his deep chocolate tones run over her skin. Doubts swirled. Stefan Petrelli wanted Il Boschetto di Sole and she knew one way or another he would go all-out to get it.
She could end up with nothing. And yet... ‘My father loves Il Boschetto di Sole—for him it would be unthinkable to give up the opportunity to own it.’
‘What about you?’
Stefan held her gaze and she resisted the urge to wriggle on her seat.
‘Is it unthinkable for you?’
Don’t look away.
‘Absolutely,’ she stated.
There was no way she could let her father down over this—no way she could hand it over to Stefan. That was unthinkable.
So... ‘No deal, Stefan. I too will fight and I will go all-out to win.’
‘Then here’s to a fair fight.’
The clink of glass against glass felt momentous, and then their mutual challenge seemed to swirl and change, morph into something else—an awareness and a mad, stupid urge to move around the table and kiss him.
Without meaning to she moistened her lips, and his grey eyes darkened with a veritable storm of desire.
Get a grip.
Yet she couldn’t seem to break the spell. Any minute now she was going to do something inexplicably stupid.
Pushing her chair back with as much dignity as she could muster, she forced herself to smile. ‘Just need the loo,’ she said and, resisting the urge to run, she forced her feet to walk towards the door.
* * *
Stefan breathed out a deep breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding and tried to ignore the fact that his pulse-rate seemed to have upped a notch or three. This reaction to Holly was nuts. All he could hope was that his lawyers came through soon and this enforced proximity would come to a close.
Goodness only knew what it was about her... Yes, she was stunning, but it was more than that. There was something vulnerable about her, and that was exactly why he should be extra-wary. Thanks to the will Holly was on the opposite side of enemy lines, so any knight in shining armour urge needed to be tamped down. In truth, vulnerability did not usually appeal to him; he was no knight and well he knew it.
He took a few surreptitious deep breaths and kept his expression neutral as she walked back to the table, sat down and took up her knife and fork almost as if they were weaponry.
‘So,’ she said. ‘Now the plan is to fight it out what happens next?’
‘The truce holds until my lawyers call and then, depending on what they say, all bets are off. No loophole and we race to the nearest altar with whoever will marry us. If there is a loophole we fight it out in the courts.’
His mind whirred, looking for another option, because in truth neither of those appealed.
‘Hard to know what to wish for.’
‘The no marriage option has my vote.’
‘But if it ends up in the court
s it will come down to who has a better case. And how on earth can any judge decide that? It could drag on for years, and if it does Il Boschetto di Sole will end up with Crown Prince Frederick by default.’
Stefan’s mouth hardened; there was no way on this earth he would let that happen.
He looked at her. ‘So you’d prefer to duel it out through marriage?’
‘I wouldn’t call it a preference, exactly.’ Her expression was suddenly unreadable. ‘But maybe it would be easier?’
Stefan shook his head. ‘It would be an equally big mess. For starters, let’s say I find a bride before you find a groom. That still doesn’t mean I win. I have to stay married for a year. What do I do if six months in she decides to divorce me, or threatens to divorce me?’
Not happening. He would not put himself in anyone’s power. Ever again. As a child he’d been in his father’s control. As an adult he controlled his own life, and the best way to maintain that control was not to cede it to anyone else. Physically or emotionally.
‘Hmm...’ She took a contemplative sip of wine, rubbed the tip of her nose in consideration. ‘Or I could marry someone and stay married. Then I win and then he divorces me and demands half of Il Boschetto di Sole.’
Stefan watched her brooding expression and had a funny feeling she wasn’t talking about a mythical person here.
‘Or, even worse,’ he offered, ‘what if I marry someone and at the end of the year she wants to stay married and refuses to divorce me?’
Holly considered that for a moment and narrowed her eyes. ‘What if it happens the other way round? She wants a divorce and you want to stay married?’
‘Not happening.’ Not on any planet, in any universe.
‘Arrogant, much?’
‘It’s not arrogance. Most women in my experience are keen on the starry-eyed, happy-ever-after scenario. They must be overwhelmed by my good looks and rugged charm. Or could it be my bank balance and royal status?’
‘Cynical, much?’
‘Realistic, plenty.’ Not one of the women he’d been with in the past years had been unaffected by his status.
‘And that doesn’t bother you?’ Curiosity tinged her voice. ‘That women want to be with you because of your assets—?’ She broke off, a tinge of pink climbing her cheekbones as he raised his brows. ‘Your material assets is what I meant. It must bother you.’
‘Why? It makes it easier; we both make our terms clear at the outset. I always explain there will be no wedding bells ringing, that any relationship has no long-term future but I am happy to be generous in the interim and hopefully we’ll have fun.’
‘So, to sum you up: Stefan Petrelli—excellent taste but short shelf-life and no long-term nourishment.’
‘I can see why you’re in marketing.’ A sudden need to defend his position overcame him. ‘I’ve had no complaints so far. I’m upfront, and I’m excellent boyfriend material. In fact next time I’m in the market for a girlfriend I’ll give you a call to represent me.’
‘No can do. I’m not sure I approve of the product.’
‘Ha-ha!’ Though he was pretty sure she wasn’t joking.
She tipped her head to one side. ‘So at the beginning of a relationship you tell a woman there can be no future in it but they all date you anyway?’ Her tone indicated pure bafflement.
‘Not all. Some women decline to take it beyond the first date, and I’m good with that. Others are happy with what’s on offer.’
‘So for you every relationship is a deal?’
‘Yes. That makes sense to me.’ And he wasn’t about to apologise for it. ‘There’s no point starting a relationship if you both want completely different things. That’s a sure-fire path to hurt and angst.’
A shadow crossed her face. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ A quick shake of her head and she pushed her plate away, rested her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands. She watched him with evident fascination. ‘So then what happens? You both set out your terms and then what?’
Aware of a slight sense of defensiveness, he continued. ‘We go on another date and take things from there...’
‘Take things where? If you both know there’s no future, there is no destination.’
‘That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the journey. Because it’s not the future that is important. It’s the here and now.’
Stefan had spent all his childhood focused on the future because his present had sucked. It had then turned out that the future he’d pictured hadn’t panned out either. So now he figured it was all about optimising the present.
‘If you spend all your time homing in on the future you never actually enjoy the here and now.’
‘So if the two of you keep on enjoying the “here and now”, why curtail that enjoyment? You may as well keep going on into the future.’
‘Never happened. I guess I like variety.’ Even he cringed as he said it, but better to see the distaste that glinted in her eyes than pretend anything different. ‘And so do the women I spend time with. I do my best to get involved with women with the same outlook as me. For the record, sometimes she ends it first—she opts to move on. Maybe to someone who has an interest in being seen, making headlines. Someone who wants to take extended holidays in the latest celeb hotspot.’
‘So essentially you use each other and then trade in for a different model?’
‘It works for me.’
He would never risk the idea that a woman’s expectations might change, so it was always better to end it early so no one got hurt.
‘On your terms?’
‘On agreed terms. All we want is a good physical connection and some conversational sparkle over the dinner table every so often.’
‘Define “every so often”.’
‘Once a week...once a fortnight. Depends on work commitments—hers and mine.’
There was a moment of silence—an instant during which Holly’s eyes widened and looked almost dreamy, as if she were contemplating the whole idea. His heart-rate quickened and once again a wish that this was a date, that this conversation wasn’t theoretical, pulsed through him. The urge to reach out, to take her hand, pull her up from the table and take her upstairs nearly overwhelmed him, and as her gaze met his he could feel his legs tense to propel him off his seat.
Whoa. Easy, Petrelli.
He didn’t even know what her relationship criteria were. Whilst he’d been leaking information like a sieve he had no idea of her status.
‘So what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘What’s your relationship slogan?’
‘Holly Romano: uninterested, unavailable and un... something else. I’m on a relationship break.’
‘Why?’
‘Complicated break-up.’
He had the feeling she’d used that line before, perhaps to deflect unwanted attention, and the shadows in her eyes showed the truth of her words. Bleak shadows, like storm clouds on a summer’s day. And there was a slump to her shoulders that betokened weariness. Only for an instant, though, and then her body straightened and she met his gaze.
‘But if your lawyers don’t find a loophole I’ll get over it. Fast. Because, like it or not, we’ll both have to contemplate matrimony. With or without romance.’
Picking up the bottle of wine, he topped up their glasses. ‘Yes, we will.’
A germ of an idea niggled at the back of his brain, but before he could grasp it his phone buzzed. A glance down showed his lawyer’s name. He looked around the still crowded restaurant and picked up.
‘John. I’ll call you back in five.’
Holly’s eyes looked a question.
‘Lawyer.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Guess we’ll have to skip dessert. I’d rather talk to him in private, so let’s head upstairs.’
CHAPTER FIVE
ONCE
IN THE lounge area of their suite, Holly perched on the edge of a brocaded chair and watched as Stefan pulled his phone out of his pocket and pushed a button. Nerves sashayed through her as he paced the room with lithe strides. But her edginess wasn’t only down to trepidation about his lawyer’s verdict; her whole body was in a tizz.
There had been a moment—hell, way too many moments—over dinner, when she’d wanted nothing more than to be like one of the women he’d described. A woman happy to pursue the here and now and take advantage of the promise of a physical connection with him.
Ridiculous. And of all the men for her hormones to zone in on Stefan Petrelli was the most unsuitable—on a plethora of levels. She focused on the conversation.
‘It’s Stefan.’
He listened for a moment and his expression clouded, lips set in a line.
‘You’re sure?’
Another moment and he hung up, dropped the phone in his pocket and turned to face her.
Holly leant forward. ‘There’s no loophole, is there?’
‘Not even a pinhead-sized one. James Simpson did a sterling job.’
‘So we’ll have to get married. Undertake that race to the altar.’
Holly clenched her hands as realisation washed over her. What an idiot she’d been. Instead of dining with Stefan Petrelli, getting her knickers in a knot over a Michelin-starred meal, she should have been shut up her room formulating a back-up plan. A marriage plan.
Chill.
It wasn’t as if Stefan had been out there searching for a bride. That was the whole point of them staying together this weekend.
‘Yes.’
The tightness of the syllable, the drumming of his fingers on his thigh, the increased speed of his stride all conveyed his dissatisfaction with the idea.
Holly got to her feet. ‘Right. I’d better get going, then. The truce is over. The stick-together phase is finished.’
