by Nina Milne
‘Obviously we want a happy ending,’ Stefan finished for her.
‘That works,’ April said. ‘But you need to look at each other when you say that. Look as if the happy ending you’re picturing is riding off into the sunset together—not waving farewell in the divorce court.’
Holly exhaled a small sigh and Stefan felt a pang of guilt that he had asked her to do this—go on air and fake a relationship. Without thought he reached out and covered her hand with his.
‘Good idea,’ April said with approval.
He tried to look as though it was all part of the role-play, reminding himself that Holly stood to gain from this too. Guilt did not have to come into play.
‘So, next big question,’ April continued. ‘Are you in love? Holly, you go first.’
The silence went on too long. ‘We’re...um...certainly headed that way...’
‘No, no, no!’ April said. ‘That is not going to work. You try, Stefan. Are you in love?’
Stefan met the green eyes. ‘Absolutely,’ he stated, but even he could hear the false bonhomie.
The green eyes closed. ‘OK. That is going to fool no one. To be blunt, it’s pants, and you are going to have to practise. Given the circumstances, you will be asked that question or a variant.’
‘Fine, we’ll work on it.’ Stefan shifted on the chair. ‘Now, can we please move on to some easier questions?’
April met his gaze. ‘I’m not sure there are many easy questions. For example, you will be asked why you left Lycander. About your relationship with your father.’
Stefan could feel moisture sheen his neck. ‘Then I’ll decline to answer. I’ll confirm what everyone knows: we parted on bad terms.’
No way would he bare his soul or the memories of his childhood for the media to grab hold of. He didn’t even like sharing memories with himself—had locked them away deep inside. And that was where they would stay.
‘And your mother?’
‘I’ll tell the truth about her. That she was a good, loving woman who didn’t deserve the type of divorce that was meted out to her. But I won’t be drawn into a big discussion.’
Next to him he sensed Holly’s withdrawal, a movement of discomfort as if she were about to say something.
April frowned, glanced across at both of them. ‘Is there a problem with that?’
‘Of course not.’ Holly’s voice sounded sure, but he could still sense her tension.
‘Good.’ April closed her notebook with a snap and smiled. ‘You need to work on being more lovey-dovey and then I reckon you can pull it off. As a reporter, I don’t usually condone lies, but I have learnt that sometimes there are shades of grey and I think what you are trying to do here is a good thing for Lycander. But it is risky. So please be careful. People will be watching you; they will be looking for evidence of a break-up or a fake-up. There will be a huge amount of interest in you both and you will be subject to intense and invasive scrutiny. People will do anything to get information, because information is valuable. So stay in character.’ April rose. ‘I’ll be in touch for another practice session before the television interview.’
‘We’ll look forward to it.’ He made no attempt to hide the irony but April took no umbrage, merely smiled at him.
‘I’ll let Marcus know how it went.’
Stefan nodded. ‘I’ll see you out.’
* * *
Holly watched as Stefan and April exited the meeting room and exhaled a long breath. She felt as if she’d run a marathon. Her whole body ached from the conflicting signals she’d sent it for the past two hours. Pretending to be attracted to a man she was desperately attracted to but didn’t want to be at all attracted to—the conundrum was testing her hormones to the limit.
She looked up as he re-entered the room. ‘I’ve asked the kitchens to rustle us up a picnic supper and bring it to our room,’ he said.
To her surprise her stomach gave a small gurgle, and it occurred to her that she was hungry. ‘That sounds brilliant.’ She looked at him. ‘You are very good at providing meals.’
The idea was a novelty. Ever since her mother had left Holly had taken on the role of cook, desperately wanting to look after her father, and the correct meals had become even more important when her father’s heart condition had been diagnosed.
‘Food is way too important to miss,’ Stefan said.
‘No arguments here.’
They made their way up the stairs to their suite, and Holly halted on the threshold. The suite was an exquisite mixture of contemporary comfort and historic detail. The stone walls of the lounge boasted a medieval fireplace, ornate gilded mirrors and beautifully woven tapestries. Latticed windows showed a view of the mountains in the distance and the hustle and bustle of the city below. The furniture was the last word in simple luxury—warm wood, and a sofa and armchairs that beckoned you to sink into their comfort.
So she kicked off her heels and did exactly that, just as someone knocked on the door.
Stefan let a waiter in and the young man pushed in a trolley laden with sandwiches, mini-pastries, slices of quiche, miniature pies and bowls of salad in a kaleidoscope of greens and reds.
Once the repast was arranged the waiter withdrew. Stefan seated himself opposite her and they both served themselves.
‘This place is utterly incredible,’ Holly said. ‘Just the sort of place I imagined princesses living in when I was a little girl.’
‘Is that what you wanted to be when you grew up?’
‘It was one of many scenarios. I also wanted to be an award-winning actress, a famous pop star, a ballerina, an astronaut and a prize-winning scientist. The key elements in all these scenarios was that I’d win prizes... Oh, and for some reason I also always imagined myself arriving to pick up my prize in a pink limo!’
Perhaps that had been her own personal assertion that she was a girl and everyone would just have to lump it.
‘What about you? What did you imagine yourself being when you grew up? I mean, you were already a prince.’
Stefan’s face tightened and a shadow crossed his eyes. She knew her words had twanged a memory, and not a good one. But then he shrugged,
‘I was never a real prince; that’s why I left my kingdom as soon as I could. But I’m back now, and if we’re going to pull this off we have some more work to do.’
Her tummy plummeted as she wondered if he was going to suggest they practise being ‘lovey-dovey.’ Not a good plan—not here and now, with her body already seesawing after the forced proximity of their interview.
‘I think we need to get to know more about each other,’ she said. ‘The kind of facts you learn over time. So how about we do twenty questions? I’ll go first. Favourite colour: pink.’
One eyebrow rose and his lips quirked with a small hint of amusement. She had little doubt that he knew exactly why she was rushing into a fact-finding mission.
‘Dark blue. Favourite film genre: Action.’
‘I’ll watch anything. Ditto with books.’
‘Anything sci-fi.’
Forty minutes later he stretched. ‘That was a good session—and now I’m ready to hit the sack. Unless, of course, you want to practise anything else?’
‘Nope.’ As far as she was concerned the whole lovey-dovey issue could wait. ‘I’m ready for bed too.’
In one synchronised movement they both looked around.
In one synchronised syllable they both cursed. ‘Damn.’
There was only one interconnecting door.
Stefan walked over to it and pushed it open to reveal one bedroom. Well, duh. Of course they only had one bedroom. They were meant to be in a relationship.
‘Um... I’m happy to take the sofa and you can have the bedroom.’ Even as she made the offer she knew it was foolish—knew what he’d say, knew he would be right.
On cue: ‘Too risky. Given what April said, I’m sure the hotel staff will practically have a forensics team in here tomorrow. The last thing we need is a story on how we didn’t share a bed.’
‘So what are we going to do?’ Her voice emerged as a panic-engendered squeak.
Stefan frowned. ‘You’re completely safe, Holly. I won’t try anything on.’
That was the least of her worries—she was more concerned with what she might do. ‘I know that.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
Yet for all his nonchalance a tiny bead of perspiration dotted his temple and she could see that his jaw was clenched. Maybe he was as spooked as she was.
‘The problem is...’ I’m scared I’ll jump you in my sleep. ‘I don’t want us to get carried away by mistake.’
‘We won’t.’ Now his voice was firm, all sign of strain gone. ‘We both agreed this is a business arrangement, a marriage of convenience. That is the point of it—convenience. So adding any form of intimacy into the mix would be foolish, and I’m not a fool. We’re both adults. Let’s act like that. We are hardly going to succumb to pangs of lust like adolescents. The bed is huge—plenty of room for both of us to sleep in.’
Stefan seemed totally capable of letting his brain rule his pants and she should be pleased about that. His words all made perfect sense and yet hurt pinged inside her, each syllable a pin-prick of irrational pain. If he were truly attracted to her wouldn’t it be hard for him to be so logical, so rational and in control?
Graham’s words still echoed in her brain: ‘Not woman enough...’ ‘Inexperienced...’ Maybe she wasn’t woman enough for Stefan either—maybe he thought she was behaving like an adolescent. Maybe she’d got those kisses all wrong. Maybe what had been dynamite for her had been a damp squib for him.
‘You’re right.’ No, no, no! That sounded colourless and flat, as if she didn’t really believe he was right. ‘It would be stupid to muddy the water when the whole point of this is to make it clean and fair. Entering into a physical relationship with each other would be messy—and I’m not a big believer in your type of sex anyway.’
‘My type of sex? What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
His anger flashed now, but Holly didn’t care. If he could sit there so calm and unbothered by the idea of spending a whole night next to each other then she might as well throw diplomacy out of the window.
‘The kind that has no emotional context. It’s negotiated physical sex. That’s too clinical for me.’ A part of Holly reeled at the sheer idiocy of this statement. But the principle was sound.
‘I’ve had no complaints.’ There was an edge of frost in his voice now.
‘That’s because you go for the sort of woman who is on the same page as you. I’m not.’
That at least was true. Stefan Petrelli liked variety—swapped his women out at regular intervals. That was not for her.
‘In which case sharing a bed with me shouldn’t pose a problem.’ The frost had dropped a few degrees to ice now. ‘I’m turning in. Would you like to use the bathroom first?’
‘Yes, please.’
Perhaps a cold shower would help. She felt hot and bothered, mixed up, deflated, angry, relieved... Every emotion in the lexicon swirled inside her. Hell—they weren’t even married yet.
Fifteen minutes later she was safely under the duvet on her side of the king-sized four-poster bed, flanked by a barricade of pillows, clad in flannel pyjamas buttoned to the top, eyes tightly shut as she simulated sleep.
The bathroom door opened and closed, then a few minutes later opened again. A scent of sandalwood, a burst of steam and she sensed him by the bed. Then there was a shift of the duvet, a depression of the bed.
Holly wriggled closer to the edge of the bed and waited for dawn.
CHAPTER NINE
HOLLY OPENED HER EYES, her synapses slowly firing into life. Warm. Safe. Comfortable. Mmm... Her cheek seemed to be pillowed on soft cotton underlain by a hard wall of muscle. Her leg was looped over—
Her synapses quickened and her brain began putting sums together...
Oh, hell!
So much for the barricade—somehow she had cleared that in a sleep-ridden assault and she was now plastered all over Stefan. Stefan, who—thank God—was dressed in boxers and a T-shirt. Probably because he didn’t own any pyjamas...which meant he usually slept naked.
Suppressing the urge to leap up with a scream, she tried very, very slowly to disentangle herself.
Too late.
His arm tightened around her and then his body stilled. Clearly he went from asleep to awake far more quickly than she did, and his eyes opened to meet hers, his expression a mix of ruefulness and question.
Panic lent her speed and now she did move, rolling away in a scramble devoid of dignity and hampered by the row of stupid, useless pillows.
‘Sorry. No idea how that happened. Sorry. I’m going to have a shower.’
A shower went some way to restoring her equilibrium—perhaps one day in about a hundred years she would even be able to laugh at the whole incident.
Poking her head round the bathroom door, she felt relief wash over her that Stefan was nowhere to be seen. Chill. It was imperative that she focused on the day and their trip to Il Boschetto di Sole. The thought brought a semblance of calm, a reminder that all this was worth it because it would enable her to give her father his dream.
She took a deep breath and went into the living area, just as the door opened and Stefan entered.
Goodbye, equilibrium. His hair was shower-damp, its curl more pronounced. He was dressed in a tracksuit and T-shirt and her gaze snagged on his forearms, their muscular definition, the smattering of hair.
‘I went to the hotel gym—showered there.’
‘Good plan.’
Silence resumed, and then he grinned. ‘About earlier...’
‘I’d rather not talk about it.’ After all her protestations of being uninterested in his type of sex she’d made an utter idiot of herself.
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s no biggie.’
‘That’s not how it felt to me.’ Oh, God, had she said that? The innuendo was not what she had meant at all. The blush threatened to burn her up. ‘I mean...’
Now his grin widened. ‘It’s OK. I know what you mean, but I’ll take the compliment anyway.’
‘Please could we just agree to forget the entire incident?’
But despite herself she could feel her lips twitch; somehow the sheer mortification had receded before the force of his smile.
‘Deal.’ There was a knock at the door and he moved towards it. ‘I’ve ordered a room service breakfast—smoked salmon, scrambled eggs and pancakes—so we can talk in private. Hope that’s OK?’
‘Sounds good.’
Five minutes later she forked up a fluffy mouthful of egg and gave a small sound of appreciation.
‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘Well, we’ve talked about a whole lot of things, but we haven’t talked about how we handle our actual presence on Il Boschetto di Sole.’
He studied her expression for a moment and she focused on maintaining neutrality.
‘How does your father feel about it all? About our deal?’
‘My father is honoured that the Romanos will own part of Il Boschetto di Sole.’
Holly remembered his face, and the awe that had touched it when she’d video-called him with the news. Once again a conflict of emotion swirled inside her—a happiness that she could give this to him, repay her father for the years of love, the years of bringing her up singlehandedly. And a selfish underlying of sadness that any hope of a career away from Il Boschetto di Sole had receded further into the realm of impossibility.
‘I will need you now more than ever before, Holly. Roberto Bianchi has given the Romanos a chance to
create a dynasty of our own, entrusted us with the place he loved most. To pass on for generations to come.’
‘Holly?’
Stefan’s voice pulled her back to the present and she pushed away any thoughts of negativity. Until eighteen months ago she had been genuinely content to live her life on Il Boschetto di Sole, to live the fairy tale happy-ever-after with Graham, have children, fulfil her father’s expectations. Once she returned to her home that same contentment would return.
And if it didn’t she’d fake it—because she had no intention of letting her father down. Full stop.
Focus.
Stefan continued to look at her. ‘Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me? If I’m right you need to ’fess up. Because I do not want any surprises.’
Stefan was right. ‘It’s all a bit...complicated. My father is thrilled...honoured to be in line for part ownership. He believes the split is fair and that this marriage is an equitable solution. But I’m not sure how he feels about you.’
Her father had withdrawn behind an emotionless mask when she’d explained the marriage deal, that she and Stefan would come to visit him, that he would need to welcome Stefan as his son-in-law. He had agreed to play his part, but Holly had no idea how he felt about the idea of meeting Eloise’s son.
‘Why? Because he disapproves of me? Half of Lycander disapproves of me, so I can understand that.’
For a moment she was tempted to let him believe that, allow that to be her explanation as to why she was worried about this visit. But there was a bitter flavour to his words that she wanted to diffuse.
‘It’s more personal than that. It’s because of Eloise.’
‘My mother? Why?’
Now his voice was a growl, and she knew that this was a touchy subject. Hell, she could relate to that—her own mother was not a topic she wished to discuss. Come to that, she wasn’t over-keen on talking about his.
‘Our parents—my father and your mother—they were...involved.’
‘Roberto mentioned that in my letter, but it was the first I’d heard of it.’
