Conveniently Wed To The Prince

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 Romanos 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.

Guilt panged anew—she shouldn’t have left in the first place. The least she could have done for the man who had brought her up singlehandedly from the age of eight was not abandon him. But she visited regularly, checked up nearly daily, and she would be home soon.

Stefan stepped a little closer to her—not into her space, but close enough that for a stupid moment she caught a whiff of his scent, a citrus woodsy smell that sent her absurdly dizzy.

For a second his body tensed, and she would have sworn he caught his breath, and then he frowned—as though he’d lost track of the conversational thread just as she had.

Focus.

‘I’d like to discuss a deal,’ he said eventually, as the frown deepened into what she was coming to think of as his trademark scowl. ‘What will it take for you to walk away from this? I understand that you are worried about your father—but I would guarantee that his job is safe, that nothing will change for him. If anything, he would have more autonomy to do as he wishes with the grove. And you can name your price—what do you want?’

Holly’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t want anything.’

‘You don’t even want to think about it?’ Disbelief tinged each syllable.

‘Nope.’

‘Why not?’ The question was genuine, but lined with an edge—this was a man used to getting his own way.

‘Because the Romanos have toiled on that land for generations—now we have a chance to own the land in our own right. Nothing is worth more than that. Nothing. Surely you see that?’

‘No, I don’t. It is just soil and fruit and land—the same as any other on Lycander. Take the money and buy another lemon grove—a new one that can belong to the Romanos from the start.’

His tone implied that he genuinely believed this to be a viable solution. ‘It doesn’t work like that. We have a history with Il Boschetto di Sole—a connection, a bond. You don’t.’

His frown deepened but he remained silent; it was impossible to tell his thoughts.

‘So why don’t you take your own advice? You have more than enough money to buy a score of lemon groves. Why do you want this one?’

‘That’s my business,’ he said. ‘The point is I am willing to pay you well over the market price. I suggest you think carefully about my offer. Because I am also willing to fight it out, and if I win then you will have nothing. No money and no guarantee that your father will keep his job.’

For a second her blood chilled and anger soared. ‘So if you win you would take his job from him?’