Conveniently Wed to the Prince

Her hand flew from his as if burnt, and he realised the words had come out with a harshness he hadn’t intended. But it didn’t matter. He and Holly Romano were adversaries, not potential bed-mates

.

Her eyes hardened, as if she had caught the same thought. ‘Good question. And now, seeing as the point of this dinner is to pitch to each other, do you mind if I go first?’

Stefan nodded. ‘Go ahead.’

CHAPTER FOUR

HOLLY WAITED AS their main courses arrived, smiling up at the waiter, relieved at the time-out as her mind and body struggled to come to terms with the conversation. Her cheek still tingled from his touch and her fingers still held the roughness of his five o’clock shadow, the strength and breadth of his hand under hers.

This whole dinner had been a mistake, but somehow she had to try and salvage it. Though she suspected it was a doomed pitch, because she had nothing to offer. The only thing she could sell was the moral high ground, launching an appeal to his better, altruistic self. And whilst he clearly had one she didn’t think it would come to the table on this issue.

So here went nothing.

‘I understand you don’t believe in tradition, but I hope you believe in fairness. I believe the Romano claim is stronger than yours. We have a true connection with Il Boschetto di Sole and we already fulfil one of Roberto Bianchi’s wishes. For the grove to be a family affair, handed on from generation to generation.’

A pause showed her that he looked unmoved, his expression neutral as he listened.

‘Also, you have no real financial incentive to pursue this—if you truly wish for land in Lycander you can afford to buy it. I know your father passed a law that made that difficult but surely your brother would rescind that decree?’

His dark eyebrows jerked upwards. ‘And what do you base that opinion on? I didn’t realise you had an inside track to the Crown Prince.’

A flush touched her cheek as she realised he was right; she had no idea of the relationship between the brothers but it obviously wasn’t a close one.

‘Are you saying he won’t?’

‘No. I am saying I don’t wish to ask him.’ His face was shuttered now, his lips set in a grim line, his eyes shadowed. ‘This is my opportunity to own land in Lycander. Lucrative, strategic land—the equivalent to what I lost. You can’t change my mind on this, I accept you have a case, but I’ll fight you all the way.’

‘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?’