Conveniently Wed to the Prince

Stefan moved forward, his hand held out, and the older man took it. ‘Welcome, Your Highness,’ he said, his voice full of dignity.

‘Please call me Stefan. It is good to meet you, sir.’

‘You too, Stefan.’

For a long moment grey eyes met blue, and Holly

felt a jolt of something akin to her jealousy of years before. Was her father looking at Stefan and thinking of what might have been? That this was the son he might have had with Eloise? Was he wishing Holly away?

Stop. That way led madness.

‘I thought you might like a tour.’

‘Very much so.’

Thomas stepped back and smiled, though Holly could see the strain in his eyes. ‘I think it would be fitting if Holly shows you round. Soon this land will belong to the two of you.’

‘I told you, Papa. It will belong to you.’

‘It will belong to our family.’ He turned to Stefan. ‘When you are done come and join me for a drink and I will answer any questions you may have. And of course feel free to ask anyone whatever you wish.’

With that he turned and headed towards the house. Holly submerged her anxiety, tried to quell the worries, suspecting that her father was overcome with emotion because the sight of Stefan had triggered memories of the past, of wandering round Il Boschetto di Sole with Eloise.

Later. She would speak with him later. Now it was all about Stefan and the creation of a good impression. Soon some of these employees would work for Stefan—men and women Holly had grown up with, people who had looked out for her and after her. Others she knew less well...a couple were new faces completely. But to a degree she held the responsibility for their well-being, and the idea was both scary and challenging.

She started the round of introductions, then stood back to allow the staff to assess Stefan, watching with mixed emotions as their wariness and in some cases suspicions thawed as they spoke with him. Stefan was courteous without being fawning, and best of all he seemed genuine.

When he spoke to each individual he listened and focused his attention on that person, which allowed Holly to observe him. The way he tipped his head very slightly to the left as he concentrated, the glint of the autumn sun on his dark hair, the strong curve of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze, the firm line of his mouth, the contained power of his body.

‘I have a lot to learn,’ he said, once he had spoken with everyone. ‘But I’ll do my best to be a willing pupil. I want to get to know Il Boschetto di Sole, to understand how it works.’

Once the employees had dispersed Holly looked at him in query. ‘Did you mean that?’

‘If I am going to own it then I accept the responsibilities that go with it. Now, how about that tour?’

* * *

Five minutes later Stefan followed Holly through a mosaic paved courtyard and up a steep flight of drystone stairs cut into the mountainside. He came to a standstill as he gazed out at the panorama of terraced areas that positively burst with lemon trees, the fruit so bright, the fragrance so intense that he felt dizzy.

‘This is...incredible.’

For a strange instant the whole moment transcended time and he could almost picture his mother here, walking amongst the trees, inhaling the scent, lost in dreams of a happy future.

Next to him Holly too had stilled, perhaps reliving memories of her own childhood. Then she grinned up at him, as if pleased that he shared her appreciation of the vista.

‘It’s pretty cool, yes? This is the last couple of months of harvest; some people say the lemons are at their best earlier, but I reckon these are damned good. Come and try one.’

She wended her way through the trees, surveyed each and every one, finally decided on the lemon she wanted, reached up and plucked it. His eyes didn’t waver from her, absorbed in the lithe grace with which she moved, the way her floral skirt caught the breeze, her unconscious poise and elegance as she turned and handed him the fruit.

‘Just peel it and taste!’

The fruit was surprisingly easy to peel, the burst of scent tart and refreshing, and as he divided it into segments and popped one into his mouth he raised his brows in surprise. ‘I thought it would be more bitter.’

Holly shook her head. ‘It’s what makes our lemons stand apart; their taste is unique—tart with a layer of sweetness.’

He handed over a segment to her, felt a sudden jolt as his fingers, sticky with juice, touched hers. He watched as she raised it to her mouth and rubbed it over her lips.

‘And the texture is pretty amazing too; they stay firm for longer. That’s why—’