‘Have you told him you love him?’
‘No! And I’m not going to. There is no point in humiliating myself and making him feel bad. This is not his fault.’ Unlike Graham, Stefan had not strung her along or pretended love—he’d been up-front. ‘I don’t want to be like you and my mother.’
Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, reached out and touched her arm. ‘Holly. Please do not let me and your mother’s actions destroy your relationship or taint your attitude to love. Our mistakes, our issues, do not need to be yours. Stefan is not me, and you are not your mother. Give your love a chance.’
Holly looked at him and her own words to Stefan came back to her. If you can let go of the past then you can have a future. And his words, about the past being there to be learned from.
What if they were both right?
What if her father was right?
Maybe she should let go of her past and tell Stefan of her love. And if he rejected that love then she would learn from her parents and she would walk away, knowing she had done all she could to give love a chance.
‘Thank you, Papa.’ She dropped a kiss on his head and then, pulling up every reserve of courage, she headed for the lounge.
As she entered her heart pounded so hard it was a wonder her ribcage could cope. Her lungs certainly couldn’t. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw him, standing by the mantelpiece, studying the array of photographs there, his whole body tense.
His fingers drummed his thigh as he turned to face her. ‘Holly. We need to talk.’
What to say? What to say? And where to say it?
Not here. Somehow she wanted to be outside, under the sky, amongst the trees in the vast beauty of Il Boschetto di Sole.
‘Shall we go outside?’
He nodded, and together they made their way to the front door and stepped out into the early evening, where the last rays of sunshine were giving way to the dusk. His proximity made her head whirl, and his familiar scent made her want to bury herself in his arms and burrow in.
Rather than that, she sought some form of conversation. ‘So...um...how is it going with Frederick?’
‘Good. We’ve come up with some pretty solid ideas that we’re both excited about.’
‘Good.’
Conversation dwindled after that as they walked through the garden of the villa and headed by tacit consent to the lemon groves, where the intense fragrance offered her the comfort of familiarity as they wended through the trees towards a bench. A breeze holding the first chill of the year blew and she gave a small shiver.
‘Here.’ He shrugged off the green and blue checked shirt that he wore over a deep blue T-shirt. Seeing his bare arms made her shiver with the sudden bittersweet ache of desire and the memory of being held. Perhaps she should refuse the shirt, but she couldn’t. She wanted to feel the material that had touched his skin against hers.
‘Thank you.’
They sat on the bench and she turned to him, knowing she needed to do it—take the plunge.
‘I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you. We left some things unsaid.’
The ghost of a smile touched his lips. ‘Yes, we did. That’s why I’m here too. To say...’
Goodbye? Had he discovered some legal loophole that would allow their marriage to be annulled?
‘Could I go first? Please.’ Before she bottled it.
For a moment she thought, almost hoped, he’d refuse, but then he nodded. ‘Go ahead.’
After a deep breath she launched in. ‘I wasn’t fully truthful with you and I should have been. But before I say what I need to say I need you to know that this is not your fault.’
Come on, Holly.
‘I love you.’
There—she’d said it. Admittedly whilst staring down at the slats of the wooden bench, but she’d said it.