The Italian's Unexpected Heir

She gave the tiny apartment one more look, still not ready to commit to this new future. She nodded her head. “Let’s go home.”

With the flowers collected and stowed in the car, Enzo drove them back to the vineyard while Sylvie stared out the window at the beautiful scenery. But it wasn’t the tall Cypress trees lining the road or the rolling hills that captured her attention; it was the war raging within her between sticking out her plan to convince Enzo to change his mind about the estate or cutting her losses and moving to Florence now. The sooner she got there, the sooner she’d accept the reality of her situation—she had no future with Enzo.

She focused her thoughts on what was awaiting her in Florence. The location of the apartment was superb as it was in the heart of the city. And best of all, it was furnished. Old furniture, but it appeared to be well taken care of. All the money she’d save with the low rent and not having to buy furniture would help stretch her savings until she landed a job.

But she also realized she’d been the one responsible for inviting the magazine to the estate. She had to stay and see this through until the end. And then she would move on—no matter how hard it would be for her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE BIG DAY had arrived.

Praises and compliments were bandied about.

But all Enzo could think about was the small apartment in Florence—where Sylvie was considering living. It was so much smaller than the house on this estate. And it needed a lot of work.

He knew those were all excuses. The truth of the matter was he didn’t want her moving there. He didn’t want her to be so far away.

And yet, he couldn’t ask her to stay here. Because soon, he would no longer own the estate. So what did that leave him? To ask her to move to France with him? Impossible. That would mean strings and commitments, things he was just now untangling himself from with the sale of the estate.

“This is great.” The reporter, Jameson Asaro, seemed more interested in smiling at Sylvie than exploring the estate. “I think we have all we need of the villa and vineyard.”

“Are you sure?” Sylvie asked.

“You’ve been an excellent guide.” Jameson smiled once more at Sylvie. “I’ve really enjoyed your company.”

Color rose in Sylvie’s cheeks. “Thank you.”

Unhappy with this conversation, Enzo cleared his throat as he made a point of checking the time on his wristwatch. It was definitely time to move this interview along.

“You know, Enzo’s father built all of this,” Sylvie said. “Isn’t that right, Enzo?”

He knew she was trying to get him to talk. He didn’t like this guy or the way he flirted with Sylvie. Still, Sylvie was looking at him expectantly. “Um, yes. That’s right. He inherited the land from my grandfather, but until that point, it was just wide-open space.” He pressed his hands to his trim waist. “This was all my father’s hard work.”

The reporter made a note on his digital tablet. “But you have worked on the grapes, right?”

“Yes. I’ve been instrumental in blending the grapes.”

“How did you do that if you were living and working in France?”

“I started the work before I moved to France. And though my father and his crew did the day-to-day maintenance, I came home periodically to oversee things.”

“So you and your father must have worked closely together.”

Enzo paused, recalling his time with his father. In the beginning his father wouldn’t listen to Enzo’s ideas. But as the years went by and Enzo gained more experience, his father would actually seek out his advice. It had been the greatest feeling in the world. “We did.”

The reporter made a notation in his notes. “Then why move to France? Why not work here with your father?”

“My father believed in everyone learning to be independent.”

“So you were planning to return?”

He didn’t like the direction of these questions. He never should have agreed to the interview. He didn’t want to dissect his life with his father. He didn’t want to acknowledge that he’d headed off on his own to learn as much as he could in order to return to the Barto Vineyard and make it bigger and better. And to one day have his father hand over the reins—trusting Enzo with what his father had created and worked his whole life to make thrive.

“Yes.” Enzo’s voice rumbled with emotion. He slammed the

door on those memories. He swallowed hard. “We should get going.” He turned for the door. “I’ve arranged to give you a horseback tour of the estate. It’s the only true way to see the place.” He paused and turned back to them. “Do you ride?”

* * *