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‘Great. Well, then, let’s get going.’ Flynn held out an arm for her. After a moment she took it and was rewarded by a warm private smile. ‘I’m looking forward to a day out with my wife.’
Helena beamed back, an unexpected warmth blossoming inside her despite herself at the words ‘my wife’. Maybe this day wouldn’t be all bad.
CHAPTER SIX
AS THE CAR flew through the Tuscan countryside, Flynn settled back into his seat and ran through his plan for the day again in his head.
Main objective: to make Helena comfortable with this marriage in time for Henry’s arrival. Or was the main objective to get Helena to sit down and sensibly discuss the marriage contract? One led to the other, admittedly, but a firm objective was the first step of any plan. So, which was it?
Maybe he needed a broader plan. Make the objective a signed contract before they headed back to London. In which case, today’s steps broke down into—
‘Oh, wow!’ Helena wound down her window and stuck her head half outside the car. ‘Look at this place, Flynn!’
Resisting the urge to pull her back inside, where a passing car was less likely to lop her head off, Flynn tried to look around her at what had made her so excited. Whatever it was, it fitted nicely with his plan, at least. Coaxing Helena into a better mood was definitely step one.
Outside, field after field of grapevines sunned themselves as they ripened and, up ahead, Flynn could see the farmhouse from the photo his PA had attached to the diary entry. This was the right place then, at least.
‘It’s gorgeous.’ Helena ducked back into the car, her smile far more authentic this time. ‘This is where we’re doing the tasting?’ she asked as the driver took another twist in the rough driveway at considerable speed.
‘This is the place.’ Flynn made a mental note about a raise for his PA as he pulled out his phone and checked the notes on the diary entry again. ‘A tour of the vineyards, followed by a tasting with antipasti, then a drive to a nearby taverna for lunch, where I believe they serve the wine from the estate.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ She flashed him a quick grin that showed her neat white teeth. ‘Very romantic.’
‘I think that was the plan.’ He tucked his phone back in his pocket as the car reached the top of the drive and slowed to a stop. ‘At least, that’s what I asked my PA to organise.’
‘You asked her to organise romance?’ Helena asked, eyebrows raised. ‘Isn’t that a little counter-intuitive?’
‘I don’t see why.’ The driver opened Helena’s door, so Flynn opened his own and stepped out into the late morning sun. ‘Most things can be improved by a little planning.’
‘Still...romance needs a certain sort of spontaneity. Don’t you think?’
She really wasn’t anything like her sister, Flynn mused. Although, given Thea’s own last-minute change of plan for love, perhaps they had more in common than he’d imagined.
‘I think that people like to think that the good things in life are natural, that they just happen,’ he said. ‘But in my experience a lack of planning tends to lead to unfortunate outcomes rather than good ones.’
Helena stared at him over the bonnet of the car. ‘Boy, have you been having the wrong experiences.’
Maybe she was right. But not about the planning. And if they wanted to get along equably enough as man and wife... Mentally, Flynn added: Convince Helena of the merits of forward planning to his schedule for the day.
He had always liked a challenge.
* * *
‘Mr and Mrs Ashton! Welcome. I’m Gia.’ The dark-haired woman stepped forward on to the driveway and shook Helena’s hand enthusiastically before moving on to Flynn.
‘Call me Flynn,’ he said, taking her hand in both of his. Her husband looked far more relaxed in the company of this stranger than he did in hers, Helena thought.
‘And I’m Helena,’ she added with a little wave. ‘So...is this your home?’
Gia laughed, a low, mellow sound. ‘It is! It belonged to my great-grandparents, then my grandparents, then my parents. And when they retired three years ago I took it over with my husband.’
‘And began producing some of the most renowned Chianti in the region,’ Flynn said. Gia’s gaze moved to him, her eyebrows raised. Helena would have done the same, were it not Flynn the Planner talking. ‘I read the website in the car,’ he added with a shrug.
‘It’s good to have a truly interested visitor,’ Gia said. ‘Now, why don’t you come inside with me and have a coffee before we start our tour?’
‘That sounds like a fantastic idea,’ Helena agreed, even as she saw Flynn check his watch. Good grief, the man was going to have to learn to find flex in his schedule to allow for coffee or they were never going to make it through the fortnight without killing each other.
The coffee was dark and rich, the farmhouse kitchen shady and cool—both a welcome respite after the air-conditioned swerving of the car. Helena felt her stomach settle and her shoulders relax as she sat and peppered Gia with questions about the house and the vineyard.
‘I was working in America—California, in fact—until five years ago,’ Gia said, pushing a plate of biscotti towards Helena.
‘Making wine?’ Helena asked, helping herself.
Gia shook her head. ‘Real estate, believe it or not. But I toured plenty of the vineyards out there with clients. But then one year I came home for Christmas and, over dinner, my parents told me it was time for them to retire. They didn’t want to interrupt my career, so they were planning to sell the vineyard.’ She gave a small shrug and reached for a biscotti. ‘I couldn’t let them do it.’
‘So you took it on yourself instead,’ Flynn said. ‘Very brave.’
Gia gave him a lopsided smile. ‘I don’t think I realised the risk I was taking until later. I came here with no plan, no real training, no idea what I was doing. But I learned fast and I studied hard. I took courses, asked questions and paid attention to everything. My parents stayed on to help for the first year or so, then I met my husband and he came on board, and between us all we found a way to make it work.’
Helena raised her eyebrows at Flynn across the table, sipping at her coffee while she waited for him to notice. Even he had to acknowledge everything Gia had built here without a plan.
But Flynn merely raised a single eyebrow in return then turned his attention back to Gia. ‘I imagine you needed
to work up a business plan and so forth once you took it over?’
‘Of course. But that initial decision—that first jump. I never for a moment planned that, until that Christmas Day when I suddenly couldn’t imagine doing anything else.’
Like her, on the morning of their wedding, Helena realised. She’d never really, truly imagined stepping into Thea’s place if she decided not to go through with the marriage. But once she’d left, and she’d seen Flynn standing there...she couldn’t imagine not marrying him in her place. Even though it was utterly, utterly crazy and unplanned.
Of course, Flynn would probably argue that marrying Helena was the closest thing to following his plan that he could manage on short notice.
Not exactly romantic.
‘Come on,’ Gia said, jumping to her feet. ‘If you’ve finished your coffee, let’s take a look around the vineyard.’
Helena gulped down the last mouthful of her coffee, grabbed another biscotti for the road and followed their guide out of the back door. She had a feeling that Gia was a woman who would appreciate the spontaneous aspect of romance. And she had an idea Gia might be able to help her with—if she could get her alone for a moment.
* * *
Flynn watched Helena as she skipped between the vines, peppering Gia with questions at every step. Gia, for her part, answered every one thoughtfully, following Helena at a more careful pace. Eventually Flynn tuned out of what they were saying altogether and just studied his wife.
She was golden in the sunlight, shining with—no, radiating—life and energy. Now they had escaped the villa, she seemed to have come to life. She’d been lovely in her borrowed wedding dress, gorgeous in that slippery silky thing on their wedding night, and pretty in the simple tailored shorts and tees she’d been wearing around the villa—but today, in a simple sundress and sandals, she was beautiful. She was alive.
Absently, Flynn pulled his phone from his pocket to check if Henry had sent through his flight details yet. The sooner they got this contract sorted, the sooner he could start making this marriage everything he’d planned for it to be. But there were no messages from his solicitor, or his PA, and as Flynn frowned at the screen Helena turned around to scowl at him.
