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‘What?’
‘If you don’t have children I would like you to leave your share of Il Boschetto di Sole to me or my children. That way one day the land will be reunited. It seems fair to me. You are asking for my help to win more land for yourself—this way my family will gain something in the future. Something important.’ Her gaze didn’t leave his. ‘Of course you can refuse. Marry whoever Marcus has chosen. But I think you have a better chance of pulling off a “branding” exercise with me. Otherwise, I guarantee all the publicity will be about the “marriage race”.’
Annoyance warred with admiration. It turned out Holly had a talent for negotiation too. Her request was unusual, but reasonable.
‘Agreed.’ No point prolonging negotiations. ‘So we have a new deal?’
‘Yes.’
This time she nodded her head, kept her hands firmly around her cup. ‘But I’ll be up-front. I do think you have a better chance with me, but this wedding won’t be an easy sell. People will realise we are getting married through legal necessity. We certainly can’t pretend it’s a love match. Especially when we plan to start divorce proceedings in a year.’
‘You’ll need to find some positive spin.’
‘Ha-ha! I’m not sure an army of washing machines could provide enough spin.’
Placing the coffee down, she tugged a serviette from her bag, a pen from her pocket and began to scribble.
‘The terms of the will are bound to be published, so any story we come up with needs to acknowledge the legal necessity of our marriage. But we need to incorporate some sort of “feel-good” factor into it.’
For a few minutes she stared into space and he watched her, seeing the intense concentration on her face, the faint crease on her brow, hearing the click-click of the pen as she fiddled with it. Her blonde hair gleamed in the autumn sunlight, gold flecks seemed to shimmer in the light breeze. His gaze snagged on her lips and a sudden rush of memory hit him. The taste of her lips, the warmth of her response...
‘Stefan! Earth to Stefan!’
‘Sorry.’
Get with it, Petrelli.
‘How about this? When I came to London a year ago I was intrigued by you—the exiled Prince of my country—so I called you up and asked to meet you. We hit it off and started a relationship. A low-key relationship, because that suited both of us. Perhaps Roberto Bianchi found out—we’ll never know. Anyway, when we came to know the terms of the will we really did not want to fight—we even wondered if he’d been hoping we’d marry each other and that’s what we decided to do. It could be that it won’t work, and we both know that, but in that case we will each own half the grove.’
Stefan looked at her appreciatively. ‘I like it. That has a definite ring of authenticity and, whilst we are fibbing, it isn’t so great a fib as all that. Hell, it could even have happened like that.’
For a second his imagination ran with the idea. Their meeting, the tug of attraction... Only in this version it was an attraction that had no barriers, an attraction that could be fulfilled...
Whoa. Rein it in.
The silence twanged. Her cheeks flushed and then she let out a sigh. ‘I think we need to role-play it.’
‘Huh?’ Given where his imagination had been heading, he couldn’t hold back the note of shock.
‘No!’ Her flush deepened; pink climbed the angles of her cheekbones. ‘I don’t mean every detail. Obviously. I mean we’re going to be questioned closely on this. How did we meet? Where was it? What were we wearing? How did we feel? I assume part of this gig will involve press interviews and appearances on TV. So I think we need to have a practice run. I know it feels stupid, but I think it’s important.’
Stefan shrugged. ‘OK. Here and now?’
‘Sure. Why not?’ Holly looked around, checked there was no one to see them, no one close enough to overhear them. ‘So... I’ve written to you, asking to meet with you. Why do you agree, given that you are known to have little interest in Lycander?’
‘You sent a photo?’
‘No!’
‘Joking! I’m joking.’
‘Well, I’m not laughing.’
But he wasn’t fooled. There was smile in her eyes—he could see it. ‘Inside you are. But, OK, fair enough. I can see why this is a good idea. But let’s back up a step. What did you say in your letter?’
‘Hmm... Let’s work backwards—what would have persuaded you to meet me? How about if I’d asked for help? For Lycander? Extolled Frederick’s virtues?’
‘I’d have told you to take a hike. Preferably a long way away.’
