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‘I could say the same to you.’
That had been her father’s weary voice.
‘Would you have loved me if I’d given you a son?’
‘Perhaps I would have cared for you more if you could have shown love to our daughter.’
‘What does she have that I don’t? Why do you love her when you can’t love me?’
‘She is my daughter—my flesh and blood. How can I not love her? Her gender isn’t her fault.’
Holly had pulled the blanket over her head then—variations of that conversation had been played out so many times. But that time there had been a different end: the next day her mother had packed her bags and gone. All because of Eloise.
Holly tore off a minute piece of croissant, glanced down at it, rolled it between her fingers and told herself that none of that was Stefan’s fault. Or his business.
‘Perhaps we need to focus on the here and now. I believe my father has complicated feelings about this marriage because of who you are, but he understands the role he needs to play and he has explained the will to the staff and workers and told them the same story we’re telling the world. All we need to do today is reassure everyone that nothing will change—that their jobs are safe.’
Stefan studied her for a moment, then nodded tersely. ‘Understood. Let’s get this show on the road.’
The journey to Il Boschetto di Sole was achieved in silence—a silence that contained a spikiness that neither of them broached or breached. The memories evoked by mention of Eloise swirled in Holly’s mind in an unsettling whirlwind, and worry surfaced about her father’s state of mind and whether all this would impact his physical health.
The car slowed as they approached their destination. Further memories floated into its interior as she rolled the tinted window down so the fragrance of lemon could waft in. The familiarity of the scent soothed her, calling up images of the beauty of the lemon grove, reminding her of times tagging along at her father’s heels, racing through the fields of trees, watching in fascination as the lemons were harvested, loving the tart hit of the juice.
But there had been other, less salubrious times. Despair at her mother’s treatment of her counterbalanced by gratitude for her father’s kindness. The fairy tale of falling in love with Graham and the pain of the betrayal that had followed. Somehow now only the pain felt real, because the happy times with Graham had been nothing but an illusion.
A glance at Stefan and she saw his look of concentration, the way his eyes were scanning the surroundings as though in search of something. Perhaps it was an attempt to picture his mother, the girl she’d once been, the young woman who had apparently spent happy times here. Eloise. His mother. Her nemesis.
Sudden guilt ran over her—she hadn’t even given him a chance to talk about Eloise. Eloise had left Lycander when Stefan had been a child—whatever her shortcomings, that must have hit him hard. Lord knew she could sympathise with that.
Almost without meaning to she moved a little closer to him. ‘There are people here who will remember your mother,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll make sure I introduce you. If you want.’
There was a pause. His grey eyes seemed to look into the distance, perhaps into the past, and then he nodded. ‘Thank you. I’d like that. And Holly...?’
‘Yes.’
Reaching out, he took her hand in his. ‘About earlier. Whatever happened between your father and my mother all those years ago it sounds like your father ended up hurt, and I’m sorry for that. I truly believe my mother acted as she thought best, but I accept I can’t know how it all went down.’
Neither could she. The realisation was ridiculously shocking. In truth, all she had was her own interpretation of her parents’ viewpoints. Eloise could never put her side forward now.
The car arrived on the gravelled driveway and Holly saw that the entire staff had congregated to greet them. Embarrassment tinted her cheeks. ‘Sorry... I wasn’t expecting this.’
‘No worries. It’s good practice. In a few weeks we’ll be on show for the world en route to the altar.’
‘That makes me feel heaps better.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ Stefan smiled, and all of a sudden, against all logic, she did feel better.
Franco opened the door and she climbed out, saw her father at the head of the group and ran forward.
‘Papa.’ Anxiety touched her—Thomas looked older than when she’d seen him a couple of months before. ‘Are you taking your medicine?’ She made sure she kept her voice low and the smile on her face.
‘Of course. You must not worry. The past days have been very emotional, that is all. That the Romanos will own part of this... That you are marrying Prince Stefan... It is a lot to take in.’
‘The marriage is for one year only, Papa. You do understand that?’
Worry began to seep in along with her sense of guilt. Thomas looked thinner, even his face was gaunter than a year before. She shouldn’t have run to London. Since her mother had left she had looked after her father—made sure he ate, took the medication he needed to manage his heart condition. Provided he followed all advice the doctors were confident he could go on for many years. But had he been following the advice?
‘Of course I do. Now, let us move on. Introduce me.’
