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His gaze snagged on the luscious softness of her parted lips and suddenly all his senses were heightened. The taste of the lemon lingered on his taste buds with exquisite sharpness, the trees took on an even more intense hue; the noise of a circling bird was preternaturally loud. Holly had broken off, her blue eyes had widened, and he forced himself to snap out of it. Before he did something foolish...like kiss her.
‘Why what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes, it does.’ Shaking away the tendrils of desire, he realised it did matter. ‘Come on. I’m really interested.’
She shrugged, continued to walk through the tree-lined area. ‘That’s why I believe we should focus on a different aspect of the business.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, at the moment we stock the majority of Lycandrian supermarkets and we have a pretty successful export market. All of which is great. But—’
Again she broke off and he came to a halt. ‘Go on.’
‘I want to make it more...personal. I’d like to install a factory. Make products with the lemons ourselves. We could make lemonade, cakes... There are Romano recipes going back generations. My grandmother made the best lemon cake in Europe! And there are other dishes as well—really amazing ones. Lemon chutneys and jams... And I’d like to do tours, have a museum. Honestly, the history of this place is amazing and the history of the lemons themselves is... It’s really interesting. Did you know this lemon has taken hundreds of years to get like this? Originally it was a fraction of this size and inedible, bitter. Farmers were intrigued, though, and they crossed it with local oranges and eventually we ended up with this.’
‘So why not do it? Take these ideas and run with them?’ The enthusiasm in her voice lit her face.
Holly shook her head. ‘The cost would be phenomenal; my father won’t do it. I’m not sure he would want tourists here, or to be involved in making and selling products. To him all that matters is the production of the best lemons in Lycander.’
Stefan frowned. ‘And he is to be commended for that. But in today’s day and age you are right—other markets should be considered. You are the future of Il Boschetto di Sole and these ideas are good.’
‘Maybe. But they need experience I don’t have, even if I could persuade my father to implement them. You said it yourself—you didn’t build your business overnight.’
‘No, but I was starting from scratch. You already have a means of raising money. But I agree—you do need more experience first. So why not pursue the marketing idea? That would give you excellent additional experience on top of what you have already learnt. Why not ask Lamberts if they would train you?’
Holly shook her head. ‘Because I don’t think it would work. They’ve already offered me a trainee position for next year.’
‘That’s brilliant.’ There was a silence and he frowned. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘It’s kind of them, but I refused.’
‘Why?’
‘For a start they’re only offering it because of my new elevated status as soon-to-be princess. For a second thing there’s no point. My future is on Il Boschetto di Sole. My half of it.’
‘If you believe you can do the job it doesn’t matter why they’re offering it. Plus, this job would help with your future plans for Il Boschetto di Sole.’
‘I really don’t think my father will buy the idea. Plus, I’d need more than a year’s experience. Plus, I don’t want to be based in London after our year.’
‘OK. Then you could transfer to a PR company here. Even better.’
Holly
sighed. ‘Maybe I will do that one day. But not yet. My father wants me here...learning the ropes.’
There was something else. ‘I’m missing something, aren’t I?’ he asked. ‘I don’t get why you can’t do both. Have a job you love in marketing and learn the ropes. There’s no rush. Why not have it all?’
‘Because there are other things I want to do with my life as well.’
‘Such as?
‘Just let it go.’ Holly’s voice was low now, as they emerged from the shade of the grove.
‘No.’
For a moment a warning bell pealed in his head. This was none of his business; there was no need for him to get involved in Holly’s life choices. Yet he couldn’t help it.
