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If he had been stronger, better, more princely, then her life would have been easier too. But he’d failed—or so his father had said. He had come in one day and announced the end of the regime. It was over and Eloise was gone.
In that moment, as he’d seen the cruelty on his father’s face, Stefan had vowed that he would never be a prince—that as soon as he could he would follow his mother into exile. When he’d learnt of her death, in his grief and anger, he’d renewed that vow.
‘I’m sorry.’ Holly hesitated, then reached out and clasped his hand. ‘Truly sorry. All I can say is please try to remember that she loved you and treasure the memories you have. I know she did.’
Stefan frowned, sure that alongside the compassion in her voice there was a strange wistfulness. As if she had a paucity of similar memories.
As if aware of it, she shifted slightly, turned to face the sea, choppier now, with white crests on the waves looping and rolling in the breeze, casting a salt scent towards the shore along with their spray.
She’d said her parents’ marriage had been embittered, and she had hardly ever mentioned her mother.
‘What happened with your parents?’ He kept his voice gentle, non-intrusive.
‘My mother left when I was eight—went to Australia.’
‘That must have been tough. How did they sort out custody?’
‘They didn’t. She decided to make a clean break; I haven’t seen her since.’
Now she turned to him.
‘I know it’s awful that your mother suffered, and it breaks my heart when I think about it. But I also know that you are so lucky that she loved you. Because you see my mother never did—never loved me. My parents wanted a boy. Desperately. After Eloise left, my father knew he needed to get married—needed Romano heirs. He was up-front with my mother, told that he didn’t love her, that his heart belonged to Eloise, but that he’d do his best to make her happy. Maybe if they’d had a brood of children they would have been. But it didn’t happen, and as time went by they became desperate. For a boy. When Eloise had you I think it tipped my mother over the edge—made her feel a complete failure. She did everything; she went to herbalists, soothsayers, every doctor she could think of. I think she would have sold her soul for a child—or rather for a boy. When I turned up they were devastated. I’ve heard people talking about it.’
Stefan scooted across the sand, moved as close to her as possible and hoped his proximity would offer some comfort. The idea of tiny baby Holly, left unloved, desperate for care and love, made his chest ache.
‘My father hired a nurse...tried to persuade my mother to take an interest. But she didn’t. I think she couldn’t. It was as though the sight of me turned her stomach. It always did and there’s nothing I can do to change that. My father was different; his disappointment has never fully faded, but he has always shown me love and kindness and I will be grateful for ever for that.’
It explained so much about why Holly was willing to do anything for her father. Gr
atitude, a desire to make up for his disappointment in her gender and of course love. Confirmation, perhaps, that love gave power; if you accepted love then you had to give something back.
Next to him, she gave a sudden tight smile. ‘Don’t look so gutted—it could have been worse. My mother never physically hurt me, and there were plenty of staff around—they all looked out for me. And my father was amazing.’
She glanced at her watch.
‘The tide is turning and the boat will soon be back for us. We’d better go.’
‘Wait.’
Turning, he pulled her into his arms, rested her head against his shoulder, felt the tickle of her hair against his chin. For a second she resisted, and then she relaxed. He rubbed her back, hoped he could soothe her childhood pain.
They sat like that for a while and then she pulled back, touched his cheek with one gentle finger. ‘We really do need to go.’
He nodded, rose and held out his hand to pull her up from the sand.
As they packed up the remains of their picnic a small voice warned him to take care. Holly had been rebuffed all her life by the person who should have loved her most and she was vulnerable.
But not to him, he reassured himself. Holly knew he wasn’t a long-term prospect and she didn’t even want him to be one. She’d been more than clear on that. But he knew that in this honeymoon period he wanted to make her happy, give her some memories to treasure.
They had a week—and he wanted to make it count.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HOLLY WOKE WITH a feeling of well-being and opened her eyes sleepily, aware of warmth, security and Stefan’s arm around her. Her brain kicked in and computed the day. Already in countdown mode, she was aware that their honeymoon period was tick-tick-ticking away. But it was OK. They still had a few days to go.
Relief trickled through her and she closed her eyes—just as the alarm shrilled out and her brain properly kicked into gear, dissipating the cloud of sleep. She sat up.
Stefan made a small noise of disapproval, reached up and pulled her back down. The sleepy caress of his hands down her back caused the now familiar jolt of desire. But today she couldn’t act on it. Instead she placed a gentle hand on his chest, leaned over and nuzzled his neck and then sat up again.
