‘Do you mind?’
Helena shook her head. ‘Go on. I think you’ve earned at least one business call today.’
He flashed her a smile as he answered. He knew that the engagement ring idea was a good one. When in doubt, buy jewellery—his mother’s entire contribution to his education about how to treat women might not have been lengthy, but it worked.
‘Henry. I hope you’re calling with good news.’ And flight numbers, preferably. He wanted everything he and Helena had discussed down on paper before anything changed. And especially before they had to go back to London and deal with their families again. If anything was going to screw things up between them, Flynn would place money on it being Ezekiel Ashton—even if he didn’t mean to.
‘Afraid not.’ Henry sounded harassed. Henry never sounded anything other than cool and collected, even when Flynn woke him up at two in the morning. This was not a good sign. ‘Can you talk?’
The car swept up the driveway of the villa, stopping right by the front door. ‘Yeah, I can talk. Just one moment.’
‘Let me guess,’ Helena said as the driver cut the engine. ‘You need to work.’
‘Just a little. But we’ll have dinner together?’
‘Definitely.’ Helena grinned. ‘You’ve got something to give me later.’
‘That’s right, I do.’ Once again, jewellery saved him from himself. ‘I’ll see you for dinner.’ Opening the car door, he stepped out and strode towards the villa. ‘Henry? I’m here. What’s happening?’
‘I need you to make a decision about priorities,’ Henry said as Flynn let himself into the villa and headed for the room his father had been using as his study. Ezekiel wasn’t there any more and it only made sense for him to use it. The symbolism of taking over his father’s desk was purely accidental, if rather satisfying.
‘Priorities?’ Flynn sat himself in the desk chair. With his laptop and files set up down there it already felt more like his own space. He’d already spent a decent amount of time there and, with another week or so of their honeymoon to go, the chances were he’d be spending a lot more. Just not so much as to alienate Helena.
See? He had his priorities straight.
‘Which is more important to you: your post-nuptial agreement or the contracts for the sale of This Minute to Morrison-Ashton?’ Henry asked.
‘You mean the contracts that compel my father to make me CEO, in return for Zeke selling us his company,’ Flynn clarified. They both knew his interest in those contracts of sale had less to do with the digital media company his brother had built up and more to do with his own future at Morrison-Ashton. ‘Why? What’s gone wrong with them?’
‘Your father is contesting rather a lot of the details.’ Flynn got the impression that Henry was understating things there. Ezekiel Ashton would fight tooth and nail to retain control of that company until they put him in his grave. But Flynn had faith in Zeke. He’d said it was a done deal and that meant it would be, eventually—however hard and long their father fought it. ‘Your brother’s legal team are doing an admirable job, but I think you might want me here to help smooth the path from our side. Just to make sure that he doesn’t manage to slip anything in there that could hold up his stepping down from the CEO position.’
‘Henry, are you trying to get out of a paid holiday in Tuscany for a couple of days?’ Flynn kicked his feet up on the desk and leant back in his desk chair.
Henry laughed. ‘I might be trying to not gate-crash your honeymoon, but only for business reasons, I promise you.’
‘Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to gate-crash,’ Flynn told him. ‘We’ve got to get that marriage contract signed.’
‘Things going that badly, huh?’ Henry asked, his tone sympathetic.
‘The opposite, actually.’ Flynn let himself remember the look on Helena’s face when she’d seen her ring. ‘It’s going very, very well. And I don’t want to give my father the chance to ruin that.’
‘You think he will?’ Henry sounded surprised. ‘I know he wasn’t entirely happy about you marrying the wrong sister, but does it really make that much difference?’
‘Do you know, Henry, I think it will. To me, anyway.’ He couldn’t say how. It had been less than a week. But already his relationship with Helena felt more like a...well...relationship than things with Thea ever had.
‘You’re sounding smitten, my friend.’
‘I’m a newlywed,’ Flynn joked. ‘I’m supposed to be besotted with my wife. Whoever she turns out to be.’
Henry laughed. ‘Well, okay, then. But if things are so hunky-dory with the new Mrs Ashton, what’s the worry?’
‘It was made very clear to me by my father and his esteemed business partner that unless I return from this trip with a signed and notarised post-nuptial agreement, they would take it into their own hands to get one. I want this marriage to be on my terms—mine and Helena’s. That means we need you here to make that legal.’
‘Fair enough.’ Flynn heard the clicking of a mouse on the other end of the line. ‘Best flight I can get has me with you tomorrow mid-morning. Will that work?’
‘Perfect.’ That gave him tonight to wine and dine Helena, propose, kiss her goodnight. Just one more frustrated night in his own bed and then they could sign the papers and make this a real marriage at last.
‘I’ll get it booked,’ Henry promised. ‘But, Flynn...make sure you’re both on the same page before I get there, yeah? You know these things always go more smoothly when there are no surprises.’
‘I know. Don’t worry. Helena and I aren’t the secretive types.’ Compared to Thea, Helena was an open book. And he didn’t have any more brothers for her to declare undying love for, so he figured he was probably safe there too.
‘Then I’ll see you two lovebirds tomorrow,’ Henry said and hung up.
Flynn dropped his phone on to the desk and pulled the ring box out of his pocket, opening it to admire the deep blue stone at the heart of the ring. He’d clear his emails and then still have time to shower and change before dinner.
He smiled to himself. Just another hour or so and it would be time to propose to his wife.
HELENA WOUND THE last string of lights along the beams of the terrace and stood back to admire her handiwork. Not bad, if she did say so herself. The table for two—complete with white linen napkins and flickering candlelight—was all prepared, and the fairy lights she’d found left over from the wedding decorations were perfect for giving their little terrace dinner table the right romantic atmosphere—far better than they’d managed in the formal dining room the last few days. The flowers climbing the stone walls added a heady, spicy scent in the last of the day’s sunlight, and the air was still warm enough that she didn’t need the wrap she’d brought out with her.
She smoothed down her
