meet once a year at the château, to spend the summer together, and I know they can’t wait to meet her.’
Kate was beaming across at him with such delight that the warmth in her voice went some way to melting the ice that had started to form around his heart.
‘You need not worry about her being on her own at the château. Anton has lots of young nieces and nephews for her to play with, and she will be totally spoiled. This is the first chance she will have to meet all of Anton’s family. Her new family. She’ll love it,’ Kate said.
Max sighed out loud and fought to keep a caustic mixture of anger, loss and disappointment out of his voice. ‘Well, that ties it. How could she possibly choose between a French château, being spoilt rotten with a whole new family, and roughing it in my nana’s ramshackle old cottage in the middle of nowhere, with only her old dad to entertain her? The fact that I have been planning this holiday since Christmas doesn’t really feature, does it? Even if it means that I won’t have any time with her before she goes back to school in September.’
Kate looked sympathetic but determined. ‘I know this is hard on you, but having Freya with us this summer will make her feel part of the plans for the wedding. Part of the changes in our life, I suppose.’
Max tapped his fingertips on the table before giving in with good grace. ‘I don’t like this, Kate, but I suppose it isn’t about what I want any longer, but what is best for Freya. And then what happens? Are you planning to stay in the London house after you marry?’
She nodded. ‘Anton has a great job here in the City. There’s plenty of room, and Freya wouldn’t be moving away from her school and her friends. I think that this is going to work, Max. I really do.’
Max rearranged the cutlery on the table as he formed his next question, his eyes focused on the perfect alignment of the knife and fork set. ‘I trust your judgement, Katie—I always have. I know that you wouldn’t make Anton part of Freya’s life unless you were sure that he was going to be a positive influence. But what about me? Where do I fit in?’
A lump formed in his throat as he asked the question he most dreaded hearing the answer to.
‘How soon do you think it will be before my daughter starts calling Anton Dad?’
Kate grasped his fingers, forcing him to lift his head, then lowered her face and looked up into his eyes.
‘Anton knows that you are part of our lives. He is very fond of Freya—yes, she will be sharing her home with him, and seeing him every day, but she knows who her father is. I’ll make sure that she never gets confused about that.’
He nodded, not trusting his own voice at that moment. ‘Thanks, but I think that we should both be there when you tell Freya about the wedding. Help her to understand that I am not going to walk out on her, or pass her over to Anton like some unwanted gift. I am still her dad and I will always love her. That doesn’t go away.’
He’d tried to keep the pain out of his voice, but Kate looked at him in concern. ‘She knows that. We raised a very clever little girl. This is about what is best for our daughter. But shall we talk about that later? Let’s enjoy our meal. I hear that they have a wonderful new chocolate chef …’
The stunning aroma of bubbling grilled cheese and meaty pasta sauce saved his day as the waiter presented their food, blocking his view of the woman who had paid the price for his obsession with a cocoa farm.
The woman who was about to present their daughter with a new live-in stepfather.
She smiled at him across the table. ‘Now. Tell me all about this conference on organic cocoa that you are whizzing off to at the end of the week. Cornwall, isn’t it? It sounds so exciting. I want to know everything!’
CHAPTER TWO
DAISY FLYNN squeezed into the cramped office at the side of the restaurant kitchen and collapsed down on a tiny metal stool. She had made it with only minutes to spare, after a mad dash back to her kitchen to pick up an emergency supply of chocolate desserts for the restaurant. The head chef at the restaurant in one of London’s premier art galleries had become one of her best customers, so this was one delivery that she was happy to make in person.
Marco had given her the chance to produce a range of artisan chocolates and desserts that she had only dreamt of in her father’s bakery all those years ago. And every one of them was perfect practice for the only thing she had truly ever wanted. The one thing she had slaved and practised and experimented for day after day, week after week, month after month. Year after year—and it had been years since Paris.
Her very own chocolate shop, serving droolicious artisan chocolates made from the finest organic chocolate to her secret and unique recipes and designs. Her shop was going to be every girl’s fantasy of chocolate heaven.
That was her dream. And she was almost there!
She had the recipes. She had ideas for the shop and what its tantalising interior would look like. She could even imagine what it would smell like, with all the chocolates on display.
It would be amazing.
All she needed now was a great reliable source of organic fine cocoa and she would be ready to walk into the bank with a business plan that would knock their socks off. Plus a few samples of the actual goods if the discussions got tricky.
It was going to happen—because she was going to make it happen.
She would finally be able to show the world what a baker’s daughter from a small country town could do, given the chance—just as her dad had predicted she would. On her own. She didn’t need some famous-name chocolatier taking the credit—not again.
It was so sad that her father hadn’t lived long enough to see her achieve her dream. Even if it did mean that today she’d had to jog most of the way through the streets of London with her precious cargo of desserts. She was tired, hot, out of breath and moist in places she would rather not be moist—but close enough to her goal to put a smile on her face.
In fact Daisy was still catching her breath when Marco waltzed in, wiping his hands on the towel tucked into the waistband of his apron and then reaching across the desk to shake Daisy’s hand.
‘Thanks for coming at such short notice, Daisy. It has been mad out there today, and we are fully booked with coach parties of tourists every lunch and dinner service for the next two weeks.’ Marco raised his right hand. ‘I’m not complaining. Far from it. But it leaves me with a problem. A big one.’ And he pointed straight at Daisy. ‘Namely you, young lady.’
Daisy swallowed down her anxiety, but leant forward to reply. ‘Me? Is there a problem with your order? I checked it through with the sous chef when I delivered the dessert trays. I’m sorry if …’
Marco waved his fingers at her and sat back in his chair. ‘No, no. There is no problem with your food at all. In fact it is just the opposite. I knew when I tasted your work that the chocolate dessert range would be popular with the ladies who lunch, but I had no clue just how many portions we would serve. You’ve seen the orders double these past few weeks, and we actually ran out of that flourless melting middle cake last night. Our guests were not happy. And that brings me to why I’ve asked you to hang around for a few minutes.’
He leant his elbows on top of a pile of papers on the desk and formed a tent with his clever long
