Page 4 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

He knew. Instinctively. That she must be the one. Of course she was. The one who was blocking his purchase of the last piece of land he needed in order to make the resort that he was bound and determined to have.

He knew all about the messy terms of wills. And he did not blame the woman desperate to offload this place left behind to her by her late husband.

Just as he had spent years cleaning out the mansion his mother had filled with her madness, he had also spent years trying to untangle the terms of her will.

Never a woman content with life, she had been quite like this whole town. Uselessly adorning each and every space with her influence. Collecting and collecting as if she would suddenly find the magic thing that brought fulfillment. Controlled chaos, she had called it, though he had never seen anything in it but chaos.

She had, though, proven that in her mind there was some form of control involved, by her utterly controlling last will and testament.

He must always keep building. You must always keep adding to the empire. New clutter onto the earth.

Or he must marry. Procreate. Before his thirty-second birthday. Worryingly close now.

A lovely parting gift from his mother, who had wanted to obsessively control everything for all time, and had succeeded in how she’d left the company to him, with a board of her own choosing there to make sure he complied.

But thankfully, he had it in hand. All of it.

He moved across the empty space, and approached the little indignity.

“Hello.”

She only stared at him, aptly, as a deer caught in headlights.

“I am hoping that I might be able to trouble you for a place to stay tonight? This is Holiday House, yes?”

Women found his accent charming. He had learned English quickly. And had decided that it was good enough. Partly because the accent was of use to him.

“Oh, Holiday House is full tonight I’m afraid.”

Well. He would solve that problem.

“A shame,” he said.

“Do you... Are you with your family?”

“No,” he said. “I’m only in town on business. Just myself.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I suppose then that you don’t need a Christmas tree.”

He never needed a Christmas tree. He could think of nothing more vile. A dust catcher, shedding detritus all over the place.

“No thank you. I have no need. I have heard though that Holiday House is very beautiful. Is it all right if I drive up the road to see it?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Thank you. I shouldn’t like to have come so far to not even catch a glimpse of it.”

“Where did you hear about it?”

“I’m quite certain it’s on a list. Of rustic inns.”

“Oh, yes.Home and Garden,Town & CountryandCountryside Magazineall did features on it.”

“Countryside.That must be it.” Did she really think that he read periodicals? Like a geriatric man sitting in a doctor’s waiting room?

Her nose blinked as she regarded him. Yes. She really might have been pretty, though it was very hard to say in what she was wearing. The knit brown dress clung to her curves, and her eyes were a russet gold. Her lips were pink and full, but the nose. And the antlers.

“My name is Noelle. Noelle Holiday.”

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