Page 8 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

“Why?”

“Because. Do you honestly not know who I am?”

“You said your name was Rocco.”

“Yes. I’m Rocco Moretti. From Rockmore Incorporated. I am offering to buy this place.”

Her stomach bottomed out. This was the man? Her personal nemesis. The man who was trying to ruin her life, her whole existence. It was probably why he’d stopped her in her tracks when she’d seen him on the street in town. Because she had sensed his innate evil.

“You’re even worse than a serial killer,” she spat. “You’re aproperty developer.”

“I am that. A property developer, that is.”

“Why are you... Why are you doing this?”

“Your mother told me that she was having no luck with you. I said that I would come speak to you. Also, I was informed that I needed to involve myself, as this was a very wise investment.”

“It’s not going to be an investment. Because I’m not going to agree to it.”

“Really? You’re not going to allow your mother to have this very generous offer of money?”

Rage filled her. Old rage from all the arguments she’d had with her mother about this very topic. She’d held herself back with her mom because she loved her mom. Relationships could be complicated without love being lost. But it was so, so difficult and it had made everything feel hard and anxious and she hated it.

And it washis fault.

“It’s my dad’s legacy,” she said. “His family. Holiday House is our namesake. It means more than money.”

“Not to your mother. Not at this point.”

How dare he? With his whole handsome face, how dare he? She didn’t even reduce her mother’s actions to anything that mercenary. He didn’t know them. He didn’t know how grief had changed her mother and made it so she couldn’t stand to be here. He didn’t understand at all.

And maybe she didn’t either, but at least she had context for her mom. He was just acting like she was a greedy monster. Or maybe she was projecting that because she was desperately trying to not think of her mom that way.

She gritted her teeth and faced him down, and ignored the quickening of her heartbeat—it was just anger anyway. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand. She’s trying to make a new way of life and that’s been a source of tension with us, but you don’t know her.”

“I don’t need to know your mother, or you, to know that eventually you’ll come around. People always do. You can continue to struggle here or you can take a payout and go off to live a very happy life.”

“No.”

“The truth is, Miss Holiday, if you don’t agree to this, all the sales fall through, not just yours. You will impact the well-being of your neighbors. Because I cannot build around—” he waved his hand “—this. And many other properties wish to sell. Can you imagine the goodwill that you will extinguish in this town if you ruin this deal for everyone?”

She sputtered, “That’s manipulative.”

He grinned. “I am quite manipulative. Or so it’s been said.” He lifted his hand from the railing on the banister, and rubbed his fingers together, as if touching it offended him.

“This place doesn’t need a big modern resort,” she said.

“Many would disagree with you.”

“Well, those people don’t have a sense of history.”

“History. What do you think you’re going to tell me about history. You’re an American. Your version of history on this continent is so new compared to my sense of history. I’m an Italian.”

“Congrats on your frescoes, I guess. But you downplaying what this means to me is not going to change my mind.”

“All right then, if not that, then what about this. I will offer you a very generous compensation package. And, if you do not want to leave here, I will offer you a job. Managing the hotel. Provided that I think you can handle it.”

“I don’t want to work for you. I work for myself. In my family-owned business. If you can’t understand why that’s different...”

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