Page 5 of Sunrise over Strawberry Hill Farm

But it was spring now and there would be no more harvests ever again. The vineyard had gone and all that Nico had left was his name. The trouble was that his father had dishonoured the Rossi name so many times that even that was tainted.

The famous surname still held a certain appeal for some people, though. But if all people want from you is your famous name, who can you trust? Nico had decided a long time ago that he couldn’t trust anyone.

As he drove up the hill, the farmhouse came into view. He couldn’t help but be charmed by the sight of the sandy-coloured brick L-shaped building, with its terracotta pots of overflowing herbs by the front door all lit by the early-morning sunshine. There was a cheery charm about the place. It was a home, obviously cared for by a loving family.

For a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he thought about his own family home back in Italy. It too had been a large house overlooking their land, full of life and laughter. His grandparents had liked to entertain their friends and neighbours there, his father had liked to show off the vineyard to his many girlfriends. Nico had viewed it as a sanctuary, the only place where he had felt secure and loved for himself, not his famous name.

His father, Paolo, had been a gifted footballer who had risen to the heights of superstardom playing for Inter Milan. Alongside his footballing career, Paolo had also enjoyed a colourful love life, catalogued throughout the tabloids each and every week. The women loved his charm and good looks, as well as the substantial salary he was paid. Paolo’s life was jam-packed full of fast women, fast cars and fine wine.

Nico was a result of a string of one-night affairs, with his young mother apparently leaving him on his father’s doorstep at only a few weeks old. She had never wanted the child and had refused to be a part of his life.

Paolo was big on personality and charm, not so good with parenting. Unable to cope with a young baby, Nico had been dumped on his grandparents at the family home in Tuscany. They were the only other family that Nico had and thankfully they adored him. He found himself loved and mentored by them in their steady, reassuring way.

Even so, in the early days, Nico had longed for Paolo’s infrequent visits. His father would bring an eclectic mix of toys and treats and – usually to his own parents’ displeasure – a different girlfriend with him every time as well.

But suddenly Paolo’s football career had been cut short prematurely due to a bad knee injury. Bored and listless without his beloved football to keep him occupied, he tried out various moneymaking schemes and investments, with varying degrees of success. Paolo lost his fortune as quickly as he made it, over and over. Sometimes, he got lucky and would return to Tuscany in his famous Ferrari showering gifts over everyone. Most of the time, he was absent, disappearing for months, sometimes years on end, whilst he tried to recoup the inevitable heavy losses incurred after yet another failed business venture.

But whenever he returned, Nico still let him back into his life and continued to forgive him. After all, despite everything, Paolo was his father.

For a while, Nico had even emulated his success with women. With his good looks and Rossi charm, he had dated a string of women in his twenties. But the frivolousness of endless dating and glamour had quickly palled. He didn’t want to turn into his philandering father. He wanted something true, something honest, and was still searching for that woman who didn’t want him just for the fame. He wanted what his grandparents had had all those years – companionship, trust and true love.

After studying business at university, he had returned to the vineyard armed with new ideas and excitement for what the future held for them all. He had poured nearly every last penny that he owned into investing for the future of the vineyard. He had put in place new eco-friendly bottling techniques, promoted customer experiences and even purchased a couple of drones to oversee the vast fields of vines.

For a while, they had all reaped the success of his hard work and the future of the vineyard was looking extremely prosperous.

But the last time Paolo had come home after his latest business venture had inevitably gone bust, everything had already begun to change. Nico’s beloved grandmother had just passed away and Lorenzo was struggling in his grief to concentrate on business matters. Nico had taken control of the vineyard with his grandfather’s blessing, but Paolo decided he wanted to take over the family business himself, stating that he could triple their profits in a few short months.

Lorenzo had passed away a short while later, still hoping that his family home would be passed down to his grandson. But his wishes were only ever verbal and so everything had passed to Paolo instead. Shortly after, the family home, the vineyard, all of it, was sold to the highest bidder and despite fighting the sale every inch of the way, one week ago Nico had lost his home. The only home he had ever known. Everything was gone, including his grandparents, the only people he had ever truly trusted and counted on. He was lost and heartbroken.

And angry, he realised. His father had taken everything away from him, including his future as owner of the vineyard. So it was only right and fair that Nico should take something of Paolo’s as well.

Therefore, the night before the house sale was completed, Nico had stolen the car keys and driven away in his father’s beloved Ferrari. He had slowly driven up through Italy and then across Europe, trying to work out what to do next with his life. His dream had always been to keep his home, with the family he so dearly cherished, and perhaps, one day, fill it with children of his own. He loved working outside, but apart from his business degree, his only experience had been at the vineyard, and now that too was lost to him.

He had no plans, except one. Whilst tidying up Lorenzo’s study, Nico had come across a letter in which he had bequeathed a gift to Helen Barton and left the address for Strawberry Hill Farm. So Nico had come to England to honour his grandfather’s wish. After that, he had no idea where he would go next.

The Rossi name was tainted in Tuscany thanks to his father’s misdemeanours. Nico was aware that the scandals had tarred his own name with the same brush and nearly everyone that he had contacted for work or a temporary place to stay had slammed the door in his face.

And from the distrustful looks that Flora was still giving him, she looked as if she was tempted to do exactly the same.

3

Flora squirmed in the leather car seat in embarrassment, but the movement only served to remind her that her jeans were soaking wet from where she had quickly got dressed after getting out of the lake.

She was completely and utterly mortified. The one time in recent years when she had thrown caution to the wind and she had been found in only her underwear by a complete stranger! If that wasn’t a reminder to live a sensible life, then she wasn’t sure what was.

She glanced over at Nico Rossi as he drove up the hill. So this was Lorenzo’s grandson that Grams had spoken about? The words Italian playboy certainly rang true, given the flash car she now found herself in. He drove a Ferrari, for goodness’ sake! The man was a walking cliché, even down to his dishevelled dark good looks and sexy accent.

Flora’s cheeks grew hot as she thought of him seeing her cheap black bra and knickers. It was just too much to bear. He had seen her at her most vulnerable and it unsettled her. Okay, he had offered her a towel and turned his back whilst she got dressed, but she was certain that being an old-fashioned gentleman was probably part of his charm routine. Hadn’t Grams said something about all the men in his family being playboys?

When he parked up the supercar next to her old, battered Land Rover, the contrast couldn’t have been more extreme. She leapt out of the car, desperate to put some distance between them.

Thankfully, a distraction happened in the form of Grams heading out of the door and into the courtyard to see what the unexpected noise of the throaty exhaust was.

‘My word!’ she exclaimed, looking on in wonder at the Ferrari. ‘What a car!’

‘Always happy to take a beautiful lady such as yourself out for a spin,’ said Nico, as he climbed out of the driver’s seat.

Grams merely looked delighted. ‘Oh! You are so like Lorenzo back in the day,’ she said, with a chuckle.