Page 131 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

‘He didn’t,’ she said. ‘I did.’

Sanzio Bastoni frowned, his dark eyebrows drawing together. ‘You? What on earth for?’

‘Because it’s where I live,’ she answered. ‘I inherited some money at twenty-one from my maternal grandparents’ estate—it’s what I live on—and I’ve put what I could into making that wing sufficiently habitable, doing as much as I could myself to make the money go further.’

‘And what, exactly, do you do yourself?’ Was he being sarcastic, disbelieving? She didn’t know, only answered truthfully.

‘Well, I can replaster, and paint walls, I can lift broken tiles and replace them, I can do a bit of basic carpentry and plumbing, but I can’t touch the electrics, I’m not qualified. I can do rough work, and try to keep the gardens in some kind of order—most of it has run wild though, as you probably saw.’

He made no comment. Took another mouthful of wine. ‘What does your father say to you about what you’re doing?’ he demanded abruptly.

‘I doubt he knows,’ she returned. She went on with her sole.

‘Or would care if he did,’ Sanzio Bastoni supplied, and Eleanora knew it to be the truth. Then he was speaking again, dryly, with an edge to it. ‘So, you have a vested interest in the Palazzo not being sold.’

‘Yes,’ she admitted heavily.

‘Because of the money you’ve put into it.’

She shook her head. ‘No, because I love it.’ She did not look up. ‘As I said, it’s my home. The only place I want to live.’

And it’s where I feel safe—not a misfit beside Tonia, despised by her, and by my father.

She broke off, and there was silence for a moment. She made herself look up.

He gave her a level stare. ‘Why didn’t I see you when I went to check it out with Tonia?’

Eleanora thought. ‘It must have been when I’d gone to meet up with an old friend who was on holiday nearby with her husband. I expect Tonia planned it that way—like my father, she has no interest in the Palazzo and thinks it a waste of money to save it.’

‘But you don’t agree.’ It was not a question.

‘No. But since I don’t have the money—’ She hesitated, a familiar sense of sadness and frustration welling up in her.

‘So why object to me buying it and restoring it, since you say you care about it?’ he cut across her. There was that look in his eye again that she didn’t understand. His next words enlightened her. ‘Or do you object to a man like me owning it? A working man, self-made—unfit to own a grand palazzo!’

She stared. ‘No!’ she denied emphatically. She lifted her chin. ‘Signor Bastoni, if anyone is unfit to own the Palazzo it is…’ she swallowed, her voice dropping ‘…my father.’ Immediately, she felt disloyal, but it was the truth all the same. ‘But I still…still hope he won’t sell.’

‘He will—for the money,’ Sanzio Bastoni said brutally—but the accusation she’d heard in his voice earlier had gone. ‘And unless he sells it, it will, eventually, fall down. Is that what you want? Just so you can go on calling it home?’

She dropped her gaze again. This time, his accusation was justified, and it twisted inside her.

‘No,’ she made herself answer, her voice low. ‘But I just don’t want to lose my home. The home I love.’

She picked up her cutlery, went on with her sole. Sanzio went on with his Tournedos. For a moment or two they did not speak, then something struck her.

She looked across at him, more resolute now. Going on the offensive, not the defensive. ‘You’ve got out of me why I don’t want the Palazzo sold, but why do you—’ she took a breath ‘—have any interest in buying it? And you must have,’ she said more firmly, ‘or why are we even discussing it?’

He gave a laugh, and Eleanora saw, with a little jolt, how humour changed his face, lightened it. Made him look younger—less formidable. It gave her a strange feeling. Disturbing.

‘Touché,’ he acknowledged. He took a mouthful of his wine. ‘OK, I’ll deal,’ he announced. He paused for a moment, gave her another level stare. She could not read his eyes, not in the slightest. Only saw how dark, how very dark, they were, how thick the lashes. How strong the planes of his face, making her want simply to go on gazing at him, absorbing his features.

‘Yes,’ he said, interrupting her utterly irrelevant thoughts, and just as well. ‘I am interested in acquiring the Palazzo Verano. It would have come with your sister; I would have insisted on it. Now, however, your father is hoping I will buy it for cash. Though not for the price he’s hoping for, given its dilapidation. Plus, it’s not in a fashionable part of Italy, it’s in a remote backwater and there is nothing historically famous or notable about it. It’s a rundown palazzo in the back of beyond. Who would want it?’

‘Apart from me,’ Eleanora said sadly. ‘But actually—’ her voice picked up ‘—maybe I should be glad of that—if it’s not easily marketable maybe he’ll have to hang on to it.’

‘He’ll sell it eventually, even for a knock-down price,’ came the depressing reply.

‘Is that what you’re banking on? Playing hardball till the price drops even more as he gets more and more desperate?’ she put to him bleakly.