Page 132 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

‘It’s one tactic, yes,’ he acknowledged.

He finished his steak, pushed his plate away.

‘Of course, it has its risks,’ he mused. ‘He might find another buyer, and gazump me. Which is why,’ he went on, and though she couldn’t say what it was, Eleanora was aware that the tone of his voice changed, ‘I am currently considering another tactic.’

She took the last mouthful of her fish and placed her cutlery on the plate, drinking some of her water,

‘Which is?’ she posed. He was unlikely to tell her, but she might as well ask.

He sat back, taking his wine glass with him, cupping it in his large hand. Keeping his eyes on her.

‘Upon my marriage to your sister, I would have got the Palazzo as well—a dowry, as you called it. Now that’s not happening, I do, of course, have another way of acquiring the Palazzo without buying it.’

She could not read his expression. His gaze was veiled, but there was something in his voice, something that suddenly, out of nowhere, put her on high alert.

‘I could always marry you instead, and get it that way.’

Eleanora froze from head to toe.

Chapter Three

Sanzio saw her freeze. Never taking his eyes from her, he let what he had said sink in. He needed it to sink into himself as well. Had he really just said that? If he had, was he certifiably insane? Eleanora da Verano clearly thought so.

‘Are you insane?’ Her voice was hollow with obvious disbelief at what he’d just said.

He lifted a hand in an imperative gesture. ‘Hear me out before you condemn me to the nearest lunatic asylum.’ Or condemn himself. He refilled his wine glass, gathering his thoughts. They were hard to corral, because they’d shocked even himself. Over the years he’d learnt to trust his gut instinct in business, and it had always paid off handsomely. But this? Maybe, indeed, he was insane.

Or then again, not. He got his thoughts into incisive order and launched forth.

‘You’ve not asked me two significant questions,’ he stated now. ‘The first is nothing to do with the Palazzo, and everything to do with your sister.’

He saw something flicker in her eyes, but she said nothing. It was clear as day there was no love lost between the sisters, and that, he thought with grim satisfaction, served his purpose well.

‘You’ve never asked why I wanted to marry Tonia,’ he said.

At that, her eyes widened. They weren’t dark like Tonia’s but hazel, he noticed for the first time. Or perhaps not hazel, exactly. More like amber. Or a rich, Oloroso sherry…

‘That’s pretty self-evident, I would have thought,’ she replied, cutting across his musings. ‘Tonia’s stunningly beautiful and has always had men wanting her!’

A caustic expression lit Sanzio’s eyes. ‘If I’d just wanted her for sex,’ he said casually, ‘I’d have simply had an affair with her. But I wanted her for more than that.’

He paused. Let his gaze rest deliberately on her unmade-up face, her starkly unflattering hairstyle, her shapeless suit doing absolutely nothing for her figure and her comprehensively dull and insignificant appearance, as if the very last thing she wanted was to have anyone look twice at her—or even once. So completely unlike her sister.

And now he was definitely sure he knew why.

She’s hiding from Tonia, giving up on herself because it’s her sister who is beautiful and desirable—so she puts herself down in comparison.

An old, familiar feeling came back to him. Once, long ago, in his youth, he had felt similarly inferior—a boy from his background, aiming to better himself? But determination had filled him, and he’d refused to be put down—stay down.

I never gave up on myself.

His eyes rested on Tonia’s sister, a woman born into a world so hugely privileged compared with his own origins, yet she had been crushed all the same. Had given up on herself.

I could change that.

Something moved within him, a flare of interest, but he set it aside for the moment, went back to answering his own question.

‘Tonia’s appeal,’ he spelt out, ‘was not just physical. Her appeal—’ he met her eyes with a level gaze ‘—was that she is Donna Antonia da Verano, the daughter of Il Conte di Crestoni.’ He paused. Then completed his point.