Page 134 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

‘Well, there you are,’ he said. ‘You see how well we would suit each other.’

At that Eleanora lost it.

‘I can’t believe you’re saying that! It’s completely insane!’

He toyed with his wine glass. ‘I don’t agree,’ he said. He smiled. There wasn’t exactly humour in it, but there was something all the same that made her listen. ‘Let me to explain why,’ he said.

* * *

Sanzio let his eyes rest on her, untroubled by her vehemence.

‘If I’d married your sister, your father would have been so pleased to have a rich son-in-law he could bleed—so he fondly thought!—for years, that he’d have agreed to hand over the Palazzo. He’ll do the same if I marry his other daughter. You. So I both save on the purchase price—not to mention the tedious hassle of your father seeking to jack up the price!—and I still get a da Verano wife along with the da Verano Palazzo.’

He let his eyes rest on her. Her expression had tightened at his last words.

‘As a da Verano wife, Signor Bastoni, I hardly compare with my sister.’ Her voice was flat.

‘Exactly.’ His own voice was flat too.

She looked at him blankly, so he elucidated. ‘It will teach Tonia a salutary lesson—’ his voice was very dry now and harsh ‘—that her value to me was not herself, but her blue blood. It will show her that her sister will suit me just as well.’ His eyes hardened. ‘Your sister, Donna Eleanora, wanted my money, but she couldn’t stomach my lowly origins. Now she can watch me marry you instead.’

His eyes glinted, his expression changing. That would not be the only thing Tonia would have to watch before he was done. His eyes rested on Tonia’s sister. So self-effacing, so overshadowed.

So unnecessarily—

But first he had to get Tonia’s sister to agree to what he was putting to her, insane or not.

‘And if you choose to marry me, then you will benefit too,’ he went on. He raised a hand as if in reassurance. ‘I’m not expecting any permanent commitment. Once the Palazzo is restored we can divorce, but I’ll guarantee, in a legally binding prenup, that we’ll always share ownership. It will always,’ he said, his eyes never leaving hers, ‘be your home.’

He saw her expression change at that. The way he wanted it to change.

He pressed on to the finish. ‘Marrying makes sense—for both of us. A win-win all round.’ He looked straight at her. ‘So, what do you say?’

She met his eyes, but she was shaking her head.

‘I still say you’re insane,’ she said.

A sudden laugh broke from him. He’d pushed enough. Time to give her breathing space. Imperiously, he summoned a passing waiter, who stopped immediately as Sanzio asked for the dessert menu.

‘Let’s sweeten you up,’ he said, smiling at Tonia’s sister.

* * *

Eleanora lay staring sightlessly at the ceiling over her bed at the pensione. She felt as if a train had run over her—a train that was Sanzio Bastoni and his unbelievable, outrageous proposition. He hadn’t said any more about it as they’d consumed dessert—she’d gone for a cooling sorbet, he for a rich chocolate mousse—only made passing conversation with her. He’d drawn out of her, she realised, that she was twenty-five, had studied art history at university and if the Palazzo were sold would look for a job in a gallery or museum, either in Italy or England, that she was on good, if geographically distant, terms with her mother in Argentina, and that she seldom saw her father and sister, living very quietly at the Palazzo, socialising little.

Only as she took her leave at the end of the meal did she brave the subject she had been sent to address.

‘What am I to tell my father, Signor Bastoni?’

His face had been unreadable, but for a dark glint in his eye which disturbed her.

‘That I will not be buying the Palazzo—it will come to me as your dowry.’

She had made no answer. How could she? His outrageous proposition had been ludicrous, insane—unthinkable.

It remained exactly that for the next fortnight.

Until, in complete panic, she phoned Sanzio Bastoni’s office.