Page 137 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

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‘Mmm, that smells good!’ Sanzio said appreciatively as Eleanora came out on to the terrace bearing bowls of freshly cooked pasta for their first dinner together at the Palazzo. As they sat down at the wooden table, he poured them each a glass of the robust local red wine he’d picked up at the village supermarket while they shopped for provisions en route to the Palazzo. The wine was basic but strong. Ideal for simple fare like pasta.

He lifted his glass. ‘A toast, Eleanora—to coming home.’ His eyes caught hers, and held.

‘It’s good to be back,’ she said. ‘Thank you—for making it possible. For making all this possible.’ She gestured widely at the Palazzo, the scaffolding just visible to the side.

‘It will be a joint effort,’ he averred, taking a mouthful of wine.

‘Thanks to your money,’ Eleanora replied.

He nodded. ‘But it will take your expertise too, when we come to the interiors. After all—’ he gave his slanting smile ‘—what would a poor boy like me know about fancy furnishings? That will be your contribution.’

‘Well, I’d like to keep on with the gardening too,’ she said. ‘It will keep me busy when you’re in Rome.’

‘I won’t be there for a good while—I can afford to take a break from business,’ Sanzio said. ‘I’ll be here, pitching in—following in my ancestors’ footsteps!’ He gave a smile. ‘Manual work can be enjoyable, and satisfying. Especially—’ his smile turned wry ‘—when it’s optional. I’ll have a lot to learn, though. I’ve done construction work in my time, but historic restoration is a specialist job.’

He reached for the Parmesan and grated a generous amount over his pasta, then got stuck in. ‘This is good!’ he announced approvingly. ‘Really tasty sauce!’

She flushed, as if unused to compliments, which, knowing her father and sister, she doubtless was. ‘Thank you,’ she said diffidently, making a start on her own pasta.

‘Can Tonia cook? We always ate out,’ he posed.

‘I’ve never seen her do so,’ Eleanora replied. ‘And she does like eating out.’

‘And what about you?’

‘Well, I don’t socialise much,’ she answered. Her expression changed suddenly. ‘Sanzio, you mustn’t let me…inhibit…your…your social life.’

He frowned. ‘Social life?’

‘Well, yes—in Rome. When you go back there.’

‘I was assuming,’ he told her, ‘that you’d come with me.’

She stared across at him. ‘I couldn’t possibly!’

‘Why not? You’ve dined with me at the Viscari already, remember.’

‘That was completely different! I was only there on my father’s behalf.’

‘Well, now you can be there on my behalf—and your own.’

She shook her head vigorously. ‘No, please, I’d really rather not.’

There was not just negation in her voice—there was panic. He wondered at it.

Then wondered why he did so…

‘Eleanora,’ he said, keeping his gaze on her, ‘you don’t have to compare yourself with Tonia, you know. Yes, she has her own spectacular beauty, but other kinds are available,’ he said dryly.

He could see rejection of what he’d just said in her face, and tried again. He hated to see her constant self-denigration.

When it’s so unnecessary—

‘There are charms, I promise you,’ he told her, wanting her to believe him, ‘in being slender like you, in the look you have.’

She shook her head. ‘I know you’re trying to be kind—’ her voice was low ‘—but honestly, please don’t. There’s truly no need.’