Page 140 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

Sanzio pre-empted her. ‘My turn,’ he said, brooking no argument, and relieving her of the heavy stoneware plates. Good enough for the former servants to eat off, he strongly suspected.

A thought struck him. ‘We’ll need to buy some porcelain services,’ he remarked. ‘You’ll know what to get.’

‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll make a start looking online. Show you some suitable possibilities for you to choose from.’

‘For us both to choose from,’ he said firmly. He disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a bowl of sliced peaches marinaded in liqueur, and a jug of cream. He got stuck in to dessert with the same enthusiasm as the ragout, his eyes reverting to studying the play of candlelight on the face of the woman he’d married.

The woman he had plans for. Definitely, definitely had plans for.

Once we get to Rome.

Chapter Five

Eleanora stared. ‘What do you mean, pack a bag? What for?’

‘For Rome.’

‘Rome?’ She looked at Sanzio in consternation.

‘Yes, I need to put in some time there again for work, and you can get the art dealers and auction houses to start tracking down the artwork that was sold,’ Sanzio replied over the breakfast table.

‘I can do that over the internet, and then by phone,’ she objected.

He waved it away. ‘In person is much better. Set up appointments with them. Once they know I’m bankrolling it—’ his voice turned cynical, she could hear it ‘—they’ll fall over themselves to help you!’

Deep reluctance filled her. Not about calling on the dealers and auction houses, but about being in Rome with Sanzio. Then she made herself rally. Whatever socialising he wanted to do didn’t have to involve her. And why would he want to drag her around with him anyway? She’d be happy to spend the evenings at his apartment, while he went out.

It was certainly, she discovered, when they arrived in the early evening, a spectacular apartment to spend time in. It was the penthouse of a high-rise block in a district to the south of Rome, popular, she knew, with new money, and it afforded panoramic views over the city from its wide wraparound terrace. Her bedroom, the guest suite, was huge, with patio doors opening on to the terrace, and a bathroom that was palatial. After freshening up, she slid open the patio door, emerging on to the terrace. At the far end she could see Sanzio relaxed on a rattan sofa.

‘Coffee, or something stronger?’ he called as she approached.

She settled for coffee and a non-alcoholic spritzer, settling down on a wide rattan armchair opposite Sanzio.

‘This place is spectacular!’ she said, stirring her coffee as Sanzio opened a beer for himself.

‘That was the intention. Something completely unlike the social housing apartment I grew up in.’

There was no edge to his voice, only honesty, and Eleanora liked him for it. But then she liked him for a lot of reasons. Not just because he was saving the Palazzo she loved so much, but because of the man he was. His pride—quite justified—in what he’d achieved in his life, the hard work he’d put in to get where he was today, his straightforwardness, his directness, his openness. His sense of humour, his ready smile. His consideration for her. She returned it as best she could, even if that was just in ways she could, like putting tasty meals on the table, baking fresh bread. And on that subject—

‘What were you intending about this evening?’ she put to him. ‘Are you eating out?’

He shook his head. ‘Tell me, could you face pizza? If so, I happen to know a great pizza place that delivers. I helped the owner financially to build the business, so I like to give him my custom.’

She gave a ready smile, glad she would have Sanzio’s company this evening—though reminding herself she must not expect it every night. He was bound to want to socialise while they were in Rome. An uncomfortable thought struck her. Rome was used to seeing him out and about with Tonia. Her expression faltered.

Did he bring her here? Spend nights here with her?

Then she rallied. Tonia had made it blisteringly clear she had kept Sanzio at a physical distance until she safely had his wedding ring on her finger. It was a reassuring realisation. Even though she also knew, with a sad acknowledgement, that whether her oh-so-alluring sister had or had not spent the nights here, it made no difference at all to herself. How could it?

For me, it will only ever be the guest suite.

She knew it for the truth, yet, for all that, she felt a pang go through her.

She was glad when Sanzio diverted pointless thoughts by showing her the pizza options on his phone.

The pizzas proved as good as he’d promised, and they washed them down with wine he’d selected from a climate-controlled cabinet in the fearsomely appointed kitchen and which was, Eleanora could tell, way, way above the pay grade of pizza. But it was convivial and cosy to eat pizza and drink vintage wine on the sofa in the apartment’s huge reception room, watching TV on the massive wall-hung TV screen, and for dessert they pigged out on ice-cream from the freezer. Then Sanzio cleared everything away and made coffee for them both, despite Eleanora offering to do so.

‘You sit still,’ he told her. ‘I am not,’ he reminded her, ‘your father or sister with their mile-high sense of entitlement. You’ve been put upon by them long enough!’ He threw a glance at her, holding her gaze. ‘Your time is coming,’ he said. ‘Starting,’ he added, ‘tomorrow.’