Page 142 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

Not as they’d bothered her sister. The sister he’d originally thought to marry, but now had very different plans for. Plans that would be so very satisfying to achieve. And this morning’s work had already set them in motion.

‘It was tough,’ he picked up. ‘I never lived it up when I was young—everything went into building my resources. Only when I was making serious money did I start indulging myself.’ His voice turned wry. ‘Once you have money, it’s easy to make more of it—well, easier at least. Just as—’ his mouth twisted ‘—once you start spending too much, it’s hard to stop.’

Eleanora’s lips compressed. ‘My father,’ she said.

‘When you’ve always had money, you take high living for granted, expect it as your right,’ Sanzio said. ‘Just as,’ he went on, letting his eyes rest on Eleanora, ‘your sister expects to get everything she wants because of her looks. Whereas you, Eleanora, expect nothing, do you?’

She looked uncertainly at him. ‘I’m realistic,’ she answered. ‘I accept—I always have—that Tonia is beautiful and I, well, I’m not.’

‘Beauty,’ he said, his voice acerbic, ‘is not only outward—and even then, it’s subjective. Plus, there are different styles of beauty.’ That was a message he really wanted to convey to her. And more, too. ‘You can be beautiful on the outside, like your sister, and yet have an ugly personality. That,’ he emphasised, holding her eyes meaningfully, ‘is something you completely lack. You, Eleanora, win prizes for niceness!’

She coloured slightly at his praise, looking awkward.

‘You’re not used to compliments,’ he murmured with a rueful shake of his head.

‘You’re being kind,’ she said.

‘No, I’m being truthful.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Get used to it!’

Because soon, very soon now, you’ll be getting a lot, lot more.

And he was looking forward to delivering them…looking forward to it a lot.

* * *

Eleanora was sitting out on the apartment’s terrace, back in her comfortable tee and cotton trousers, enjoying a cooling drink and a paperback while Sanzio disappeared off to do a workout in the gym in the apartment block’s basement. She’d busied herself putting in phone calls to a prestigious fine art auction house and art dealer and fixed up a couple of appointments for the following day, morning and afternoon. Just as Sanzio had forecast, once she’d explained who she was and what she was after, Sanzio’s name had done the rest, ensuring she got instant and eager attention.

His voice from inside the apartment called her name.

‘I’m on the terrace!’ she called back, and moments later he was stepping through to join her. He had, very clearly, done a vigorous workout. His singlet was sweated, his hair damp with it too, and his muscle-pumped, semi-bare chest rising and falling with recent exertion—rippling with raw masculinity. Eleanora swallowed unconsciously, knowing she should not stare but incapable of doing anything else.

‘Good session?’ she managed to ask, probably unnecessarily, given the visual evidence in front of her.

‘Good enough,’ he concurred. ‘May I?’ he asked, nodding at her half-full glass.

She handed it to him and he knocked it back. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and shower, but you’ll need to make a move too.’

Eleanora looked at him uncomprehendingly. Sanzio looked down at her. She could not read his expression.

‘No pizzas tonight—we’re dining out. In style. I’ve made a reservation at the Falcone.’

Dismay flooded her. More than dismay. ‘Sanzio, no, I couldn’t possibly!’

He held up his free hand. ‘Too late, the reservation’s made.’

‘But I can’t! I don’t want—’

She broke off. Her insides were twisting. How could she make him realise how much she could not face being seen with him somewhere like the Falcone—or the Viscari or any other expensively fashionable place where he would once have been seen with Tonia? He would draw all eyes—of course he would, how could he not?—and the fact he’d last been seen there with her sister, looking a knockout as she always, always did, and then she’d dumped him for her French marquis and married him instead, leaving Sanzio to end up with Tonia’s plain-faced, no-looks sister, a second-best bride no one would wish on him—he’d be pitied even more than when Tonia had dumped him…

And I… I’ll be squirming. Knowing everyone will be wondering why on earth he married me—except for who I am, and that I came with the Palazzo Verano—because no way would any man want me, compared with Tonia.

She tried to meet his eyes, tried to convey everything that dismayed her about what he’d just said. But she could not read his expression, could only hear what he was saying now. There was something in his voice she hadn’t heard before. Almost implacable.

‘Eleanora, I know you have a dread of socialising, but all I’m saying is that we’ll have dinner together. Is that really too much to ask?’ He paused, holding eye contact, sounding slightly more conciliatory now as he went on. ‘The Falcone isn’t like the Viscari. It’s much quieter. It’s not in central Rome; it’s up above the city in an old mansion. Luxurious, but smaller. It’s not the kind of place to go in order to see and be seen. Won’t you give it a try? For my sake?’

He sounded cajoling now, but Eleanora could only gaze at him helplessly. Dismay warred with guilt. Sanzio was doing so much for her—rescuing the Palazzo from ruin, from being owned by some dubious character trying to launder ill-gotten gains or whatever, from her father stripping it bare, leaving it to rot…

But Sanzio’s saving it—and promising me it will always be my home.