Page 144 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

And more than just you—I want the whole world to see it!

And one person in particular…

But she could wait—this evening could not. He pressed her hand again.

‘Ready?’ he asked, and drew her up.

* * *

Eleanora got to her feet, her balance unsteady on her high heeled evening shoes.

Ready? No, of course she wasn’t ready. She was still in the state of shock, disbelief—and another emotion she could scarcely recognise—she’d gone into when Renata, the stylist, had finally, with a distinctly gleeful look on her face, allowed her to look at her handiwork in the floor-to-ceiling looking glass that was one panel of the wall-length wardrobe in her room.

Showing her a woman it was impossible to recognise as herself. For how could it be? A woman wearing a dinner dress in a shade of warm amber that was perfect for her skin tone and hair colour. Knee length, in fine jersey, the neckline was high cut but gathered into a yoke effect on one shoulder, making the bodice drape with exquisite grace over her breasts, just as the fluid material draped her slender hips, which were elevated by the cinnamon-coloured heels Renata had slid her feet into, over the sheer stockings, along with the delicate wisps of lingerie. She had carefully lowered the dress over her head so as not to disturb her elegant chignon, held in place with tortoiseshell combs, nor brush her mascared eyelashes or lips warmed with soft blush. Renata’s skill had deepened the colour of her eyes, sculpted her cheekbones…worked an unbelievable transformation.

‘Here’s the evening clutch to go with it,’ Renata had said, reverently handing Eleanora an exquisite confection in amber silk beaded with amber gemstones, echoing the multi-stoned amber brooch set in filigree gold that nestled at one shoulder and the large drop earrings Renata had clipped securely on. ‘A Fabian original,’ she murmured as Eleanora took the clutch with freshly manicured hands, her nails gleaming with a pearlescent glow.

Now, as they left the apartment and stepped into the elevator, her eyes went to Sanzio.

She had seen him in a business suit that very first day in his office, and then at the Viscari that same evening, and once more for their brief, low-key wedding. Since then, she’d only seen him in casualwear or working clothes.

Now, she was seeing him in eveningwear, his tuxedo hugging his broad shoulders, white dress shirt accentuating his broad chest, black tie and wing-collar his strong neck. Something flared within her. As they swept down to the lobby, the metal walls of the elevator reflected them. They stood there, side by side, his familiar features having the same impact on her that they always did.

But for the first time—the very first time—she was not the way she always had been. Now she was dressed like the kind of woman a man like Sanzio Bastoni might take to dinner…

She felt her breath catch, again that flare inside her.

But she must not allow it. It had no place between them. She must put it aside. He had not had her dressed up, glammed up, for any such reason. It was only for show. There was nothing personal about it at all.

The elevator doors sliced open and he stepped her out into the lobby. Beyond the main doors, she could see a sleek car hovering. Sanzio smiled down at her. A warm, friendly smile. Nothing more than that.

‘Our carriage awaits. Next stop, the Falcone.’

Chapter Six

‘Signor Bastoni, how good to see you this evening,’ the maître d’ murmured as he ushered them to their table.

At Sanzio’s side, Eleanora was looking about her. The Falcone, he’d told her, had once been a private mansion up in the hills above Rome and the restaurant was the former dining room, extended into an orangery beyond, overlooking the hotel’s extensive gardens. The restaurant was not crowded, and Sanzio was glad, nor did he spot anyone he knew, which was what he’d counted on. He wanted the least pressure on Eleanora, if possible.

His eyes went to her as she cautiously looked about her, flicking her linen napkin across her lap. Triumph went through him. The commessa had been right—that softly draped knee-length dress, its warm shade flattering, combined with the understated but skilfully applied make-up and chic, low-set, elegant hairstyle that accentuated her fine-boned features, drew out the Oloroso sherry colour of her eyes.

She really is so very lovely.

His gaze rested on her appreciatively. And then he went on looking at her with something that was more than just objective appreciation—something that he should not be allowing. It was not why he’d wrought this transformation in her—

He drew his gaze away, mouth tightening unconsciously, glad that menus were being bestowed, drinks orders taken. Decisively, he opted for a glass of champagne each, then discussed the speciality dishes for that evening, making his selection with Eleanora, before the sommelier arrived to discuss wines.

It all took a while and Sanzio was glad of it. It was giving Eleanora time to settle. Finally, choices made from the menu and the wine list, two glasses of gently beading champagne placed in front of them, they were left alone. Sanzio picked up his flute. Tilted it to Eleanora.

‘To our evening,’ he said.

But as he smiled at her, he was conscious of veiling his gaze. This evening was for her, not him. Yet for a moment, a dangerous moment, he wished it were otherwise.

Because then—

But that was a path he must not take, however tempting.

* * *