Page 151 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

Eleanora frowned slightly at the last two names. Francesca enlightened her. ‘Cesare di Mantegna and his wife,’ she supplied. ‘Did you meet them at Adrietta’s wedding? They’re coming tomorrow night—I’m so glad you and Sanzio will be there as well. Nic will be glad of reinforcements!’

‘Reinforcements?’ Eleanora queried, confused.

Francesca laughed affectionately, ‘Nic, like Sanzio, is self-made. They both grew up poor in Rome. Nic has a tendency to refer to Cesare as ‘the illustrious Conte’ in a distinctly sardonic way. I can’t break him of the habit!’

‘Well, Cesare can do the lordly, you have to admit, Franci,’ Adrietta put in.

‘Perhaps,’ Francesca conceded. ‘Anyway, I’m very glad you’ll be there—and for your own sake, Eleanora.’

‘You disappeared off the map!’ Adrietta complained.

‘I went off to live at my father’s palazzo,’ Eleanora said by way of explanation. ‘It’s Sanzio’s now—he’s restoring it.’

‘That’s great!’ Adrietta enthused.

‘It’s worked out well,’ Eleanora allowed.

Because it had—on that she was honest. Saving the Palazzo was why she had married him, and seeing it come back to life again was all the justification for her marriage that she needed. Yes, Sanzio had another motive because of Tonia jilting him, but that was his concern.

But the reasons for their marriage had nothing to do with anything personal between them… Anything romantic.

He doesn’t think of me that way. I have to accept it. Be glad, rather, that we are companionable together. Comfortable.

She had to keep that firmly in mind when, as promised, Sanzio took her clothes shopping again in the afternoon. She saw his eyes light up in approval as she showed off the dress she thought would work for dinner with the Falcones the following evening. A creamy yellow slub silk with a boat neckline, it had a structured bodice, three-quarter-length sleeves and a fuller skirt than the amber dress.

‘That one, definitely!’ Sanzio declared. His eyes rested on her appreciatively. The warmth in them was like a balm, but she knew it must simply be because she would look good for him.

As his trophy wife.

A little pang shot through her. She wanted to look good for his sake, because he wanted her to look good—but also, she was honest enough to admit, it was wonderful, oh, so, so wonderful, to know that she could look the way he’d shown she could, after always thinking ill of her appearance compared to her dazzling sister.

But however much better she could look now, it still wasn’t enough, was it? It was Tonia imprinted on him, Tonia he had wooed, desired and planned to marry.

That’s why he keeps me at arm’s length. Why that kiss, that evening after the Falcone, was so wrong for him. He wanted to make me feel beautiful—but that kiss was for my sake, not his. It’s Tonia that he desires, not me.

There was beauty and there was desire—and in Tonia there was both. For Sanzio.

He might think me beautiful now—but not to desire. Not like Tonia.

So, whatever she might want, yearn for, from him, would not, could not, happen. She shook the oppressive thought from her.

Sanzio was speaking again. ‘Right, that one’s in the bag. OK, let’s start thinking about upping the game, get you something to wear at the gala. We’ll take a look here, but if nothing strikes us, we’ll try somewhere else.’

In the end, though she felt uncertainty strike again, they found a gown that Sanzio declared was ‘the one’. Eleanora was less sure—could she really carry it off? A sheer, shimmering ivory silk, cut on the bias, moulding every contour of her slender figure, its draped neckline dipped to expose the gentle swell of her breasts, leaving her shoulders and her arms bare, the long skirts pooling to a demi-train. She saw Sanzio looking at her in the spacious private dressing room where she was trying on the evening gowns. There was an expression on his face she had not seen before. A glitter in his eyes. A tightening of his mouth.

‘Perfect,’ he said.

‘I feel very exposed,’ Eleanora said uneasily. ‘Just these tiny spaghetti straps.’

The commessa moved forward. ‘Perhaps a wrap, or stole?’ she suggested.

‘Oh, yes, that would be good,’ Eleanora said immediately. The commessa promptly produced several to choose from, and Eleanora went for one in ivory chiffon with silver threads. Next there was the question of shoes—strappy, high heeled evening sandals—and another Fabian clutch, this one in matching ivory silk with crystal beading.

Sanzio sat back in the armchair provided for attendant partners and watched the proceedings. That strange, unnerving expression on his face still, he was watching her, his hands resting on the upholstered arms of his chair. Eleanora was glad to change back into her daywear, another of the outfits Sanzio had bought for her on their first outing, which had been suitable for lunch with Adrietta and Francesca, a simple but stylish moss-green shift with a short jacket to go with it, which had held its own against the sisters’ equally stylish designer outfits.

Shopping finally done, she and Sanzio took a taxi back to his apartment.

‘How did lunch go?’ he asked genially. That unnerving look had vanished from his face, and Eleanora was glad of it.