Page 159 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

Now I want her to myself.

He felt tension pull within him. His eyes rested on Eleanora. She was wearing the cotton top and gathered skirt she’d bought at the petrol station shop. After their swim she’d left her hair loose to dry naturally, held off her face with a ribbon. He’d never seen it loose before. It was longer than he’d realised, waving softly over her shoulders.

Enhancing her loveliness.

He pulled his gaze away, getting to his feet, bidding their host goodnight. Then he held out a hand to Eleanora, who rose to her feet as well.

‘Shall we?’ he invited.

* * *

Eleanora took Sanzio’s outstretched hand. It was warm and strong, easily enveloping hers. She knew she must not read anything into it. It was just Sanzio being considerate, as he had been earlier in the day in the same way. As they made their way along the stone-paved path to their accommodation she was glad of it. An uneven step made her stumble slightly, and he immediately steadied her.

‘No toppling over,’ he told her. ‘That wine at dinner was strong!’

‘I only had two glasses!’ she replied indignantly. ‘And you had a beer first, too—and more wine than me!’

‘And I fully intend to round the evening off with a brandy too, as well as coffee,’ he riposted.

Back at their accommodation, they set the coffee machine working, while Sanzio explored the collection of miniatures. He selected his brandy, and Eleanora chose limoncello. Coffee ready, they settled down on the twin loungers, side by side on their little terrace. The lights from the main farmhouse were invisible and they left their own terrace unlit. Above, the familiar stars burned in the heavens.

‘I’ve missed the stars,’ Eleanora murmured, taking a sip of her limoncello, tart, but sweet—and strong. ‘They disappear in the citiy.’ She turned to Sanzio. ‘Thank you for today,’ she said, her voice warm. ‘It’s been wonderful!’

He took a contemplative mouthful of his brandy, looking across at her. ‘It has,’ he said. ‘So much so that—’ he paused, then continued ‘—what say you to staying on? There’s no rush to get back to Rome, and this place is clearly not full mid-week. Dinner was good too, and the wine excellent!’

Her face lit. ‘Could we?’

‘Why not? Our time is our own. We could do what that Dutch couple recommended, and disappear off for cycle rides! Or just lounge by the pool. Or both.’

‘It’s a lovely idea,’ she said warmly.

‘Then it’s settled,’ he said decisively. He reached across the short space between them and took the hand that was resting on the arm of her lounger. Lightly, he raised it to his lips. ‘To staying on,’ he said, smilingly, and replaced her hand.

But he did not relinquish it.

Nor did she withdraw hers.

She went on sipping her limoncello. Sanzio took another mouthful of his brandy. ‘What a good idea it was of mine to get out of Rome today,’ he mused.

She laughed, agreeing. It was pleasant, so very, very pleasant, to be sitting here, replete from their delicious dinner, the strong wine in her veins, the brilliant stars above, no noise but the rustle of the countryside by night and the midnight chorus from the ever present, ever unseen cicadas.

And Sanzio’s warm, strong hand holding hers…

Emotion moved in her. Emotion she should not allow, but the night and the stars and the strong wine had let it flow—flow out into her blood, her body, bathing her in it.

Her eyes went to him. She could not stop herself.

He was looking right at her.

* * *

Sanzio held her eyes. Beneath his ribcage he could feel his heart start to beat heavily. This was the moment he’d been waiting for, aching for. His fingers tightened around the bowl of his brandy glass. The brandy he’d imbibed was still sweetly fiery in his throat. Last night he had felt the whisky burn him, sear away the last of his self-imposed resistance. Tonight, that was no longer necessary. Tonight, he would not just tell Eleanora she was beautiful, he would show her.

His thumb stroked the back of her hand, still held fast in his, his eyes still holding hers, never relinquishing them. Her face was alabaster in the starlight, her delicate features sculpted by light and shadow.

‘How very lovely you are, Eleanora.’ His voice was low. Husky.

Her expression flickered in the starlight.