Page 163 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

All she dared want…

Happiness—glorious, unhoped-for happiness—had been bestowed upon her. And for that she would be forever grateful. She who had looked for nothing—but now had so, so much.

In Sanzio’s arms.

* * *

Sanzio guided Eleanora as she stepped carefully out of the chauffeured car and into the ducal residence—a grand Renaissance palazzo—as they arrived for the glittering charity gala, paparazzi pressing all around, every man in white tie evening dress, every woman adorned to the hilt in couture gowns and decked with priceless jewellery. He was looking forward to the evening ahead. Distinctly looking forward to it.

It was why he had brought Eleanora to Rome.

His eyes went to her now. Renata had been summoned to the apartment in preparation and had excelled herself, coaxing Eleanora’s freshly trimmed and tinted hair into an ultra-elegant upstyle, bestowing extra height on her, and applying full make-up with a superb, camera-ready finish, highlighting Eleanora’s spectacular eyes, lengthening her lashes, sculpting her cheekbones, her tender mouth limned with rich coral lipstick.

As for the gown Sanzio had urged on Eleanora, it was the triumph he knew it would be. On any but the most slender figure the bias-cut, shimmering ivory silk with its demi-train would be punishing, but on Eleanora it was perfection. The heeled evening sandals gave her yet more height, and around her bare shoulders floated her silver-threaded chiffon stole. At her throat a single diamond strand—but with diamonds of the finest water—glittered in the light, simple but exquisite, as was the single strand diamond bracelet and the diamond aigrette glinting in her upswept hair. As with the baroque pearls, he had bestowed the diamond jewellery on her before they’d set off, but this time, as he’d fastened them on her, he had tenderly, sensuously, kissed her naked shoulders, the delicate softness of her inner wrist. She has shivered deliciously, and Sanzio had had to impose considerable self-control not to turn her in his arms and lower his mouth to hers.

Now, as they moved forward in the reception line, he comforted himself knowing that on their return to his apartment that night he would indulge himself to the full in removing from her the gown she looked so breathtakingly fabulous in and claiming her for his own again.

But before that?

Anticipation was building in him. He had planned this evening, and if things went as he expected them to, then…

The Duchessa and her husband the Duca, both in late middle age but both still handsome and stately, were greeting them, offering gracious words to them both, and then Sanzio was guiding Eleanora forward again.

‘There’s Adrietta!’ Eleanora exclaimed, and they made their way towards her through the crowded grand salone with its pilastered walls, niches filled with statuary, and its spectacular frescoed ceiling painted by a Renaissance master.

Adrietta’s husband, the young Visconte Tavalo, was there beside his wife, and Adrietta’s sister too.

‘No Nic?’ Sanzio enquired of Francesca.

‘He’s escaped to New York on business,’ she answered with a wry smile. ‘These bashes aren’t his thing.’ She greeted Eleanora warmly, as did Adrietta, who exclaimed fulsomely over her gown. She herself was wearing pale blue with an elaborately embroidered bodice, and Francesca was in Grecian-style eau de Nil. Both wore jewellery which Sanzio expected were family heirlooms. Unlike Eleanora, the sisters had a father who had not recklessly dissipated the family fortune and sold off everything of value.

They chatted easily for a few minutes, then Adrietta, looking towards the reception line, announced, ‘Ah, there they are—I’ve just spotted Carla. Vivid as ever!’

Sanzio glanced back to where the Conte and his Contessa were now approaching them. The Contessa was, indeed, looking vivid in a full-skirted satin cerise strapless gown, adorned with an antique diamond drop necklace, again, presumably, an heirloom from her husband’s family. Greetings were exchanged all round, Sanzio honoured with a more-than-merely-civil nod of acknowledgement by the Conte. Sanzio was glad of it—glad to be so visibly part of this group of highest of high society aristocrats, the Conte and his Contessa the acknowledged leaders thereof. It suited his purpose ideally. He felt anticipation flicker again within him.

Guests were still arriving, but in fewer numbers now. His glance went to the reception line. So, he realised, had the Contessa’s as he heard her give an intake of breath, saw an angry flash in her eyes and at the same time an expression of almost malicious pleasure appeared on her face.

Her husband noticed it too. ‘Carla—’ There was a warning note in his voice, but his wife ignored it.

‘So,’ the Contessa said, her voice tight, ‘she’s back.’

Sanzio’s eyes went past her, to where the Duca and his Duchessa were welcoming one final pair of guests for the evening. His mouth compressed.

Yes, she was definitely back—and he was about to get exactly what he’d wanted from the evening.

At his side, he felt Eleanora turn.

And freeze.

* * *

Eleanora couldn’t move, rooted to the spot. Shock—dismay—more than both, sliced through her.

Tonia? Here?

‘I thought she was still on her honeymoon…’ she heard herself say, her voice hollow.

‘Apparently not,’ Sanzio answered.