Page 171 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

As Sanzio’s car bore them ever nearer to the Palazzo, emotion rose in her. Unhappy and haunted, though she longed to be at the Palazzo she loved, to be there with Sanzio, as lovers now, not mere companions, with every passing day, every day that brought the restoration nearer, she would hear the clock counting down the days. Bringing the shadow she dreaded closer. Forcing the question she did not want to ask—or answer.

How long have I got with him?

Whatever time she had, one thing she knew with a tightening of her throat, a tighter clenching of her hands in her lap—it would not be enough.

In her head, one of her sister’s poisoned barbs still echoed. Calling her besotted.

That was Tonia’s scathing name for it.

Her own was very different. But one she must not, must not speak. Or it would make the day when she and Sanzio ended their marriage to go their separate ways even more unbearable…

* * *

Sanzio looked about him with pleasure. The Palazzo, scaffolding all gone now, roof secure and masonry repointed, was looking good—inside as well as outside. It was all very nearly habitable again. The bathrooms were all functioning and refurbed, internal walls repainted, rotting window frames replaced, floors mended and polished, repaired curtains rehung, salvageable carpets cleaned and relaid, remaining furniture polished and sagging upholstery repadded. The place just needed its refurnishing completed, all the finishing touches applied, and hopefully, before too long, some of the sold artworks would be recovered.

Sanzio put his arm around Eleanora’s shoulders. ‘We’re nearly there,’ he said. ‘It will be a relief when it’s all finally done, and we can get on with our lives without all this going on.’

Did she stiffen under his casual closeness? He wondered at it momentarily, and then was diverted. ‘Let’s check out the gardens,’ he enthused.

He guided her off to do just that. Significant progress had been made there too, extending what had already been done, all hedging trimmed neatly and weeds banished. Terraces had been restored, paths repaved, lawns mowed, fountains made operational again.

They headed back indoors, where Eleanora busied herself preparing an evening meal, urging Sanzio to do some laps in the pool while she did so. That air of distraction was there again, as she started on slicing onions and tomatoes for the pasta sauce, and for a moment Sanzio frowned. Then he pushed his concern aside, and went off for his vigorous swim.

But later that evening, after a peaceable dinner under the stars, talking about the progress at the Palazzo, he was glad that Eleanora seemed more like her usual self. Even so, that night, when they made their way upstairs—no separate bedrooms now, a warm glow enveloped him—he made love to her with especial tenderness and in his arms she melted in the sweetest ardour, clinging to him in an impassioned embrace. Reassurance filled him. This was Eleanora as he wanted her to be.

Desiring me—melting for me.

Trusting me…

That was what he wanted most of all.

* * *

Eleanora finished watering the last of the planters still in the late morning’s remaining shade. She and Sanzio had been back at the Palazzo for a fortnight now, the days skimming by. They had brought a mix of emotions to her. In one sense she was happy—so very happy. To be here, at the Palazzo she loved so much, with Sanzio, was all she wanted.

But every day that passed was bringing that closer to an end.

Sanzio made no mention of it. His enthusiasm for the work being done on the Palazzo was as undimmed as his obvious enjoyment of her company—by day and by night. He never mentioned the future, or how things would be once their marriage came to an end. Gave no sign of even noticing that that time was nearing.

He’d taken over one of the many unused downstairs rooms and turned it into an office, filling it with high-tech comms, enthusiastically telling Eleanora it would enable him to cut down on the time he needed to be in Rome and Milan. Her heart had twisted. How painful it would be when, living their separate lives again, he would spend so much of it here at the Palazzo.

How will I bear it? Him being so close—and yet I won’t be part of his life any longer.

Would it be too painful to bear? A terrible sense of irony assailed her. The Palazzo she loved so much would be restored, made a home again—but for them separately, not together. She would have to see him living here, coming and going as he would, no longer his wife. He would entertain here, filling the Palazzo with his guests.

Bringing other women here.

She felt a chill go through her. What if, in that unbearable time ahead, he brought Tonia?

No. She silenced that poisonous thought immediately. Her sister’s venomous claims were only malice, designed to wound and undermine. Or figments of her vanity, her alley-cat morals when it came to adultery. Some men might stoop to an adulterous affair. With absolute certainty, she knew Sanzio was not one of them. Nor, despite Tonia’s assertions, did he have any interest any longer in Tonia—he never spoke of her without condemnation.

Not that he spoke of her at all. Nor did Eleanora. She hoped only that Tonia had taken herself off to France with Edouard. A passing shaft of pity for Tonia’s husband went through her. How long would it take Tonia to show her true colours to him? Well, he had wealth to lavish on her, all of Paris to display herself in, a grand title to enjoy and a chateau on the Loire to amuse her—that might keep her happy for a while.

And far, far away from the Palazzo.

Where, day by day, my happiness is ebbing away, heading to the end of my time with Sanzio.

And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do about it.