Page 173 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

How could she do anything else except cling to each precious day that passed? Each precious night?

Because she could not bear to think of these precious days, these so-precious nights, coming to an end. An end that was inevitable. Getting closer with every setting of the sun. Bringing the future she could not bear to think of, that was rushing closer and yet closer still. All she could do was cling to what remained to her—cling to Sanzio, while he was still hers to cling to. While he still wanted her, wanted her to want him.

Because soon, so frighteningly soon now, the time to part would come.

She looked about her, out into the gardens beyond the pool, the Palazzo behind her, both now so very, very close to needing no more work at all. Oh, there might be artworks still to be recovered but, other than that, the Palazzo was habitable now.

Signalling, as agreed, the end of any reason for her and Sanzio to stay married.

She felt anguish fill her. It had seeped into her, day by day by day, ever since their return to the Palazzo. And none of it, none of it, was Sanzio’s fault. He hadn’t asked her to feel what she was feeling, to be anything other than a pleasant companion by day, an ardent lover by night. Not wanting, expecting, anything more than that of her.

While all the time, to her, he was so, so, so much more.

But that was not his problem. It was hers and hers alone. Dreading what the future would bring—their sure and certain parting.

It’s for me to face it—deal with it. And that is what I must do.

Sanzio still never made any mention of it. Neither by casual reference nor by raising the subject of how the practicalities and legalities would need to be addressed, and when. Yes, the pre-nups were all in place, but divorce took time, and if Sanzio wanted to get his own life back now that the restoration was all but complete, the process of separation, then divorce, needed to be instigated.

She felt the pressure of it weighing her down. Almost as if it were the elephant in the room, looming over her. She might not want to think about it, but it was there all the time, and getting larger with every passing day.

I have to face it—face it and confront it. Prepare for it. Not hide from it or speak of it.

Not behave as if it were not going to happen—neither to herself nor to Sanzio.

I have to show him I know perfectly well that the time is coming. Show him that I’m facing up to it. That I know that just because we now share a bed does not mean I expect to share the rest of my life with him. Show him that I know our marriage will end, just as we planned from the outset, and we shall go our separate ways.

She had to steel herself, find an opportunity to make mention of it, make it obvious to him that he would not need to remind her of it. That she knew perfectly well what was going to be happening very soon now.

I have to be brave—start talking about it.

She watched him reach the end of the pool, haul himself out on his strong arms, water peeling from him as he helped himself to his towel, shaking drops from his hair and patting dry his torso. He looked across at her.

‘Give me five minutes,’ he said, scooping a handful of biscotti as he headed off.

In his absence, Eleanora tried to think how she might open the subject she would have given so much to avoid. But avoiding it was almost as painful.

I can’t go on running away from it, not saying anything about it.

It would be painful, it would be awkward, but she had to do it. Had to steel herself.

He was coming back to the pool area, hair still damp and slicked back, dressed in an open-necked pale blue shirt and darker blue chinos. Looking a million dollars, making her breath catch as it always did, her pulse quicken. He threw her his wide smile, dropping a kiss on her mouth before lowering himself into the canvas director-style chair across from her under the shade of the parasol, reaching for his coffee and another couple of biscotti.

‘These are good,’ he said appreciatively, wolfing them down. ‘Parmesan and—?’

‘Rosemary,’ Eleanora supplied.

She felt herself tense. She was nerving herself to make some reference, something casual, unforced, to at least mention the elephant that was so dominating her thoughts. Her fears.

She caught his glance coming her way. A familiar assessing, appreciative glance, taking in her stylish vee-necked khaki top that she was wearing with matching culottes, both part of the casualwear she’d acquired in Milan. She had a touch of make-up too, some mascara and lip gloss, and her hair was loose, held back with a bandeau.

A sense of painful irony assailed her. She had learnt, thanks to Sanzio, how to make the best of herself, not the worst—and she took pleasure in it, wanting to look only her best for him.

Soon, that would not be necessary…

‘So, what else have you been baking this morning?’ Sanzio enquired now, a look of hopeful anticipation on his face.

A pang assailed her. She loved cooking for Sanzio. He devoured everything and asked for more, and with his powerful, muscled physique it all just disappeared.