Page 115 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

She closed her eyes, aware that the prime minister was waving the one carrot in front of Astrid that she would never refuse—what was good for the people of Norvenheim was her guiding principle in life.

‘I’ll meet him,’ she said, quietly. ‘But only because you have arranged it. I guarantee that will be the end of it. This—’ she waved at the papers without looking at them, ‘—is exactly what it looked like. A dance.’

Henrik hesitated a moment. ‘Watch the video, Your Majesty. I think you’ll see more than a dance. Just like the rest of the world has.’

CHAPTER THREE

IT HAD BEEN a stupid idea to watch the damned video before coming face to face with Javier Diamandi again because Henrik had been right. At the time, Astrid had felt she was dancing with him as though he were any other man, carefully muting any physical response, being professional and regal, just as she was supposed to be.

But watching the video she couldn’t help but hold her breath, aware of how their eyes barely looked away, how they seemed to look as though they were in their own world. She saw how his hand moved over her spine, more than she’d been aware of that the time. Each touch was intimate and familiar, hinting at something more than the truth.

It was a masterclass in chemistry and heat. It was everything she needed to run away from, everything she most feared, because it had been real and raw and she didn’t do ‘real’. Not any more. Not again.

Her gaze strayed to the ancient clock, suspended in the middle of the wall across the room. The fire beneath it was blazing, warming the room, in contrast to the outside, which was snowy and bleak. A moment later, the heavy oak door creaked open, and her secretary Anja was there. Astrid barely noticed her though, nor the way she curtseyed. Her attention was immediately, catastrophically and completely, captured by Javier Diamandi. He stood just a foot or so away from Anja and every bit as powerfully disruptive and compelling as Astrid remembered.

Anja said something that Astrid barely heard and then Javier was striding into the room with raw, masculine power evident in even those steps. He stopped a few feet away from her, far enough to make her insides revolt at the distance.

‘Do I curtsey, too?’

Despite the thickening in the air, the tension, it brought a smile to her face.

‘A bow would be more appropriate,’ she replied. Only, she didn’t want him to bow to her. She liked that he didn’t. ‘And unnecessary.’

She tried to regain control, to pretend he was any other political visitor she was required to spend time with. ‘Please, have a seat.’

He looked at the formal lounge furniture with a small grimace. ‘In that?’

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. His scepticism was not misplaced. The furniture was from the eighteenth century and the thought of his bulky frame occupying one of the delicately carved armchairs seemed quite ridiculous.

‘You’re right. Shall we go for a walk instead?’

He arched a brow.

‘The palace is very old. I’m sure you’d find it quite interesting.’

‘You’re offering me a private tour?’

She couldn’t say how, but he managed to infuse the words ‘private tour’ with a hint of something elicit. Something that set her pulse racing.

She nodded, not sure what she was agreeing to but sensing it was somehow inevitable.

‘In that case, how can I refuse?’

‘You can’t. You’re already running a close line to being charged with treason, remember.’

‘You’d like to lock me up?’ he teased, another unmistakably sensual promise in the words.

She blinked away quickly. She’d never known anyone like him.

‘If your behaviour warranted it.’

‘Then we might as well cut to the chase. I’m definitely more bad than good.’

‘Are you?’ The words were breathy, a reflection of how hard she was finding it to inflate her lungs.

‘I should have thought my reputation preceded me.’

Her heart fluttered. Everything twisted.