Page 143 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

‘It doesn’t sound like your life here was a walk in the park,’ she murmured gently.

He moved to the ornaments, simply as a distraction. He’d never admitted the truth to anyone. Not his father, not Juanita. In a weird way, to speak of Carlotta was to give her renewed power to hurt him. He wasn’t the same little boy he’d been then. He’d grown and shed her from his life, from his mind.

Once he had inflicted the ultimate revenge, of reclaiming the company he should always have owned a share in, he would be set free, once and for all. Then, he could let the last vestiges of his anger go.

‘Other people have it worse.’

That was true. For all Carlotta had taken delight in doing whatever she could to make Javier miserable, she’d never physically hurt him. She hadn’t touched him at all. Not a hug, not an arm around his shoulders. Not a single goodnight kiss, when he’d been scared of the dark as a little boy.

He squared his shoulders, mentally distancing himself from that time in his life.

‘So, no, Your Majesty. This—’ he gestured to the tree, ‘—is quite new to me.’

They worked in silence for a little while, hanging the decorations bit by bit until the tree was half covered. Astrid paused then, moving to her champagne glass and holding it as she sat elegantly on the sofa. ‘I’ll watch you for a while,’ she said, taking a sip.

The music swirled in the background and he surprisingly found himself enjoying the simple act of hanging decorations on the tree, perhaps because Astrid seemed so invested in it. There had only been a dozen or so of the handmade children’s decorations. The rest were delicate glass stars and fine silver shapes, with soft velvet ribbons. All new, all obviously very special. As he hung each one, she spoke of the national significance—the symbolism of that particular flower, or the story behind the star, the artist who’d created one of the ceramic pieces. He listened, finding it hard not to be swept up in the magic she created, knowing this was part and parcel of what made her such a compelling figure. It went beyond her stoicism and the sadness of her family’s deaths. Astrid was her own uniquely interesting person and the whole world saw that.

‘It’s perfect,’ she said, as he hung the last decoration. He knew he wasn’t imagining the catch in her voice. She stood, placing her empty glass down and walking across to him, surprising him by reaching down and linking their fingers together. Just standing there, holding his hand as she stared at the tree. He could only stare at her. It was the strangest thing to have this moment—looking at Astrid and seeing not just a woman, but all the fragments that made that woman who she was. Understanding her in a way he wasn’t sure anyone else did.

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ he muttered, dragging his gaze away because something strange was rushing through his chest, making it hard to think straight. With a sinking sensation, he realised that was exactly how he’d describe it.

CHAPTER NINE

ASTRID KNEW, BETTER than anyone, that time had a mercurial, unstoppable quality to it. It couldn’t go backwards and it couldn’t be sped up. Nor could it be stopped. No matter how much she wanted everything to freeze, so that they could be locked in this night for longer than a few hours, the second hand marched onwards and so too did the need for her to return to the palace.

In the morning, it would be Christmas Eve and her schedule would be full, as it was every year. She would have barely a moment to herself, much less a chance to see Javier. But knowing what he’d been through, how cold and lonely his childhood, how alone he was, she felt a connection to him that defied the physical. A connection that she knew she should run a mile from, because connection was akin to something far more difficult to manage—to genuine emotional reliance. And she couldn’t rely on him. Or anyone.

The safe future she’d latched onto, as a way to avoid ever having to grieve like she had as a girl, was a talisman. But it wasn’t in jeopardy. It couldn’t be.

For when Javier spoke of Norvenheim, it was with true distaste. Not only was he not staying in the country longer than necessary, he also wouldn’t have any interest in being more a part of her world, even if she wanted him to. This was a secret, short-term thing.

Except, when she thought of him leaving, an ice began to spread through her veins with which she was, sadly, familiar. It was the reliably cold spread of loneliness and she’d known it before. When Javier was around, for a brief moment, she felt the opposite of ice. She felt warm. She felt good. She felt…dangerously close to complete. It was as though someone, or something, were whispering at her to forget what she knew. To forget her duties, and the careful care she took with her heart, and just let this play out. But Astrid never would. Her whole future was at stake and she knew too much of pain to willingly experience it again.

She took another sip of her champagne, he’d refilled it after they’d finished with the tree, and settled back on the sofa. Her eyes rested contentedly on the tree, marvelling at the beauty of what they’d done. It wasn’t just the tree, though. It was how he’d opened up to her as they’d decorated it. The way he’d trusted her with a part of himself she suspected he didn’t share often. It had been the most special gift she’d ever received, even though she knew she couldn’t return it. To open up was to risk sharing too much of herself. It was to risk exposing her heart and a man like Javier would know just how to slip into those cracks, taking up a space she guarded fiercely for those she’d lost.

He came to sit on the other end of the sofa, then reached for her feet and dragged them into his lap, one hand resting over her ankles in a gesture that was so casually intimate it brought a lump to her throat. She blinked quickly, cursing her emotions. Usually, they were so reliably easy to control, but with Javier, there was a weakness inside of her that she didn’t entirely like.

‘Will you see them for Christmas?’ she asked, almost conversationally, though she felt him tense slightly. He’d been so sparing, as he’d spoken of his childhood, yet he’d effortlessly painted a picture of neglect. She’d heard everything he hadn’t said. She’d understood. What he’d described had been the polar opposite of her own family life and yet, after the accident, she’d been raised more or less by bureaucrats, by the Regency Council who governed on her behalf until she was of age. Decisions were made in her name rather than in her best interests. Who she was as a title was more important than who she was as a person. In this way, she understood the neglect he’d suffered, the way his emotional needs hadn’t been cared for at all.

‘Yes.’

His response surprised her. It must have shown on her features, for when he turned to look at her, he said, darkly, ‘It’s the purpose of my visit. It’s why I came back.’

‘To see them for Christmas?’ she repeated, not quite following.

His eyes held hers for a long time, his jaw moving with the strength of whatever he was contemplating. ‘My father had always been very clear. He wanted me to inherit his business.’

The statement was unexpected, but she sat still, waiting for him to continue. His fingers moved idly over her exposed ankles, drawing small, unintentional circles.

‘He left money to Otto, but I was the one he trusted to take over his life’s work. His empire, so to speak.’

Astrid knew Soren Diamandi had been incredibly successful. He had owned one of the biggest textile companies in Europe and their stores were a global name.

‘And?’ She sipped her drink, simply for something to do with her hands. Impatience was buzzing beneath her skin.

‘My stepmother made it so that I inherited nothing.’

‘What?’