Page 143 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

She glanced at him, the word striking something in her chest. She dismissed it; he’d just tossed a term of endearment into conversation as people often did. It meant nothing. But it succeeded in throwing her enough off her game to answer honestly, even when she knew she shouldn’t discuss this.

‘I only saw them together a handful of times, not often enough to judge, I’m sure.’

‘But’ he prompted.

She grimaced. ‘Your grandfather could be very short with Fabrizio. Condescending, at times. I couldn’t understand it. With me, he has always been so patient and considerate. I have never once had him lose his temper towards me. But with Fabrizio, he could be almost cold. And I sometimes wondered if Fabrizio hadn’t simply decided to give up. To give up on being the man the king needed him to be, to give up on trying to impress him. Instead, he settled for doing the bare minimum, coasted through life, and eventually, to his death.’

Sebastian made a grunting noise that was hard to interpret, and they sat together in a heavy silence, with only the flickering of flames chattering in the background.

Eventually, though, Sebastian spoke. ‘And yet, still you defend him.’

‘As I said, to me...’ She sighed. ‘It wasn’t my place to get involved in his relationship with his son. I will say that he loved him very much. When Fabrizio died, it was as though a part of the king had died too.’ A tear rolled down her cheek; she dashed it away. ‘I sat with him all night—I couldn’t bear to leave him. He was bereft, Sebastian. Bereft. And it wasn’t just about Fabrizio, but your mother too, and his wife. He kept saying their names, over and over again. A family of four, reduced to one man—’

‘Except that’s not true,’ Sebastian ground out, standing with obvious frustration and stalking towards the fire. His face and body were cast into shadow and light by the amber glow. ‘He still has a daughter, he has a grandson. We are here, in Cavalonia and even now, he makes no effort at amends. If he was as distraught as you say, then how can he have failed to reach out? Even when Fabrizio died, it was me who approached him with a way to come home. Would he have just left us there, in America, despite this purported grief?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered honestly, and at the look on Sebastian’s face, she stirred, standing and walking slowly towards him. The sand was cool underfoot, in contrast to the warmth thrown by the fire. ‘I respect the king a great deal, but he’s not perfect. I suppose where his emotions are involved, he might be far from it.’

Sebastian’s nostrils flared and in the light of the fire, he looked quite ferocious. ‘Basta.Enough. We cannot talk about him. You are like a broken record, no matter what evidence contradicts your feelings on the matter. You refuse to see him as he truly is, and I refuse to accept that. This is not one of those situations in which you will eventually convince me to see things your way.’

She startled at his anger, took a step backwards and Sebastian closed his eyes on another heavy breath.

‘I wasn’t trying to—’ she said, softly.

‘Weren’t you?’

She bit down into her lip and looked across at him. Frustration warred with sadness, and also resignation. ‘Fine.’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘Have it your way. Go on hating him, Sebastian. Go on hating him, even when that hatred is eating you alive. Who knows, maybe you’ll make another ten billion by the time you’re forty. Hate, hate, hate even when it’s destroying you.’

‘Do I look destroyed?’ he demanded and damn it if her eyes didn’t devour him at the invitation he issued. Even when anger was chewing through her, there was also, always, lust.

She ground her teeth. ‘You look...’ But what could she say? ‘I don’t care,’ she muttered. ‘If you don’t want us to talk about him, then stop bringing the king up.’

‘Did I?’

She frowned. She couldn’t remember how the conversation had begun, in truth. ‘That’s the problem,’ she replied with obvious frustration. ‘All roads lead back to him. He’s too much a part of you, your history, your life, and he’s a huge part of me, my life, my work. You ask me about myself, and more likely than not, my answer’s going to involve him in some way. I’m not close to my father. I barely see him. Over the last few years, the king has become—has come to mean—so much more to me than I can explain. I love him, Sebastian. Faults or not, he’s like family to me.’

Sebastian turned away from her, his face angled so she could see the stern set of his features in profile.

‘Then I feel truly sorry for you. If there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that the king is the last man on earth who deserves anything like love—from you, or anyone else.’

CHAPTER NINE

HEWAITEDUNTILthe last of the flames had died down, turning the heap of timber into a glowing pile that somehow perfectly matched the smouldering in his gut. Sure, it was a safety concern, but with the tide inching forwards, it wouldn’t be long before the wreckage of their bonfire would be swallowed up by the ocean. Staying out here on the beach had more to do with avoidance, and Sebastian hated that. He’d never been someone to walk away from a problem—or an argument. In fact, he rarely argued.

His eyes lingered on a large piece of driftwood they’d added to the pile that was now a ferocious orange, like a child might draw a dragon’s breath, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. That was the problem.

Far from being the prim little wallflower ice princess he’d expected, he’d discovered that his wife had a pulse after all. And she managed to get under his skin every time they were together—either by making him need her to the point of distraction, or by defending the king to him, in a manner that was unfailingly going to raise his hackles. So they argued.

When had Sebastian ever argued with a woman he’d been sleeping with?

Or anyone?

In business, he was cold. Cold detachment was the way he succeeded. Emotion was the death knell to clarity and Sebastian valued clear thinking above all else. Even his interactions with the king had been calm, despite Sebastian’s long-held anger towards the other man. He’d still been able to separate those feelings out and deliver his assessment of their situation without emotions weakening him.

Why couldn’t he do that with Rosalind? What was it about her that managed to needle him to the point of breaking down the rigid reinforcements he usually kept around anything approaching a feeling?

Was it just their proximity?

The island had been his idea—a way to fast-track her requirement that they ‘get to know one another’ and bring her to a decision about this pregnancy. He’d thought it would be like any of his business negotiations—that he could keep his eye on the prize and manage the situation to achieve his outcome. Hell, he’d done it enough times in the professional world. He was nothing if not determined.

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