Page 136 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

‘So, what are you going to do now?’ asked Joaquin.

She looked down at her hand. ‘I’m going to get this bloody ring off,’ she said, glaring down at it with loathing.

Half an hour later she left her room, a cool smile painted on her face and the ring still on her now red and swollen finger.

‘You can do this,’ she told herself as she walked down the carved staircase, trying not to look at the monster of a ring that seemed to symbolise this whole mess.

As she had scrubbed and tugged at the ring all she had been able to hear was Joaquin’s voice saying,‘I want you.’

Had he meant it?

The thought made her tummy muscles quiver.

It didn’t matter if he had. Nothing was inevitable. It would be a disaster.

On the other hand, it already was a disaster!

What was the point in deciding anything? She knew full well that her resolve would crumble the moment he touched her.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and paused, listening, her ring-bearing hand on the ancient carved banister that had made Aria Perez furious because she was not allowed to replace it with something‘less dark’.

Followingthedistant sound of voices, which seemed to be coming from the general direction of the west wing, she narrowed her search to the open door of what had once been the library. It had once smelt of musty old leather, and the bookshelves back then had heaved with dusty tomes, but they were long gone, all stripped out during the refurbishment.

She hesitated for a moment. She could hear two voices—one obviously Joaquin’s, the other female. For a split second she thought there was a woman in there. The feeling of furious betrayal only lasted a split-second before she realised that it was, in fact, a two-way phone conversation.

The fact that she had been on the point of charging in there in militantgotchamode—that she had bought into this act so much that she had actually felt, even for a fraction of a second, like a betrayed fiancée—was a massive wake-up call.

She had to get herself under control!

She pasted an in-control expression on her face and, head up, walked through the door.

These days the room was dominated by a massive desk, pale wood and Scandinavian in design. The only reading material was the stack of glossy magazines arranged in geometric precision on its polished surface. Like the rest of the very expensive furniture, it would have looked good in many settings—but not this one.

Joaquin was standing with his back to her, so he didn’t hear her enter or see the expression of hopeless longing she knew had appeared on her face.

So much for under control, Clemmie.

His phone was lying on the blond wood, on speaker.

‘I saw the video...’

Clemmie immediately recognised the distinctive, rather nasal tones of Aria Perez.

‘What were you thinking of, letting someone film you?’

‘I had my mind on other things at the time.’

Despite everything, listening to Joaquin’s dry response to his mother’s complaint made Clemmie’s lips twitch. She had watched the clip they spoke of several times. Her five minutes of fame and Joaquin looking like some sort of Hollywood hero in a big budget action movie.

‘Are youinsane? Sheis thecleaner’sdaughter!’

About to reveal herself, Clemmie froze.

‘Housekeeper, Aria.’

‘Do not talk to me in that manner. I am your mother, and it is disrespectful.’

‘Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? Me getting married? I’d have thought you’d be pleased.’

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