Page 32 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

He studied her thoughtfully, thinking how ungrateful she could be. Was she unaware of the compliment he was extending, by inviting her into his city home? As always, meeting resistance stirred his interest. ‘Why not?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve got to get back to England to sort out my life. Obviously.’

He made a sound of impatience. ‘That can wait.’

‘No, Romano. It can’t wait. And it’s slightly insulting of you to be so dismissive of my needs. We’ve already delayed my journey home for three days and I can’t keep swanning around this Tuscan castle with you and pretending it’s all normal, because real life is waiting in the wings. I need to find myself a new waitressing job—and, since the weather is picking up, I need to get back on my market stall, because trade is always very good in the springtime.’

Trade?Trade?Romano glared. Did she take some sort of perverse delight in reminding him of the disparity between their two lives? he wondered. He knew perfectly well that he could ease her financial woes in an instant, but something told him that not only would she view such an offer with disdain—it could also backfire on him. Might she not misread his motives and accuse him of trying to pay for sex, before slamming her way out of the castle in a fury? Because she really did have a temper to match that red hair, he conceded hungrily. ‘Surely you are allowed to have a couple more days’ holiday before you return to the daily grind?’ he questioned, in his most reasonable voice.

Kelly took another sip of wine and considered his question. Would a few more days really make that much difference? Probably not. The money she’d earnt from cleaning his castle would be more than enough to tide her over until she found a new waitressing job and she’d heard that Granchester’s newest restaurant would soon be recruiting for staff, though annoyingly it happened to be a pizza parlour. She sighed. If she was hoping it was going to be easy to forget all about Italy once she left thecastello, she could think again.

But for once it wasn’t her precarious finances which were her top priority and today it wasn’t even the concern that she might be falling for the billionaire. Correction.Wasfalling for him. There was no doubt in her mind about that, despite the fact that he had explicitly warned her not to. But how could she help herself when, for her, he was the real deal? He made her laugh. He challenged her. He made her feel sexy. He brought out the best in her and for a person who’d spent her life racked with self-doubt, that meant a lot. She chewed on her lip, tasting the juice of the grape she’d just eaten.

No. Her current fears weren’t about something as straightforward as the inequality of their feelings for one another, but were rooted in a far more practical cause. She’d woken alone in bed that morning, knowing Romano would have gone downstairs to make a pot of the strong coffee he favoured—apparently not trusting anyone who wasn’t Italian to concoct a brew which was in any way drinkable. Idly, she had glanced across at her phone and noticed the date and…and…

Her heart had pounded and she had sat up in bed, rubbing furiously at her eyes as if to clear her vision and remedy the obvious error.

It couldn’t possibly be the twenty-eighth!

But it was. All day, as they said.

She had rapidly done a raft of reassuring sums in her head and told herself not to be so ridiculous. The first time she’d had sex with Romano had been on the night of the christening, which hadn’t even been in the middle of her cycle. And he had used protection every time. Obviously, the reason her period was late was because a lot had been happening. Big stuff. Once-in-a-lifetime stuff. There had been the initial stress of seeing him again when she had arrived at the storm-lashed castle and then the total weirdness of them becoming intimate in spite of all their differences. And yes, he’d lost his rag a bit when he’d discovered that she’d been a virgin. But they were in a totally different place now. They had reached a sort of sensual compromise. With no drama and definitely no future. They were supposed to be enjoying all the incredible pleasures of the present.

But she was late.

She was late and she wasneverlate.

‘I don’t understand why you’re looking so concerned,’ he observed and Kelly looked over at him with a start, relieved to be plucked out of that nagging arena of worry, even if it was only temporary.

‘Is it really such a monstrous suggestion to ask you to come with me to Turin?’ he continued coolly.

‘Why are you so keen?’

‘Your lukewarm attitude is surprisingly enticing,’ he conceded drily.

‘But that isn’t why you want me to come,’ she observed.

‘Not exactly.’

‘Why, then? Tell me, Romano. We agreed to be honest with one another, didn’t we?’

He nodded. ‘I just don’t think we’re done yet, do you?’ he said softly, his black gaze boring into her.

No, they weren’t. Not as far as she was concerned. Sometimes Kelly thought she would never feel they were done. And although he wasn’t exactly pleading with her to accompany him, she forced herself to think sensibly. Surely it would be better to bewithhim, rather than going back to England on her own and driving herself mad with worry? Because what if shewaspregnant?

It was the first time she’d allowed herself to even frame the word in her mind and with it came a series of powerful images. Suddenly, she could see herself standing on a freezing market stall, a slight bump beginning to show. She would be wearing a pair of those fingerless gloves which always left her with icy digits—her mind obsessing about a future she’d always been determined never to have. A future like her own mother’s. Bearing the baby of a man who didn’t want a baby. A man who would probably reject her, just as her father had rejected her own mother. And yet, if she was…

If shewas, then she would deal with it—whatever fate threw at her and whether Romano wanted to be involved with his child or not. And she would do it without bitterness or resentment. If she had a daughter, she wouldn’t try to poison that child’s mind against men in general and one in particular. Not like her own mother…

And what the hell was she thinking of, sipping wine?

‘Okay, I’ll come to Turin,’ she croaked, quickly putting the glass down.

‘Don’t overdo the enthusiasm,’ he observed wryly as he sat down beside her on the velvet sofa, turning her head to cup her chin within the warm cradle of his palm. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Wh-why?’

His thumb traced the edges of her lips in a gesture which felt misleadingly like tenderness.

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