Page 7 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

‘Look, this isn’t going to work, is it?’ she said, her question shattering his erotic thoughts. ‘Maybe it’s better if I just go back up to my room and leave you in peace.’

‘You’ve been travelling all day.’

‘And?’

‘And you need to eat something.’

‘I can always take a sandwich up to my room.’

He shuddered. ‘You arenotpicnicking in one of the castle rooms. That’s not how we do things here.’

‘The working-class girl who doesn’t know how to behave, you mean? Or are you afraid it might attract rats?’

‘Are you trying to shock me, Kelly?’

‘I wouldn’t have to try very hard, would I, Romano? You’re so incredibly easy to shock!’

A faint smile touched the edges of his lips. ‘I’m sure we can just about manage to endure each other’s company for the duration of a meal, without killing one another, if we put our minds to it.’ He slanted her a steady look. ‘Don’t you think that might be possible?’

‘It might,’ she agreed grudgingly.

But as he turned away to tend to something on the giant range, Kelly realised she didn’t actually want a sandwich—nor anything else for that matter. How could she possibly think about anything as mundane as food when Romano was waltzing around the kitchen in front of her like that, dextrously wielding pans like a sexy conjuror? The powerful magnate looked completely at home in this setting and it wasn’t a bit what she had imagined. And, disturbingly, it felt uncomfortablyintimateto be alone together like this, with tall cream candles burning on the table. Like the kind of thing acouplemight do together.

Though what would she know? She’d never been part of a couple. Never even witnessed at close quarters what it might be like to be in a relationship. Was her mother’s attitude towards men responsible? Had she gradually absorbed all that mistrust and negativity she’d been spoon-fed over the years? Or maybe the real reason was more troubling…that she was one of those people who simply wasn’t cut out for romantic partnership.

She watched him tossing salad and grating Parmesan before placing everything on the table, along with two steaming bowls of pasta.

‘Sit down,’ he said curtly.

She slid into the seat opposite him. Say something, she thought—but the only thing she could think of was how his hard features gave nothing away. She cleared her throat. ‘I didn’t know you could cook.’

He raised his brows. ‘Surely you’re not implying that, because I’m a man, I can’t fend for myself? Isn’t that a very sexist assumption to make?’

‘I was just going on what I know.’

‘Which is?’

She wound some pasta around her fork and ate some more before answering, realising just how hungry she was. ‘That you’re a man who has been waited on all his life.’

Had she thought his features gave nothing away? Then she had been wrong. Because suddenly his expression became shadowed, his ebony eyes growing hooded, but not in time to hide the unmistakable glint of irritation. ‘Is that how you see me, Kelly?’ he questioned silkily. ‘As a spoiled little rich boy who’s always had everything handed to him on a plate?’

‘Well? Aren’t you?’

‘I might have been born rich, but I taught myself the art of self-sufficiency a long time ago because I never wanted to rely on anything or anyone, and that’s the reason I can cook. Now eat,’ he added roughly. ‘You look as if you could do with feeding up and the shadows beneath your eyes suggest you’re crying out for a decent night’s sleep. I suppose you’ve been burning the candle at both ends as usual?’

Well, yes, she had—but not in the way he was probably imagining. ‘Surely you know all about my crazy life?’ she questioned carelessly. ‘Floriana must have filled you in.’

‘We don’t speak that often,’ he answered repressively. ‘And when we do, it’s never about you.’

No. That didn’t surprise her. She imagined she’d be the last topic of conversation Romano would be interested in discussing. If anyone else had asked the question, she might have given the true and somewhat uninspiring version of how she lived—that her social life was practically non-existent. That she worked as a waitress most evenings and spent the rest of the time making silver jewellery to sell on a market stall not far from where she lived. That life was mostly hard work juggling all the components and trying to earn enough money to pay the rent. Her heart pounded as her brand-new reality slid into her thoughts. Because now the restaurant had shut, she didn’t even have her waitressing job to fall back on and she wasn’t sure how she was going to be able to make ends meet…

But she wasn’t going to justify herself to him, or hope to tug at his heartstrings by telling him a sob story, because what good would it do? She didn’t want his sympathy. And in some ways, wasn’t it easier when he looked down his proud and patrician nose at her? Imagine if a modicum of respect started creeping into in that mocking black gaze. If he regarded her with anything other than hostility, wouldn’t that only increase her vulnerability around him? So feed his prejudices, she thought defiantly. Let his disdain wash over her!

‘I just try to live life to the full,’ she told him carelessly, shrugging her shoulders so that her waterfall earrings shook, and noticing that his attention had been momentarily captured by the jangly noise they made. ‘One long non-stop party express. You know?’

‘Yes, I know.’ He glowered. ‘I remember how you constantly led Floriana astray when you were at school.’

Kelly sucked in her cheeks, because at least now she was on familiar territory. Didn’t he realise that it had been simpler for everyone to blameherfor their youthful misdemeanours and make her into the convenient scapegoat? The daughter of the school matron was always going to be a more suitable target than the daughter of one of the richest men in Italy, who regularly donated to the school fund. If there had been any leading astray it had been done by Floriana, not her. But friends didn’t grass each other up, did they? Especially not after all this time. And really, their supposed crimes had been nothing greater than missing the last train home and having to spend a fortune on a taxi to get back—or trying out a cigarette and then being sick in a hedge.

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