Page 187 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

Very interesting.

‘You’ll do,’ he said glibly, not bothering to disguise the fact that his voice was suddenly an octave lower. ‘Let’s go.’

Heads turned as they entered the restaurant, following the maître d’ down the steps towards their table overlooking the Yarra River. Dominico was used to heads swivelling to follow him, women’s eyes, some men’s too. Hungry eyes. But tonight, he noticed the eyes following Marianne. He saw glances flick to her face, her figure, her legs. He saw their gazes turn to him but only to show their envy. He got it. She was making the right waves to be a partner to him.

He just wasn’t sure he was entirely comfortable with it.

‘You’re making quite the impression on people,’ he said as they were seated.

‘Because I’m overdressed?’ she asked.

‘Because you look beautiful.’

For a moment she stiffened. Before she relaxed herself enough to say, ‘You can thank your team of fairy godmothers for that.’

‘Not all of the fairy godmothers, apparently. I received an earbashing from one of them protesting your high-handed insistence that she and most of her cronies’ services weren’t required.’

‘Audra called you?’

‘If that’s Madame Valentina, she certainly did. She made no secret of the fact she was unhappy.’

He didn’t share the fact that he hadn’t been wholly impressed with Marianne going rogue either, but frankly, Hydra or Audra or whatever the hell her name was had terrified him. She’d arrived with her entourage looking every bit like a crocodile wearing pearls. He for one had been relieved she wasn’t dressing him.

‘Lucky for me, Ella was fabulous. Not to mention your expense account. I imagine this afternoon’s adventures have put a decent hole in your finances.’

‘It’s worth every cent,’ he said, ‘to see you looking this way.’

A waiter appeared, proffering a bottle of champagne for approval. ‘Sir,’ he said.

Mari frowned. ‘Did we order that?’

‘I did,’ said Dom, glancing at the label and nodding at the waiter to proceed.

The cork was duly popped, a taster poured and declared perfect, and two flutes of the golden wine poured.

He raised his glass to hers. ‘I’d like to propose a toast. To you, Marianne, the next Señora Estefan.’

He took a sip of the straw-coloured wine, the tiny bubbles dancing on his tongue like the anticipation fizzing in his veins. ‘And along with a toast,’ he said, pulling a small box from his pocket and snapping it open, ‘I’d like to present you with your engagement ring.’

Mari’s hand flew to her mouth. The ring winked up at her, boasting a massive champagne-coloured diamond that perfectly matched the sparkling liquid in her glass. The toast she might have expected. But a ring the size of a planet she hadn’t seen coming.

‘But why?’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It’s too much. Besides, there’s no need for it. I’ve already agreed to marry you.’

‘There’s every need. Because there’s no way I wouldn’t furnish the woman I am about to marry without a physical token of love.’

Her mouth twisted under her hand.Love?Did he not realise that every reference he made to love was like a hammer blow to her heart? Once upon a long time ago they’d exchanged words of love and she’d believed he’d meant them. As she had meant them. Little had she known that he could bandy words of love around and that they’d be as meaningless as this farce of a marriage.

‘What’s love got to do with it?’

‘All right,’ he whispered while wearing a smile that spoke of love but which carried an edge of menace. ‘So wear it because people will expect you to wear my engagement ring. Like the people watching on at the tables nearby who think I’ve just proposed and who are right now awaiting your reaction. A positive reaction unless I’m very mistaken, so maybe it’s time you started acting.’ He pushed the ring box closer to her. ‘So, what’s it to be?’

So, what’s it to be?

So very not romantic. So unlike the proposal she’d once yearned for. Something personal and private. But then, why would this be personal and private? It was a fake engagement to precede a fake wedding and she was one of the leading actors and the last thing he wanted was for her to take it seriously. The least she could do was get with the programme. But did he not realise that it would take her time to pretend that all was good between them—that what had happened twenty years ago meant nothing and could be swept under the carpet with the mere application of dollars, wallpapering over their fractured past?

But she’d accepted his expensive wallpaper so she could at least make an effort.

She shook her head as she gazed at the ring with as much wonder as she could muster. ‘Yes,’ she gushed. ‘Yes, of course I’ll marry you!’

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