Page 214 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

The realisation came as something else intruded on her senses. A noise, rising in intensity. She tried to block it out, to ignore it, too busy with her startling discovery to focus. Because the thing she’d most feared had happened. That tiny spark her heart had nurtured had caught alight, erupting into a blaze that lit up the words burning so brightly across Mari’s mind’s eye. She’d fallen in love with Dominico Estefan again.

Maybe he’d registered the thunderbolt that had coursed through her because he pulled back from the kiss, relaxing his embrace to wave to the crowd.

Applause, she realised, the noise registering. Cheers.

He waved to the cheering crowd while Mari’s cheeks burned. If Isabela had any doubts remaining that they were truly in love, their kiss had put those doubts well and truly to bed.

And there, amongst the crowd applauding, sat Rosaria, beaming. Dom took Mari’s hand and they crossed to her, kissing her cheeks.

‘You’ve made me so happy, my son. Both you and your beautiful wife.’

Late that night Dom stood at a window overlooking the golden-fringed bay, reflecting on the evening. His mother had been almost radiant tonight. So happy. And he wasn’t fooling himself, because it was Marianne who had made her happy. Marianne, and her gentle soul, convincing his mother that she was truly in love with her son.

And it was Marianne, now sleeping quietly in the bed, who had made him feel like it might even be possible. Tonight, his lovemaking with Marianne had moved to a new high. Not just the thrill of rediscovery, but the feeling that he was coming home. And it had felt good. It had felt right.

He had half a mind to make their arrangement more permanent. He didn’t know how it might happen—he knew their contract had an end date, and he knew that Marianne had a responsibility to her sister—but he only knew that he had to try. That he couldn’t let her go. Not again.

The call came in the early morning, just before dawn, the sound rousing Dom out of a restless sleep where he’d tangled with his thoughts as much as he’d tangled with his sheets.

He swung his legs out of the bed and clutched his phone, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

‘Dominico…’ he heard a voice say. Dr Rodríguez.

And ice slid down Dom’s spine. ‘Tell me,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry to tell you that your mother peacefully passed away in her sleep during the night.’

Dom squeezed his eyes shut. He’d known it was going to happen. Hadn’t he been warned that it could happen at any time? But still, knowing that it could happen was no preparation for the sheer gut punch of when it did. The knowledge that hit him like a blow from a sledgehammer. Rosaria was gone.

‘No,’ he said, because there was comfort in denial. There was hope in not acknowledging that it was true. Even though he knew in his heart of hearts that there was none.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said the doctor. ‘If it’s any comfort, she died with a smile on her face. I’ve only ever witnessed that one time before. Clearly you made her very happy in her final days and hours.’

The words washed over Dom, all some kind of gobbledegook he’d have to unravel later, because all that mattered now was that his mother was gone. And sure, he’d been by his mother’s side when his father had died, but right now his mind was a blank.

‘Tell me what happens next,’ he said, up on his feet and heading for the shower, unable to think beyond getting over to the villa. ‘Tell me what I need to do.’

Mari slept late, the bed beside her empty and cold. Last night’s party had finally wound down in the early hours of the morning. It had been two a.m. before she and Dom had made it back to the apartment, so clearly Dom was feeling more sprightly than her.

She showered and made her way to the kitchen, the apartment eerily quiet with no sign of Dom. She found María, the housekeeper, there, quietly sobbing as she prepared eggs for an omelette.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, which only sent María into new floods of tears.

‘It’s Señora Estefan,’ she said, sniffing. ‘She died overnight. Dominico is there now.’

Mari collapsed into a chair, a wave of grief flooding down her spine. Closely followed by a wave of empathy.Oh, Dom.He must be devastated. Nobody could have expected that the party to celebrate Dom and Mari’s union was the party to see his mother out.

She remembered Rosaria’s elation last night, her delight at the blessing of their marriage, her strong spirit allowing her to partake in the joy of the celebrations and be part of it. She’d been so happy. So beautiful, her joy lighting up her painted face. And yet suddenly she was gone, a bright light extinguished. It didn’t seem possible.

‘What can I do?’ Mari asked, feeling helpless, moisture leaking from her eyes.

The housekeeper sniffed. ‘Dom said for you to stay here. He’ll be back when the arrangements are made.’

Mari nodded. Of course there would be arrangements to make. Arrangements for the body. Arrangements for a funeral. All to be made while he was still reeling and numb from his loss. Of course, he wouldn’t need Mari there.

He didn’t need Mari anywhere.

The thought slammed into her like a fist into a punching bag. She was his pretend wife. A wife to convince his mother that her son was finally settled down and married, for the term of his mother’s existence. And now his mother was gone. Mari was surplus to requirements, a wife he didn’t need any more, their contract at an end.

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