Page 56 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

But, if he discovered her scars, what would he think of her? He was seeking perfection. In that, he’d be like everyone else. Pity from her family was one thing. She didn’t think she could survive his pity too.

You’ll scar, and no one but me will love you now...

She shut that voice down. It wouldnotcontrol her.

‘There’s no music,’ she said, her voice sounding somehow faint and far away.

Aston cocked his head, as if listening. ‘There’s bird song. Some might say it’s more beautiful than any string quartet you could provide.’

‘This isn’t a fairy tale where animals become musicians.’ She looked down on her prim, navy dress. Her heart beat hard and fast, her breath catching in her throat. ‘Or Fairy Godmothers wave a wand to create a ball gown.’

‘Who’s to say the fairy tale isn’t what we make of it, Your Highness?’

Those words of hers were thrown back as a reminder. Was he mocking her? Yet the look on his face wasn’t mocking. It was open. His lips curved in the slightest of smiles, as if he knew: she wasafraid.

‘A simple waltz, perhaps?’

If he’d known history, he’d have understood nothing about the waltz was simple. It had once had the power to shock society, couples close in each other’s arms. Though she supposed times had moved on, and she didn’t want to show him that she cared.

‘Whatever you like,’ she said with all the dismissiveness her princess breeding could muster, although recognised she probably sounded more petulant than haughty.

Reaching out, Ana placed her hand in his, trying to ignore the electric shock of sensation as their skin touched. Aston didn’t move for a while, simply holding her gaze as firmly as he held her hand. The blue of his eyes, which should have been such a cool colour, seemed to smoulder as a spark lit in her belly, a pilot light of desire. She wanted to look away, to break the contact that seemed far too intimate, but she couldn’t. It was as if he had her in his thrall.

Then he began to reel her in to him, slowly, like a fish on a hook, and she was helpless to resist. Whilst she might have tried to be dismissive of the man, there was no way she could dismiss this, dismiss the way their bodies fit. She was shorter than the last time they’d danced, wearing lower heels today. Something about being in his arms again gave her that same sense of feeling cherished and protected as last time. The tingling warmth flooded her, theneedto press closer than was polite or even necessary.

It was cool under the vine-covered pergola yet being so near to him was almost like being slowly roasted alive. She took a deep breath, which made it worse, because she sucked in the smell of him—something rich and earthy, like sun-warmed stone and the hint of mountain evergreens, a wild kind of scent that whispered of untamed peaks and daring. It was the essence of this man.

He began to move then in the one-two-three, one-two-three of the waltz, leading her. Her body melded seamlessly with his. He looked down at her. His hold was gentle, as if he were cradling a precious Ming vase. Although, hadn’t life taught her that she was all too breakable? Yet something about this seemed so simple—their closeness, the desire for Aston to absorb her into him. The bright sunshine, the vibrant birdsong in the maze’s privacy. Though the truth of it was impossibly complex—she’d wanted him, yet when presented with the reality she wanted to run away as far and as fast as she could.

To be with him would be her destruction. To run might save her. Because his desire for her was not for the woman, Ana Montroy, but for Princess Anastacia.

‘I’m convenient.’

She needed to remind herself of the truth of it. He wantedwhatshe was, the external; notwho, the woman inside.

He leaned closer into her, if that were possible when they were dancing together. The rhythm of the dance lost now in a slow sway. His breath caressed her ear.

‘Convenient doesn’t have to mean cold.’ His words were low and deep against her ear, the merest brush. A shiver of pleasure tripped through her. ‘Without the complication of love, this can mean so much more. Passion without constraints.Imagineit.’

No constraints, when her whole life had been full of them. It was as if he reached into her heart and dragged out her deepest desires. Yet they were for the woman she’d been before. Letting go of constraints, restraint, never ended well.

One night in Monaco had proved that.

Ana pulled back and put some distance between them, even though they were still in each other’s arms. She looked up at him. A gentle breeze picked up, flicking her fringe. His eyes narrowed a fraction and appeared to focus fleetingly on her temple. She wriggled out of his arms and turned away, adjusting her hair. Her heart began to beat thready in her chest. Had he seen her scar? Did he even know what had happened to her those months ago? She didn’t know why it was so important that he not, only that she wasn’t ready to flaunt her wounds, especially not to him.

It all seemed so futile. The spell cast over the past moments disappeared. The pressure simply to run began to weigh down on her.

He’d not pressed his claim to her hand in marriage, yet he clearly believed it was a done deal. So why was she hesitating? She had to fix the damage she’d caused to her family’s name, the negative press.

Convenient doesn’t have to mean cold.

He’d seeallof her. The breath snagged in her throat. She wasn’t prepared; she wasn’t ready. She’d begun to realise that her whole life was one lived in a gilded cage. She’d always been a captive, no matter how pretty the bars that held her. Ana began to pace. A new tempo entered her head: duty, freedom, duty, freedom...

She almost walked into a solid, hard body.

‘Goddess?’ Aston had placed himself squarely in front of her.

Marriage to him was her duty. Duty be damned. She wanted to run. To freedom.

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