Page 77 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

‘Monsieur Lane, there’s a delivery of flowers here for Her Highness—red roses.’ Aston stiffened, turned and gave a reassuring smile to Ana before leaving the room so she couldn’t hear him.

‘Is there a message?’

‘Oui.’

‘Read it, please.’

‘It says...“it isn’t over until the wedding ring’s on the finger”.’

A volcanic heat began simmering in his gut. Aston gripped his mobile so hard, he feared he would crack it.

‘Who are they from?’

‘The card doesn’t say,monsieur.’

Aston asked for the flowers to be left for his security detail to deal with. Perhaps they’d provide some evidence as to who’d sent them, perhaps not. For now, he needed to take care of Ana. He went back into the lounge area, where she huddled on the sofa, looking small and pale, her arms wrapped round her middle.

She looked up at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears. ‘Your address...’

He knew what she feared, and her fears were clearly justified. Aston sat back down on the sofa and took her into his arms again. ‘I have more than one place to stay around the world, and many friends. The man doesn’t have the resources I do. He’ll never touch you.’

She seemed to relax a little at that, softening in his arms. He appreciated her trust, and would honour it.

‘With the news today, there’s no doubt my parents will want to meet you. The timing couldn’t be better. I’ve recently purchased a property in Épernay that’s known only to my lawyer. We can travel there by helicopter and no one will have any idea where we’re going. We’ll have some time before the inevitable invitation from my parents. Their château is only a short drive from my farmhouse, so we won’t be in a car for long. Security will always be with us.’

‘Thank you. I don’t know what to say.’

He tightened his arms round her. ‘Ma chèrie, you don’t need to say anything.’

Aston was confident nothing could touch her, or him. It was her fear he needed to assuage, to soothe. No wonder she’d seemed so worn down, a different woman from the one he’d met at the Spring Ball, because her life had in all ways changed.

‘For now, we have plans for the day.’ She tensed a fraction in his arms. By the end of this, she wouldn’t. She’d be confident in him, his abilities. ‘You need food. You need coffee. Then I’ll take you back to bed and hold you till you believe that I’ll do what I promised you in the maze. Iwillkeep you safe. Because I care for what’s mine.’

Aston stood with Ana in his arms. As he carried her to the bedroom once more, he ignored the training he should be doing to prepare for the mountain he’d promised to climb.

Aston picked up the dossier of material gathered by the security firm he employed. They’d been thorough, and they’d not taken long to get the information he’d paid them handsomely for. Whilst the Halrovian royal family had tried to prevent reporting about Ana’s accident and its aftermath, pictures still existed for those who knew and had the determination to find them. The bile rose to his throat at the voyeurism, at how people had seen fit to take photographs rather than help. Only one person had approached the crumpled car, trying to remove Ana from it, but this man was no rescuer. Aston clenched his fists, his jaw: Count Hakkinen, Ana’s tormentor. The thought of his hands on her lit him up with near-incandescent fury.

He breathed through the anger, not stopping to question why he was being affected this way. She’d kept photographs of some of the anonymous letters sent to her. Whilst he could understand why they might have been dismissed, there was a sense of malevolence about them that he would never have ignored. From her report and timelines, his security team believed that the man’s behaviour had been escalating. Sadly, the flowers sent to their apartment hadn’t yielded any clues. There were no fingerprints and the message was typewritten. But he had enough. He’d put a stop to Hakkinen’s harassment of Ana and, if it didn’t stop, he would crush the man like a cockroach.

Ana suspected her parents had fancied him as a suitor for her sister, Priscilla. Aston knew men like Count Hakkinen and could identify them a mile off: rich, with an inflated sense of entitlement. Believing he was owed a princess, so taking the one who remained unattached. The one who would likely have scars. Such arrogance, audacity...

Aston hadn’t forgotten the words Ana had heard in her ear the night she’d been injured. No wonder she’d seemed changed, with no one believing her, with the guilt. She’d have been plagued by self-doubt, wondering what was real and what was imagined.Hebelieved her, and Hakkinen would pay. The count was down on his luck, a well-hushed-up financial scandal having significantly reduced his social capital, meaning he’d been cut loose by most of his contacts. Did he seek to recover his position through a princess?Never.

Yet something in the back of Aston’s brain prickled, almost like guilt. Wasn’t he using Ana in his own way, to ensure his inheritance? Perhaps, but unlike this man, who only saw fit to torment her, Aston would look after her, encourage her interests, worship her body.

He wasnothinglike Count Hakkinen. That man might be an aristocrat, but he was craven and dishonest. Aston’s security had easily discovered how far the rot went. His house of cards would take laughably little to bring down should he not doexactlywhat Aston demanded. The man might think himself better than anyone else, with his title and tenuous links to the royal family through his father. It wasnothingcompared to Aston’s reach and influence.

He checked his watch. Ana was now safely ensconced in his Épernay farmhouse, well-guarded by personal protection officers. Today she was occupied in back-to-back meetings with her staff, and also with his accountants, to discuss her charity interests. She’d been excited about those things, and this had given him the perfect opportunity to take a helicopter flight to Paris, under the guise of conducting business, to meet with the Count.

Aston never again wanted to witness the fear he’d seen in Ana’s eyes. He hadn’t wanted to tell her of this meeting, either, in case that fear returned. Only when he was sure Hakkinen had been dealt with would he provide her with the reassurance she needed. Aston had promised to keep her safe, and he would. He always kept his promises.

The journey to the hotel where the count was staying didn’t take long from Aston’s office in La Défense. The man had no idea that Aston would be calling today but, from reports he’d had from the security operative watching him, Count Hakkinen was a man of routine, and at this time of the day he’d sit in the hotel’s café and eat breakfast. This morning, Aston hoped he would make that meal curdle in Hakkinen’s stomach.

On arrival, Aston was happy to see the hotel had a faded elegance—the type of place an aristocrat down on their luck might stay. His security operative nodded to him on the street as he entered the tired-looking café with its pretensions to grandeur. He spied the man he was looking for immediately, having seen enough photographs in the dossier still sitting on the desk in his office. Hakkinen’s gaze rose to Aston over his coffee cup, eyes widening as he put down the cup and stood. To challenge? To run? Aston had no idea, but he was prepared for anything. This man was a nobody, as Aston would soon show him.

Hakkinen held his ground but the tells were there. The way he fidgeted with the cuff of his cheap looking ready-made shirt. The convulse of a swallow. Still, he attempted a business-like smile. Aston saw right through him, and could almost smell the fear lingering in the air.

‘Monsieur Lane. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

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