Page 88 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

He saw her as standing in his way when that wasn’t what she was trying to do at all. She wanted to free him. And yet she now began to see this for what it was...

‘You’re afraid.’

‘I fear nothing.’

‘You’re afraid to let love into your heart, because you fear it might be more like Michel’s relationship than your parents’, but even more—there’s a risk it’ll open another door. One that doesn’t keep you locked in the past. That moves you forward to something different, to something better.’

‘Don’t fool yourself. This relationship gives us both something we need. You, safety. Me, my inheritance. But don’t ever think to change me.’

‘I’m not thinking to change you. I—I...’ She couldn’t finish the sentence with the words she wanted to say because they were too big and too terrifying when everything was unravelling horribly. ‘I want you to do it because it’s something you want. Not because it was a dream of your brother’s which he can’t fulfil.’

‘Enough,’ he said, his hand slashing through the air like an exclamation mark. ‘You know nothing about me, you know nothing about life. You want to stay in your little cage? I will not join you there. If you’re asking me to choose you or the mountain, you’ll be disappointed in my answer. So, let’s keep this to what it is. A convenient relationship and nothing more.’

Ana realised in that moment there was no moving him. The pain of it tore her heart in two because she knew what this sensation was now. One that filled her with wonder and dread. One that terrified her and thrilled her. She was in love with him and Aston could never love her back. He’d never give her all of himself. He’d always look at that ring on her finger and know how much she’d cost him. He might be faithful, they might make love, but he could neverloveher. She couldn’t live with that because if she tried, she’d die a little every day till all that was left was a shell of herself.

‘You’ve made yourself very clear. But I deserve more, not someone who sees me as something they bought for a record price per carat. I deserve to be loved.’

Ana took off her ring and placed it on the table. She felt the loss of its presence, its weight, immediately. It was as if she’d been cut adrift again. But what did it matter? Self-preservation meant she had to leave, not stay. She drew herself up with all the comportment she could raise, from what she’d been taught. For a while, she’d loved pretending with him—just being Anastacia Montroy the woman. Not the perfect princess, not a princess at all. But it was time to call upon all her royal breeding to get through the rest of her life without him.

‘You say I’m trapped, but I’m not.’ Ana turned to leave the room, leave the house. Leave the man she now knew she loved. Unable to stay a minute longer. She blinked her eyes at the burn. They were tears she wouldn’t shed, not in front of a man who didn’t care. ‘It’s you. Aston. You’re the one who’ll always be in a cage.’

Aston sat in his gleaming, modern Paris office in uncomfortable silence. His staff were keeping their distance. His temper was short. He’d lost all motivation. Every morning, waking late. Not training. With no desire for anything let alone climbing to the top of the world. On his desk lay his father’s ice-axe, a reminder of the climb Aston had promised to make.

Why did the thought of climbing a mountain now, hold as much excitement as walking up the closest hill? Nothing interested him—not the food on his plate, not the taste of the wines that had made his family famous. It could all have been ash and vinegar. Yet small things still caught his attention: a flash of golden hair. The scent of roses as he walked past the local florist. The bed in his apartment that carried the memories of entering Ana’s body for the first time and knowing things had changed for ever. So much so, he’d begun staying at a hotel near his office to avoid thinking of her.

He might try to ignore it, but he knew this feeling. It was like a death, the same finality with which he’d lost Michel...however in this case the person still lived. And in some ways it was worse, to know they were out there but didn’t want you.

Aston stood and stared out of the windows onto the city below. Everyone was going about their lives, yet he somehow seemed frozen. He’d never lied to himself before, but he knew he was lying now. Anastacia hadn’t walked away, he’d pushed her. Ruthlessly, mercilessly. He had no one to blame but himself.

On his desk, his office phone rang. Strange, since Aston had given instructions to his staff that he wasn’t to be disturbed. He’d set his mobile to silent. He still had security keeping tabs on Ana and Hakkinen, just to make sure, since her family hadn’t cared enough to listen to her. There’d been nothing to report for over a month. The count had crawled back into the hole from where he’d come in Halrovia, and there he’d stayed. Ana was out in the world too except, rather than hiding, she was living her life. He rubbed at an ache in his chest, one that seemed ever-present.

The phone on his desk stopped then started ringing again. Aston snatched it up to put an end to the shrill sound.

‘Allo? Oui?’

‘Monsieur Lane, it’s your father.’

Aston didn’t want to speak to the man, not now. His wounds were still raw. He was in this position because of his parents’ actions, forcing him into this situation. Now he’d failed in his engagement, had failed to marry Ana. Would they still require a marriage for him to remain in the will? He had no appetite for it. He didn’t care any longer. If his parents saw fit to punish him, to leave Girard to his cousin, then so be it. It was all pointless now, anyway.

‘Father, this isn’t a good time.’

There was silence on the end of the phone. All Aston could hear was some heavy breathing.

‘Aston...’ Something was wrong. He could hear it in his father’s voice, the way it carried such weight, and cracked. ‘It’s your mother.’

Bile burned his throat, sour and sickening, as Aston stalked through the hospital’s sterile halls. The scent of antiseptic overwhelmed him. He hadn’t been into a hospital since the day Michel had died, when they’d been retrieved from that mountain, and Aston had been brought in at the insistence of his family to be checked for any injuries. There hadn’t been any that were physical, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been mortally wounded that day. The memories were so fresh and acute it could have been yesterday. No matter that there was art on the walls, soothing scenes, this was still a place where death stalked the living.

Aston stopped at a nurses’ station and asked for directions. Luckily, his parents had been in Paris to see the opera, so it hadn’t taken him long to get here even through traffic. Staff led him to a waiting room where his father sat, leaning forward, forearms on his legs and hands clasped, staring at the floor as if in prayer.

‘Dad.’

His father lifted his head. The lines on his face were etched deeply. He’d always been such a robust, healthy man, yet in this moment it was as if he’d aged ten years. He was somehow...diminished. He stood from the chair, as if every move was an effort. Aston strode towards him, everything else forgotten, grabbing his father in a tight embrace. They simply held each other for a few moments as if the past, the present and the future weren’t suddenly colliding.

His father pulled back, wiping his eyes.

‘Son, you look as much in hell as I feel.’

There was time to discuss that, if it ever needed to be raised at all. That time wasn’t now.

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