Page 120 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

Six weeks later...

SIENATOOKABREATH,short and sharp, and summoning up her courage stepped into the lift that would take her to the one man in the world she did not want to see again.

Vincenzo Giansante.

Megan couldn’t get why she didn’t want to see him. She’d stared uncomprehendingly at Siena...

‘Of course you have to tell him! I’ve looked him up—he’s loaded! A hotshot financier worth a tonne!’

Siena’s mouth had tightened.

‘That isn’t the point, Megs—’

She couldn’t care less whether he was rich or not—the only reason she knew she had to tell him was because, like it or not—and she did not like it...not one little bit—he had a right to know.

That and that alone had brought her here, to this swish City office suite that Vincenzo Giansante used when he was in London.

Megan had found out for her, using her PR contacts, and also found out that he’d be in London this week. She had brazenly phoned to check he would be in this afternoon. She hadn’t gone so far as to make an appointment, after warning Siena that if he knew she was turning up, he might balk at seeing her.

‘He’ll think you’re chasing him—and he’s made it clear he’s done with you.’

Siena’s mouth tightened. Vincenzo Giansante had, indeed, made it crystal-clear that he was done with her—had walked out in the briefest way possible in the bleak light of the morning after the night before.

Well, now she was walking back into his life—to tell him what she could still scarcely believe herself, ever since seeing that thin blue line form on the test stick.

He has a right to know—any man does—whether I want him to or not.

The lift jerked to a stop, the metal doors sliding open. For a moment she wanted to be a coward, and jab the ‘down’ button again. Then, steeling herself, she walked forward.

Vincenzo terminated the call he’d just finished, mentally processing the conversation he’d had about a prospective investment. Yes, it would do. He’d give it his assent.

OK, so what was next?

He glanced at the crowded diary page that was maxing out his brief visit to London, flexing his shoulders as he sat back in his capacious leather executive chair. He’d put in a workout at the end of the day—the hotel he was booked into had good gym facilities, and a pool as well.

His expression changed fractionally. This time around he was not staying at the Falcone, but at a hotel on Piccadilly. And this time around he would not be socialising—even for networking. And what he would most definitelynotbe doing this visit was what he’d done on the previous one. Something he’d never done before. Spending the night with a woman he had only just met, taking her to bed within hours of meeting her. Indulging himself in her.

For a second, memory flared—hot and humid—of their white-out night together. Then he shut it down.

He had walked out on her and put it behind him.

It was over and done with.

His attention went back to his diary for that afternoon. His next phone appointment was in twenty minutes—time enough to scan the relevant file and note the key points.

As he clicked to open it, his desk phone sounded.

‘Yes?’ His voice was brisk as he answered.

But when his PA told him who was asking to see him, his expression hardened like stone.

Siena wanted to turn and bolt, but again she steeled herself not to. The female sitting at the desk in an outer office, dressed in a tailored suit and with perfect hair, had displayed the greatest reluctance at her request. Signor Giansante, she’d informed Siena disdainfully, saw no one without an appointment. Let alone a female turning up in a chainstore skirt and sweater, her face bare of make-up and her hair pulled back into a tight, plain knot. That had been her implication. But Siena had stood her ground, repeating her request.

‘Please let him know I am here.’

All but rolling her eyeballs, the woman had done so, and then, with a highly displeased air, had replaced the handset and told her she could go in.

Siena was now doing just that.

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