Page 163 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

He glanced at her again. That abstracted quality had vanished, and she had turned towards him.

‘I think it sounds good,’ she replied. ‘Does it require dressing up?’

‘Nothing formal—just smart casual, I would think. I won’t wear a tie.’

‘Well, I think I’ve got something that will do, then,’ she answered. ‘There was a little charity shop next to where I bought my art materials this morning, and there was a summery dress in the window for only a fiver. It’s got a loosely elasticated waist, so it will give as I get bigger.’

‘That sounds just right,’ he approved.

He had spoken politely, but he was conscious that he would like to see Siena in something more beguiling than her habitual tops and trousers. And he was conscious of why...

He pulled his thoughts and his glance away.

Refocussed on his driving and on his reason for being here with Siena. The only reason he should admit to.

As the mother of my child. Only that...

Yet even as he said the words to himself he knew that with every passing day it was not the only truth.

It is for herself...

‘Thank you—but only a little.’ Vincenzo held his hand up decisively.

The rep from the cider farm smiled encouragingly and poured some of the amber coloured apple brandy she was tempting diners with after their meal.

‘Do try,’ she said hopefully, clearly wanting him to take a taste while she was hovering.

He did so, and the spirit bit at the back of his throat. He dared not think what proof it was, but it was strong.

‘It’s very good,’ he said to the rep, and she beamed.

‘It’s ten years old and matured in cognac barrels,’ she said. ‘Bottles are available in the lobby if you are interested.’

‘I will consider it,’ he said gravely.

The rep smiled, then turned her attention to Siena. ‘What about you?’ she said hopefully.

‘Alas, no alcohol at all for me,’ said Siena ruefully.

‘What a shame,’ the rep said, and regretfully abandoned them for another table.

Siena looked across at him. ‘What’s it like? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of apple brandy before.’

‘Strong,’ said Vincenzo. ‘And, yes, very good. But...’ he made a slight face ‘...so many of the producers here seem to feature alcohol!’

‘Devon is famous for cider,’ Siena told him. ‘But wine production is newer. I would have happily tried that white wine you had earlier. Though my blackberry crémant was very good. And I’m definitely tempted by the blackberry vinegar that was in thejusaccompanying my lamb, which was also very good. In fact, I don’t know about you, but I thought all the dishes were really good! Of course, I don’t have your gourmet palette, but I do hope you didn’t think the menu beneath you.’

‘On the contrary,’ Vincenzo assured her.

He meant it too. The tasting menu had been varied, and inventive, and a good showcase for local producers. The dining room was full, and dinner was not yet over. Another rep came by, this time with a tray of handmade chocolate truffles.

‘Ah, those I can indulge in!’ Siena said happily, and took two, promising the rep that she would certainly be buying a box for herself.

Vincenzo sat back with his glass of apple brandy, his gaze resting on her as she bit into the luscious-looking truffle, her eyes half closing in appreciation. He let his gaze linger. He had, he knew, imbibed more alcohol than he would normally have drunk over dinner, but it had seemed churlish to refuse the plentiful offerings—from a gin cocktail infused with countryside botanicals, through to a really very palatable English vineyard dry white wine with the meal, followed by a very good, sweet dessert wine, and now by the simultaneously fiery but mellowing—and indeed very strong—apple brandy.

The effect was lowering his guard.

And that was dangerous.

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