Page 182 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

She left me. And, yes, I have had to respect her wishes, her decision. Had to let her be.

But now...

Now urgency filled him—impelling him to speak.

‘That is not true,’ he said again.

That morning—that first morning—waking with her...walking out on her. But if I hadn’t? If I had stayed? And that second morning—if she had not left...?

But he knew the answer to that question. Knew it because he gave it now.

‘Not true,’ he said, ‘because from the very first there has been something between us.’ He paused. ‘And there still is, Siena.’

Her eyes lifted to his, and in his she saw an intensity that stilled her.

‘From the very first,’ he said again. ‘It has been there. And you cannot deny it, Siena—and no more can I. Neither of us. You cannot deny that first night we spent together—’

‘It should never have happened!’ The cry broke from her.

‘Why?’ he challenged. ‘Because you became pregnant? That does not negate what brought us together that night!’ His voice changed. ‘And nor does it negate that night in Devon.’

He held up a hand, as if to silence her—but she could not speak, not a word. Tumult was in her. This should not be happening. He should be accepting what she’d said, that there was nothing between them except the baby now sleeping, unconscious of the tormented circumstances of his conception and his birth.

Vincenzo was speaking still, his voice grave, guarded, as if he were picking his words carefully, deliberately.

‘When you left that morning in Devon I respected your decision to do so,’ he was saying. ‘Respected that it signalled—could only signal—that you wanted nothing more to do with me. That for you there was nothing between us other than a pregnancy you had never wanted.’

‘But therewasnothing else! I’ve said that—known that—all along!’ Siena’s voice rang out.

‘And I tell you that is not true,’ Vincenzo said.

Something worked in his face as he stood there, his expression grave, looking down at her. His voice had changed—she didn’t know how, or why. Didn’t know why there seemed to be something in her throat. Something making it tight.

He was still looking at her. Speaking again. But all the while her throat was tightening yet more. As if to hold something back—something she dared not allow.

‘What is it between us, Siena, that draws us together?’ he asked.

There was an intensity in his voice now, beneath the gravity, and his eyes were still holding hers, not letting her go... She could see tension in his face, in the stance of his tall body. Felt her own face and body tense in return. Her throat was narrowing still more, making it hard to breathe, and in her chest she could feel her heart thudding.

She heard him answer the question he had just put to her—for she was incapable of answering it...incapable of saying anything...

‘The child we created between us? Yes—but how did his conception come to be? It came, Siena, because when I first set eyes on you I wanted you, desired you. In an instant—a second! Overwhelmingly and absolutely. And it was the same for you. That night we spent together proves that beyond all question! And despite everything else that has happened since that night, that desire—that overpowering, overwhelming desire that burnt between us—has been there. And neither of us can deny it!’

He reached for her hands, holding them fast. His expression was no longer grave, but his eyes were still holding hers, not letting go...

‘Desire, Siena—that is what draws us together. And has from the very first! In London and, yes, in Devon too—because why else should we have ended back together again as we did? Throwing all our caution to the winds! And there is more...oh, so much more that draws us together! Now we have the miracle of parenthood, so long resisted but now—oh, dear God—treasured and rejoiced in, as it should have been from the first, given to us as a gift beyond measure!’

His voice was shaken, intense—vehement. She could scarcely bear to hear it.

But he was not done yet.

He stood there, beside her hospital bed, so tall, his eyes never letting hers go, and she was helpless—just helpless to do anything but hear his words, feel the constriction of her throat, the thudding of her heart, the catch of her breath in her lungs.

How could she deny what he was telling her? Impossible.

And he was talking still, his eyes still holding hers...just as his hands, so warm, so strong, were holding hers...

‘And there is one more thing that can draw us together, bind us, hold us.’ His voice changed, softened. ‘If we let it.’

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