Page 125 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

As a teenager, he’d wanted to learn to sail—wanted to step aboard one of those light, almost winged craft and skim across the waves. Carefree...

But his teenage years had not been carefree. Even from a younger age he’d been aware of how much of a soft touch his widowed father was...had watched women making up to him, getting him to squander his money on them. Finally, one of them had become his wife—and then the spending spree had really started. Ending with his increasingly stressed father dying, leaving everything to her. She’d seen to that...

Vincenzo’s expression hardened. He’d learnt a lesson from his father’s sorry experience...his lack of judgement when it came to women and their ambitions.

His thoughts flickered. He’d heard nothing more from that woman he’d spent a single night with who had then claimed he’d got her pregnant. Clearly it had been nothing but a try-on. But the fact that she’d tried it on at all showed him that he’d made the right call, that morning at the Falcone, to walk out as he had. Not to take things any further with her.

However alluring her charms...

He reached for his wine glass, memory spearing. She really had been something...right from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, looking at him wide-eyed, lips parted, as obviously drawn to him as he to her. And when he’d taken her into his arms, slowly and sensuously peeled that tightly clinging dress from her soft, sensual body...

Sheer indulgence on his part.

But one he had enjoyed—even though he’d been right to keep it to a single night. A night that had been as out of character as it had been memorable.

He pulled his thoughts away, draining the last of his wine. That night and the unpleasant follow-up scene in his office, tainting what otherwise would have been a pleasing memory of their night together, were done with. Over. He could draw a formal line underneath them.

Time to head for the airport—get back to Milan.

As he moved to stand up, his phone rang. Sliding it out of his jacket pocket, he frowned. Why should the account director of the PR company who handled his media comms be contacting him? He kept a low press profile overall, and there was nothing in the offing.

He answered the call, intent on disposing of it as swiftly as he could, whatever it was about.

His voice was short—the voice at the other end, however, was the opposite, apologising for disturbing him and then hesitantly venturing, ‘Does the name Siena Westbrook mean anything to you?’

Vincenzo froze.

‘You didwhat?’ Siena stared, aghast—more than aghast—at Megan across the breakfast table.

It was Saturday, and Megan had been out late the previous night, on duty at a corporate client’s dinner for journalists. Now she’d surfaced and was fessing up to Siena, who’d gone pale.

‘I did what needed to be done,’ Megan said defiantly. ‘And it’s no good getting on your high horse about it! I’m not letting you screw your life up!’

Siena fulminated visibly. ‘It’smylife to screw up if I want—and anyway, I amnotscrewing it up! I am making a perfectly rational decision—’

‘No, you’re not!’ Megan cut across her. ‘Look, it’s not as if you hadn’t decided to tell him in the first place!’

‘And how I wish to God I hadn’t!’ Siena’s eyes glowed with remembered fury, exacerbating the anger spearing her at what her friend had just told her she’d done.

‘Well, you did tell him,’ came Megan’s rejoinder. ‘And just because he proved to be a total jerk about it, it doesnotlet him off the hook. Which is exactly what I told his press office!’ She went on, her voice more emollient now. ‘Look, I know how this stuff works, OK? I’m in PR, and I know what levers to pull. So that’s what I did. Pulled a lever that your precious Italian jerk really wouldn’t like being pulled!’

Her voice changed, and Siena, furious though she was, could hear satisfaction in it.

‘And even I think it was a lulu! I simply told the guy that his precious Signor Giansante could look forward to reading the headlineThe billionaire and his bedsit baby. He didn’t like that—didn’t like it one little bit! Oh, he prevaricated, and went all smooth and evasive, but I’d got him ruffled all right!’

Siena went on staring at her, but now her anger was subsiding, to be replaced by unease.

‘Megs, I know you meant well...’ it cost her to say it, but it was true ‘...but this guy, Vincenzo Giansante—well, he’s not some patsy. You’ve poked a tiger, and—’

Megan stood her ground defiantly, not letting her finish. ‘Si, he got you pregnant and has treated you like dirt!’

‘Yes, and because of that I don’t wantanythingto do with him!’

‘You don’t have to have anything to do with him!’ Megan remonstrated heatedly. ‘All you have to do is accept a maintenance payout from him! That’s all. And, given he’s so loaded, any payout will pay for you to live in London, go to art school and afford decent childcare while you study—not to mention when you graduate. The whole thing can be done through lawyers, and you’ll never have to set eyes on him!’

Siena’s face worked. Oh, dear God, why had Megan gone and interfered like that? Didn’t she understand?

I don’t want anything to do with the man! I don’t want him coming near me—or my baby! And he can take his money and choke on it for all I care!

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