Page 129 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

All she wanted was this evening over and done with.

Then never to set eyes on Vincenzo Giansante again.

Vincenzo sat on the leather banquette at the table he’d reserved. Megan Stanley had just texted to tell him Siena was on her way. He reached for his martini. Emotions were stabbing at him, but he was ignoring them. This was about what had to be done—not what he was feeling about it. His feelings, whatever they were, were not relevant.

Yet despite the control he was exerting over them, he could feel them stabbing. Wanting release.

He took a shot of the strong, dry martini and set down the glass, his glance going again to the reception area where the desk clerk was checking in new arrivals.

And there she was.

Vincenzo observed her approach, keeping any expression out of his face, the way he preferred.

She looked tense.

She also looked out of place.

She was wearing chain store clothes... His eyes narrowed. Yes, exactly what she’d worn when she’d turned up at his office to disclose her valuable information to him. That was surely no coincidence.

His expression darkened.

He got to his feet as she reached the table. Face tight, she took her place at the far side of the curved banquette from him, so they were a semi-circle apart.

‘Thank you for agreeing to come tonight,’ he said, keeping his voice rigidly civil and neutral as he resumed his seat.

He got a brief nod in response, but that was all. She set her handbag down beside her.

‘I have no idea why you’ve bothered—’ she started. Her tone was openly belligerent.

He cut across her. ‘You’ve never struck me as stupid,’ he said. ‘So of course you know why you are here.’

Her eyes flashed. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of eye make-up, but that did not lessen their impact. The same impact they’d had when he’d first set eyes on her.

And that’s ended up with me here, like this...

He pushed the pointless observation away. He was here for the reason he was here—and so was she.

‘I’m here,’ she said, ‘to get you to accept that I make absolutely no claim for maintenance, and that you are, therefore, completely free of this entire situation.’

The words were ground out from her. He heard them, and let his eyes rest on her for a moment. Why was she being like this? What did she hope to achieve? A higher sum?

She’ll get only what I’m prepared to offer—there will be no bidding war.

Whatever she hoped.

A waiter approached, wanting to know her choice of drinks and carefully placing menus in front of them both. She asked for mineral water and an elderflower spritzer, and the waiter disappeared again.

Vincenzo flicked open his menu. ‘I suggest we keep our discussion for the meal,’ he said. He kept his voice civil, still neutral. He lowered his eyes to focus on the menu options. After a moment, she did likewise. Then, making his decision, he shut the menu with a snap, beckoned the waiter over again.

‘Have you decided?’ he addressed Siena.

She looked up. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she announced.

Vincenzo’s mouth tightened. ‘Starving yourself will not be good for the baby,’ he said.

Something flashed in her eyes. Absently—and quite irrelevantly—he registered that the flash only made them more striking. Again, he blanked their impact. It was not relevant.

‘I’ll be the judge of what is good for my baby,’ she snapped back.

---