Page 134 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

And Vincenzo Giansante was getting his own way too.

Her face darkened. She would stay in his damn flatonlyuntil she got her life sorted out. Then she’d be gone.

And he’ll be out of my life.

The way, after all, he obviously wantedherout ofhislife...

Her expression became even grimmer, memory stabbing of how he’d walked out on her that morning after their searing night together.

He hadn’t wanted anything more to do with her then, and if it weren’t for the baby he still wouldn’t. That was the blunt, hard truth of it...

Vincenzo gave a tight smile of grim satisfaction as he read Megan’s text.

She’s here—we’re ordering a takeaway. She’s not in the best mood, so I’d give her a day to accept what’s happened.

He took her advice, waiting until Sunday before turning up at the apartment. As the taxi dropped him off he glanced around. The street on the park side of Holland Park Avenue was quiet and expensively residential. The apartment block was small and twentieth century, compared with the surrounding nineteenth-century stucco-fronted houses, but it was well maintained, and close to the park entrance. It was costing a pretty penny, but that was only a fraction of the future expense this whole damn situation would put him to.

A lifetime of expense. A lifetime of responsibility that he could not shirk, nor avoid. That he must assume, whatever it took. And right now that was getting Siena Westbrook to see sense.

That, at least, seemed to have started happening. She was here, in the apartment he’d taken for her. Now he had to move things on from there. Make some kind of acceptable arrangement for the future, however pointlessly and inexplicably obdurate she was being.

He frowned. Why had she not jumped at the financial offer he was prepared to make? Let alone his offer to marry her. His thoughts darkened. Why was she protesting? Refusing?

Well, whatever she was playing at, he would deal with it. He had no choice but to do so. This was not about her, or him. It was about the baby that in six months would be making its appearance. That was all he must focus on.

His expression as he paid off the taxi was set.

He had his own keys for the apartment, bestowed upon him by the letting agent, and he let himself into the lobby, ignoring the lift and vaulting lightly up the two flights of stairs. Then, without pause for thought, because thoughts were only unwelcome, he let himself into the apartment.

From the hallway he could see into the reception room, from which came the sound of the television. He walked in.

Siena was lounging on the sofa, a cup of tea on the side table, a paperback beside her, and sunshine streaming in from the window overlooking the garden at the rear.

As he walked in she sat bolt upright.

‘What the hell—?’ The words broke from her, shock and consternation in her face.

Two emotions knifed through Vincenzo. One was the same grim satisfaction he’d felt when he’d learnt she’d moved in here, fight it though she had. The other was completely different.

It knifed through him again.

The sunshine was turning her hair to a glossy mahogany, glinting off it gloriously, and even though she was lounging in nothing more than pale blue cotton trousers and a yellow top, and hadn’t done a thing to her face, he still felt his senses kick in response. The same kick that had come that first, fateful evening when he’d seen her for the first time. Seen her—and wanted her.

He crushed the reaction down. It had been that damn reaction that had brought him to this predicament now.

‘Buongiorno,’he said civilly, though he could hear the jibe in his own voice.

She grabbed the remote for the TV, flicking it to mute. It was some old black and white Hollywood movie, he could see.

‘What are you doing here? And why have you just let yourself in?’ she demanded.

‘I came to see how you’ve settled in,’ he said. He glanced around the room. ‘Does it suit you, this place?’ he asked.

She glowered at him. ‘No, because I didn’t choose to be here—you fixed it with Megan.’

He didn’t bother to reply.

‘Do you have any coffee?’ he asked.

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