Page 139 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

She looked out across the room, but she did not see it at all. Her face was a mask of self-condemnation. Yes, she wished with all her being that she had never conceived that wretched night, but it had happened, and now she must do whatever it took not to blight the totally innocent life within her.

I’ve got to protect you...make it better for you, little one. I’ve got to! Make the best I can out of the mess that this is. I’ve got to at least try. I owe you that...

And if that meant coping—somehow—without getting so angry, so upset, so destructively emotional with Vincenzo...well, she would have to.

Because only one person mattered now. And it wasn’t her, and it certainly wasn’t Vincenzo Giansante.

Her hands pressed protectively again.

It’s you, little one—only you...

Vincenzo’s fingers hovered over the text message he was composing. Siena had walked out on him twice now—in the restaurant and in the park. He had to get past that. Get past the wall of her hostility.

Would what he intended achieve that? Well, he would find out soon enough.

He reread the message, then hit ‘send’.

I am back in London. I would like to come and see you again. I have something to say that needs to be said.

The reply came briefly.

What is it?

He tapped back.

In person. This evening? I will come to the apartment for eight.

Her reply took longer. But it came, and at least that was something.

You’re paying the rent. I can’t stop you.

His mouth tightened. Would she even be there?

Siena was pacing up and down. It was seven fifty-seven, and she was on edge. She didn’t want to see Vincenzo again. And at the same time she knew she must.

I can’t just pretend he doesn’t exist. I might want to, but I can’t. And whatever it is that he says he wants to say to me, I need to know it.

He was, as she knew, a man perfectly prepared to be ruthless. Ruthless enough to not even stick around for breakfast with her that morning after the night before. Ruthless enough to say to her what he had when she’d told him she was pregnant. Ruthless enough to throw her out of his office. Ruthless enough to threaten her with the law when she refused to co-operate on a paternity test. Ruthless enough to rent this flat and then commandeering Megan into manipulating her into moving in to it.

Ruthless all round.

A sudden longing to pour herself a glass of wine and knock it back assailed her. Going without alcohol was hard when it came to moments like this. She wondered whether to make herself a cup of tea, and see if that helped at all, but she didn’t have time to drink it. He would be punctual, she knew.

He was. She heard the front door open and turned around, facing the door into the hall.

Vincenzo walked in.

She felt tension bite inside her—or something bite, at any rate. Every time she saw him she felt his impact.

No wonder I fell for him—fell into bed with him...

No, there was no point thinking that, or remembering it. It was, after all, what caused her to be standing here now, nerves on edge, in an apartment whose rent she couldn’t have afforded for a week, let alone a month, and pregnant by the man now walking into the room.

He was wearing a business suit, pale grey, perfectly tailored with Italian flair to his lean, tall frame. His shirt was white, his tie pale grey, his hair clipped short. His features possessed whatever chemistry it was that made her—and doubtless every other female—gulp openly.

Not that she did—but she could feel the impulse to do so all the same.

She crushed it down. Vincenzo had turned up to talk to her—he had something to say, he’d said. She had to brace herself for it.

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