Page 154 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

Almost subliminally, Vincenzo felt his mood improve, felt himself relax. He stretched out his legs, enjoying the sunshine on his face. It was not hot—that would be impossible compared with Italy—but it was warm, and the light breeze was ruffling his hair.

He let his glance go sideways to Siena. She had leant back on the bench, face lifted to the sunshine that had emerged from behind a scudding cloud, and the sunlight played on her face. She was wearing no make-up, but her hair was not confined to its usual ponytail. It was held back by a band, wisping a little in the breeze. Her eyes were closed.

Vincenzo watched her. With part of his mind he was taking in the delicacy of her profile, the sculpture of her cheekbones, the length of her eyelashes, the curve of her lips, the fall of her hair over her shoulders. He felt something stir within him, and knew what it was—knew he must set it aside promptly, immediately.

But her eyes were still closed, her face still lifted to the sunshine. Her features were in repose—exposed to him. He went on looking at her.

Knowing why.

Knowing he should not.

Deliberately, he dragged his gaze downwards. Her pregnancy was still barely visible—only the slightest roundness beneath the cotton sweater she was wearing over slimly cut trousers. But, barely visible though it was, her pregnancy was real. Increasing...

So the kind of thoughts he was having were simply...

Impossible.

Necessarily so.

After all, he reminded himself acidly, it was those thoughts—heated to a white-hot temperature—that had led to him sitting here, on a bench on a seaside promenade in Devon, rearranging his entire life on account of having indulged in them.

He frowned. She was looking so entirely different from the way she’d looked that fateful night at the Falcone. Not vamped up in the slightest. So why was he reacting in the same way?

He made himself look back out to sea again. That was better—safer.

Isn’t this situation complicated enough, without adding any more into the mix?

The question was entirely rhetorical. The answer was obvious. And besides...

We are finally getting beyond all that ugly hostility, shock and anger. We are finally capable of being civil to each other, dealing with the situation we face in a calm, rational manner. So the very last thing it needs is disturbance.

Whatever his thoughts were when he let his eyes rest on her, he must keep them entirely private. She’d made it crystal-clear she regarded that night as a mistake.

And so do I—of course I do!

Yet even as he said the words inside his head he could hear refutation taking shape. Did he regret that night? Or only the consequences of it?

His thoughts went back to the restaurant on Holland Park Avenue, where she’d asked him whether, had he not had that prearranged business meeting, he’d have stayed with her...at least for breakfast.

What would we have said to each other had I not left her as I did?

Thoughts moved within him, raising more questions than they answered. Distilling down to one.

Would I have still ended up walking away from her? Putting her into a taxi and out of my mind? Going back to the life I lead. Writing off that night simply as a one-off aberration?

His gaze withdrew from the sea, went back to her face. His head turned.

Her eyes were still closed.

Her face was still lifted to the sun.

Still effortlessly beautiful...

Siena opened her eyes. She wasn’t sure why. It had been so peaceful just sitting there, relaxed, her face lifted to the warmth of the sun, hearing the gulls cry and the waves break on the beach below, with the rhythmic sound of the shingle sliding and tumbling.

But for whatever reason she opened her eyes, turned her head slightly.

And then stilled completely.

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