Page 162 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

She got to her feet, packing away her pencils, emptying the water jar on the grass, picking up her sketchpad. ‘I’ll finish this off later,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it time for lunch?’

She was glad he followed her lead—grateful. He got to his feet again, fell into step beside her as they headed indoors.

‘Did you have a productive morning?’ she asked, conscious that her voice was too bright.

He took her cue, and she was glad of that too.

‘Thank you, yes. I can be clear now for a while. Tell me...what might you like to do this afternoon?’

They settled on an excursion further west along the coastline, meandering along country lanes, stopping for a cream tea at a pretty thatched olde-worlde teashop nestled in a sheltered valley, with glorious views over the sparkling English Channel. It was leisurely, undemanding, like all their days.

Serving the purpose for which they were here, Siena acknowledged. To come to terms—civil, unhostile terms—with the situation in which they both unwillingly found themselves.

No other reason.

Her eyes went to him now, as they headed back in the late afternoon. His focus was on the winding road as he drove, strong hands curved around the driving wheel, his face in profile.

But what if there were another reason they were here like this?

What if we were here together because we wanted to be with each other? Just Vincenzo and me, without a baby to complicate everything between us. What if we hadn’t met at that party, with me dressed to kill and all that instant heat between us? What if we’d got to know each other slowly—taken things at a slower pace—romanced each other gradually? Spent time with each other the way we’re doing now? Got to know each other first, without falling into bed so fast, the way we did...?

But it hadn’t happened like that, had it?

She felt something tug at her inside, wanting admission.

She pulled her gaze away, moved it back over the passing countryside.

She felt a heaviness within her.

A sense of loss for what had never been. Never could be now.

I am here with him only because I am pregnant with his baby.

Anything else had been.

And gone.

Vincenzo eased back on the accelerator—these winding West Country roads were not designed for speed, with their thick hedgerows and blind corners. But the landscape was highly appealing, lushly green and rolling, with sheep and cattle placid and contented, the villages quaint and picturesque.

Touring around, sightseeing like this all week, had been very pleasant.

And it had achieved its purpose.

He flicked his glance to Siena, sitting beside him. She was gazing out of the window, an abstracted quality about her. She looked effortlessly lovely...

For a second he let his gaze linger, before returning it to the winding road. But his thoughts stayed with her. What was it about her that made him want to look at her the way he did? He had known beautiful women before, but with Siena there was something...

Something that wasn’t just the way she’d looked that night at the Falcone.

Something that drew his eyes to her even as she was now, her hair held back by a simple band, wearing a short-sleeved cotton shirt and loose cropped cotton trousers, not a scrap of make-up, doing nothing to adorn herself. But there was a beauty to her, a glow about her, that made him want to turn his head again.

Perhaps it’s pregnancy that makes her bloom?

If it was, then he welcomed it.

He drew his thoughts up short. Decided to speak instead. On a safer subject.

‘Shall we dine at the hotel tonight?’ he asked conversationally. ‘I understand there’s a special tasting menu, provided by assorted local producers to showcase their offerings. It’s something of an occasion. What do you think?’

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