Page 41 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

Somehow, deep down, he knew he never would. Not while she lived.

And when he finally tired even himself out, dawn was already breaking outside. And though she slept, it was a fitful thing.

He knew because he watched her.

Alceu did not bother to sleep himself. He wanted to soak in every last minute here. He knew he would treasure these moments, that he would take them out like a hoard of jewels across the years that yawned ahead, look at them in the light, and remember this goodbye.

When she woke up, he did not have food waiting for her. He stood there, fully dressed, keeping his expression grave. As if this wasn’t killing him.

But the point was her, he reminded himself, not whatever he might feel.

Because he knew too well that hisfeelingswere toxic.

“This looks ominous,” she said.

She didn’t smile. He thought nothing could have wounded him more.

Still, he pushed on. “I’m going on a trip,” he told her, very matter-of-factly. “Your brother and I have some things to tend to in various corners of the globe, including a very boring charity ball that you will likely see in pictures. You will not be coming with us.”

“Because I am pregnant?” she asked, though she looked...cautious.

“You are very pregnant.”

“Yes,” she said. “Theverymakes all the difference.”

“While I am gone, I will have the staff move you into one of the cottages.” And then, because she only blinked at him as if it didn’t make sense, he said, more roughly, “I don’t want you in the castle. I don’t want you in my bed, Dioni. Must I be more direct?”

And he watched as he accomplished the very thing he had told her brother last night he would try not to do. He watched the effect those words had on her.

He watched himself hurt her and he didn’t take it back.

And it was cold comfort indeed to know that hurting her now would save her far greater pain in the future. That it was a kindness to do this now, though he doubted very much she would agree.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything will be set up for you and the baby,” he assured her, and if his voice was colder than usual, well. That too was a gift, little though she might realize it. “The doctors will be on hand. You will want for nothing.”

“Except you,” Dioni said quietly. “I will want you. My husband. The man I love.”

He stared back at her, that tide in him too high, because he could not have heard her correctly.

She swallowed, naked and regal and his, and yet out of his reach. “I love you, Alceu. You must know that I always have.”

And Alceu felt as if he was cracked wide open. As if those words were an explosion, deep inside. He couldn’t take them on board.

He couldn’t allow them to take root.

“I have been pretending that this might be a manageable situation,” he managed to grit out at her. “But nothing has changed. I married you for the protection of the baby I made with you. You are both under my protection now and always will be. But the rest of this?” He slashed his hand through the air, as if that could keep his body from its typical reaction to the ripeness of her body and those wide, dark eyes. “It is no good. All of it will end in pain.”

“Being afraid is no good reason—” she began to argue.

“Not my pain, Dioni. Yours. Our son’s.”

His voice was harsh. He could hear it in the room. He could see it all over Dioni’s face.

But that only made his resolve harden. “I’m not willing to risk that. I told you this from the start. And I take responsibility for what has happened between us. I knew better. I should have stopped it.”

She rose from the bed then, uncurling herself to stand and then moving toward him, her hand outstretched.

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