Page 235 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8
He swore under his breath, crossing to her, needing...something. He didn’t know what. So he took the bags, at the very least, to relieve her of their weight, and placed them onto the tiled floor.
‘When did you meet Jamie?’ he asked, focusing on that, first.
‘Just now. Outside.’ She shivered. ‘She waited for me.’
He felt something odd—a panic he hadn’t known before. An anger, too, that his ex-wife had somehow slipped right inside the bubble he and Charlotte had made in Tuscany. He’d known reality would intrude, but he hadn’t expectedthatkind of reality. He didn’t want it.
Charlotte’s lip tugged between her teeth. ‘You told her about us.’
He bit back a groan, swiftly followed by a curse. ‘Yes.’ He couldn’t, after all, deny it.
‘You told her this is a fake relationship,’ Charlotte nodded. If he could have gone back in time and sewn his lips shut to stop that revelation escaping, he would have.
‘I told her that, yes.’
Charlotte nodded, but her shoulders were slumped and she looked confused. Or wounded. Which was so much worse.
He moved quickly then, putting his hands on her hips, needing to hold her, hoping that would help her understand. ‘When I called to tell her we were engaged, she was upset. I told her that our marriage was of a practical nature. I told her we weren’t in love.’
It was what they’d agreed to, what they’d said to each other over and over again, so why did Charlotte now look as though he’d physically wounded her?
‘I didn’t know you’d told her. Or anyone. I wasn’t prepared...’
‘It’s just Jamie,’ he promised. ‘She won’t tell anyone. I trust her.’
Charlotte’s eyes opened and lanced him with the directness of her stare. ‘It’s not about that.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘I can’t do this.’
The words were simple enough, but he didn’t follow her thought process. ‘Talk about Jamie?’
She shook her head. ‘Marry you.’ This time, she whispered, the words almost drowned out by the rushing of blood through his ears. ‘I’d never forgive myself, Dante.’ Her lips twisted in a bitter half-smile. ‘You’re off the hook.’
‘Off the hook?’ he repeated, wondering where the hell she’d have gotten the idea hewantedto be off the hook.
‘Yes. You can go back to Jamie. You should be with her. Be with who you love. You should be happy.’
He swore then. ‘Is that what she told you?’
Charlotte turned away from him, pulling out of his grip, moving back towards the front door. His heart accelerated. His head ached.Don’t leave me.
‘It’s not true,cara. I don’t want to be with her.’
Charlotte shook her head, but didn’t turn back to face him. He swore inwardly. When she reached the door, he moved quickly, pressing his hand over hers, on the doorknob, refusing to let it turn, imprisoning her body with his own.
‘Charlotte,’ he dropped his mouth to the sweep of her neck and pressed his lips there, feeling the familiar taste of her, the fluttering of her pulse. ‘I want to marry you.’
God, he hadn’t even realised how true that was until he was on the brink of losing her.
She turned then, her body trapped by his, every inch of her connected to him.
‘Why?’
He stared at her, the simple question likely requiring a simple answer, but he found he couldn’t easily locate one. ‘Because it’s what we agreed,’ he said, knowing it wasn’t right. Knowing it didn’t sum up how he felt and what he wanted.
‘Yes, it’s what we agreed,’ she spat, but with something like anger. ‘We agreed we would get married. That it would be practical and simple. That neither of us would want more than the easy relationship we’d developed.’
‘Right,’ he said, ignoring the maelstrom of uncertainty in the pit of his gut. ‘Exactly.’
‘No, not exactly,’ she retorted with an angry sound.
