Page 66 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

And if you marry him, everyone will know what you did.

‘You’re mad,’ she said, unable to help herself. ‘Why on earth would you want to do that? Think of how it will—’

‘I don’t care,’ he cut her off yet again, his voice as sharp as his gaze. ‘I will not have my child born out of wedlock, and I will not lie to my people. I’ve built my entire reign around honesty and transparency, and that’s not going to change because of one mistake.’

Her mouth was dry, the ice inside her consuming her whole. This man wasn’t the warm, kind, fiercely intelligent man she loved. This man was a stranger with his hard eyes and stern, unsmiling mouth, and she didn’t know what to do.

‘You can’t marry me, Isandro,’ she insisted. ‘You know my background, where I came from. You know about my mother.’ She’d been upfront with him the day she’d come in for her interview, about who her mother was and why, given that, she might not be the best choice as PR manager.

But he’d told her in no uncertain terms that he didn’t care what her mother had done, he only cared about what she’d done. That her degree and her experience as PR manager for a few international companies made her perfect for the job.

Except being perfect for the job as PR manager was one thing. Being perfect for the job of queen was quite another. The Valdoran parliament and aristocracy were conservative and bloodlines were everything. The bastard daughter of an infamous ‘other woman’ from New Zealand, without a drop of noble blood in her, was not at all who they’d want for their queen.

‘Your past is irrelevant,’ he said. ‘Only the present matters, and the present involves my child. Marrying you as soon as possible is the best option.’

He was being so very…commanding and kingly, and she didn’t like it, not at all. ‘Why is it the best option?’ Arguing with him wasn’t going to help—once he made up his mind about something, it could be very difficult to get him to change it—but he wasn’t thinking straight. ‘I’ll bring the baby back so you can be close to him or her, if that’s what you want. Or I can even live in the palace, if that’s appropriate.’

‘It’s not appropriate.’ Small, cold sparks of anger glittered in his eyes. ‘Especially if I marry again. My queen in one room, and my mistress in the other? I think not.’

Despite the ice inside her, she could feel her cheeks heating. Of course, it wasn’t appropriate. That was a ludicrous idea and she, of anyone, should know that. Then again, was it less ludicrous than actually marrying him?

‘Marriage surely isn’t necessary these days,’ she pointed out a little desperately, grasping at straws now. ‘It’s the twenty-first century, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘It doesn’t matter what century it is. Only legitimate heirs inherit—this you know.’ His mouth hardened still further. ‘I will not be my father, Wren. I will not be scattering countless bastard children all over Europe.’

‘But you’re not—’

‘I am not my father and I refuse to be. I will be marrying you and that’s final.’

He meant it. She could tell from the look on his face and the steel in his voice. It was a decision he wasn’t going to change, no matter how hard she argued with him. He was the King, now, and the King had final say and always had.

Wren tried to get some moisture into her dry mouth, struggling to contain the icy panic gripping her. Isandro’s moral compass was firmly fixed, and he was rigid about it. Or rather, he was rigid about everything, except when it came to her. She was his weakness, and she’d been aware of that, and what she should have done was resigned years ago, before their desire for each other became too all-consuming. Yet she hadn’t. She’d stayed because she couldn’t bear to leave him, and now look what had happened.

This is your fault. Like mother, like daughter.

No. No, she wasn’t like her mother. She had made a very grave mistake, but at least she wasn’t going to abandon her child the way she’d been abandoned.

‘Marrying me won’t be good for the throne and you know it,’ she said, trying a different tack. ‘Parliament will have some things to say about it.’

‘I don’t care about what Parliament says, either. I have made my decision.’ He turned and went to the closed door of the lounge, opening it and speaking to someone on the other side. Then he stepped back and a couple of other people came in, a bodyguard and a minister.

Wren’s heart turned completely to ice. Sometimes she’d dreamt about being his wife, little fantasies she’d told no one about. Not so much about being his queen, just being his. But, of course, that would never happen and so it had merely been one of her pipe dreams.

Yet it was happening, and it looked as if he was going to do this now, right here in the airport lounge, hurriedly and in secret. Automatically, she said, ‘This is a bad idea. If you marry me here and now, it will look as if you have something to hide, and that’s not what you want, is it?’

The minister and the bodyguard froze, then glanced at their king for guidance. Isandro’s face remained expressionless, but his midnight-blue gaze glittered. A muscle flicked in the side of his jaw. He was furious, she could tell, and that was because she was right. If he truly wanted to confront this scandal head-on, he had to do it openly, which meant a royal wedding.

‘Out,’ Isandro growled, and the two men vanished back through the door. Isandro didn’t even look at them, his gaze still pinned to hers.

She swallowed, trying not to shiver under the intensity of his furious stare. ‘You know I’m right,’ she said into the silence. ‘If you’re insisting on marrying me, it should be a full, royal affair. Everything up front and out in the open.’

That muscle in the side of his strong jaw flicked again. They’d disagreed a number of times over Carlotta and how to manage her many scandals, but he was good at seeing reason, even when she was right and he wasn’t. He didn’t like it, but he accepted it. He’d accept it now, she could see, especially considering he’d dismissed the minister and his guard.

‘Yes,’ he said, his tone clipped. ‘You’re right. In that case…’ He prowled over to where she stood, digging into the pocket of his suit trousers as he did so, and taking out a small box.

Wren froze, her pulse beating like a drum in her head. He opened the box himself, and took out a ring with the most magnificent, vivid blue diamond in the centre. It was set in a platinum band and surrounded by other diamonds.

She knew the ring. It was an heirloom piece that had once graced Carlotta’s finger.