Page 71 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

As to the rest of it, she’d have to bear public scrutiny. But she was used to that. She was used to portraying a certain image, and there was no reason for her to stop doing that now. There would be rumours and gossip once the scandal got out, and no doubt her mother’s name would be tossed around. She would have to steel herself and act accordingly, but, again, she’d been toeing the line for most of her life and had lived with constant resentment—her grandparents had resented having to look after her and had let her know in no uncertain terms.

This wasn’t any different.

After showering, she went to the little closet where she kept a few clothes in case of emergencies, and saw the array of suits hanging there. That was another little dart of hurt. She would never be the woman who wore those suits again, the woman whose main happiness was working for the man she loved.

Eventually, Wren shut the wardrobe and found some loose black lounge pants in a drawer, and a blue sweatshirt to go over the top, then debated what to do. She needed to find Isandro, see what he’d decided about the press release, and this time she’d keep her emotions firmly in check.

She was just about to leave the room when someone knocked on the door. Pulling it open, she saw one of the chambermaids standing in the hall outside. The woman must be a new hire since Wren didn’t recognise her.

‘The King would like you to join him for breakfast, Miss Weaver,’ the maid said.

Wren was tempted to say no purely out of spite, but she didn’t want to put the maid in a difficult position, so she kept her mouth shut and followed the woman through the corridors. Expecting to be taken to the usual breakfast room near the kitchens, she was surprised when the maid took her to the King’s private apartments instead.

Despite herself, her heartbeat quickened as they entered Isandro’s rooms, and a whisper of electricity ghosted over her skin. She’d never been to his apartments—he’d been very strict about that—and the fact that she was being led here now made her wonder what he was planning.

Did he want her here with him? He and Carlotta had always maintained separate apartments, but had he changed his mind with her? Or was he making a point to his staff about her? A subtle signal that Wren wasn’t one of them any more?

The chambermaid led her through an elegant yet masculine sitting room, and out onto a small stone terrace. It overlooked the King’s private garden, and contained a white wrought-iron table set with bowls of fruit, yoghurt, cereal, toast and a variety of spreads. There was also coffee and orange juice, and Isandro, lounging at the table.

He looked devastatingly attractive in a crisp white shirt and blue suit trousers. He had his cuffs rolled up to expose his muscled forearms and strong wrists, the long, blunt fingers of one hand wrapped around a coffee mug, the other resting on his thigh.

His inky blue gaze met hers, and once again the gut punch of his presence hit her, making her skin tighten and a dark, nagging ache start up between her thighs.

It had become even worse after their interlude in his office. She’d half hoped that those few minutes would have sated her curiosity and desire for him, but they hadn’t. Because now she knew exactly what it felt like to have him inside her, to feel his hands on her skin, his mouth on her throat. To know just how passionate he was, how intense, and how fierce. It was almost unbearable.

Her face heated, and she had to tear her gaze away, which felt like a failure, especially given that she’d decided she was taking charge of what was happening between them.

‘Thank you, Esperanza,’ Isandro said, his deep voice warm with the charm he used with all his household staff. The maid flushed prettily, gave him a hurried curtsy, then vanished back inside.

Wren, her mouth dry, moved over to the chair opposite and sat down. She wanted to look at him again, hold his gaze, but she didn’t know if she could actually do it. Looking at him felt too much. She was good at hiding her emotions, but never around him. That’s what had got her into trouble in the first place.

‘I thought we could continue our discussion from last night,’ Isandro said without preamble, reaching for the jug of orange juice and pouring her a glass. ‘I trust you slept well?’

Wren swallowed. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t treat me like a stranger.’

‘How would you like me to treat you, then?’ He pushed the glass in her direction.

‘Like a person you’ve known well for five years.’ She ignored the orange juice. ‘A person you’re going to marry, or so you’ve said.’

‘Oh, we’ll marry, you can be sure of that.’ He straightened in his chair then reached for the coffee pot, pouring himself some more coffee. ‘How do you want to go about this, Wren? I tried talking to you about it last night, but you walked out.’

She took a breath, trying to steady herself and her frayed nerves. ‘Well, I thought I’d be travelling to Frankfurt and from there back home. At least until you dragged me off the plane, and had me escorted to an airport lounge. Whereupon you informed me that you were aware of the pregnancy and that I was to marry you. So, you see how I might find all of that a little overwhelming.’ She was proud of herself that she managed to sound cool and calm and collected.

He stared at her, that muscle ticcing in his jaw. ‘You find it overwhelming? Not one month after my queen dies, I discover that the woman I’ve been working with is pregnant with my child and she didn’t bother to tell me. And not only that, decided to run away like a child instead of having an adult conversation.’

Hurt, sharp as a sliver of glass, slid under her skin. He was angry and, while she supposed he had a right to be, that was no reason to be cruel. ‘Well, why didn’t you talk to me when you found out?’ she asked, struggling to hold onto her calm.

‘I wanted to get a plan in place before I spoke to you. But before I had a chance, you ran away.’

‘I didn’t run away. I left to protect you.’

Sparks of anger glittered in his blue gaze, but all he said was, ‘Well, we could go around and around in circles about this for days, but decisions need to be made. The facts are that, since you are expecting my heir, we need to marry.’ He took another sip of his espresso, the very picture of calm civility in his crisp white shirt and suit trousers. His expression was contained, the anger in his eyes gone. She was getting the stranger again, wasn’t she?

Fine. If he was going to be a stranger to her, then she’d treat him the same way.

Wren reached out for the orange juice and calmly took a sip, mirroring him. ‘So, I presume you have a press release drafted?’

He gave one of his regal nods, which she suspected was automatic rather than purposeful. ‘It’ll go out in the next couple of days. Do you want to see it?’