Page 99 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

‘Oh,’ she said on a soft little gasp. ‘Did you feel that?’

In her eyes, he could see his own ferocity reflected back, along with wonder and awe.

‘Yes.’ His voice sounded as if it had been dredged up from the bottom of the ocean. ‘Was that the first time?’

‘It was.’ Her hand came down over his, soft and warm, and he felt it again, a firm little kick against his palm.

He smiled as a curious feeling wound through him. Was this happiness? Was this joy, too? Not simply holding Wren or being inside her, but this, feeling their child move together?

‘You can’t leave,’ he said, the words still rough from pleasure and fierce with a sudden yearning that he was helpless against. ‘Do you understand me? You can’t leave, not now.’

She reached up with her other hand, cupping his jaw. ‘I won’t.’ She meant it, he could tell. ‘I won’t, Isandro.’

No, she wouldn’t. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Chapter Ten

Wren clutched the bouquet in her hand, her palm damp, nerves jumping in her gut. It was her wedding day, and she wasn’t ready.

It had come up so fast, much faster than she’d expected. Then again, perhaps that wasn’t any wonder when she’d been so distracted. Every day she couldn’t wait until the end of the day, when it was time to meet Isandro, and the thrill she got every time he appeared made her heart leap.

He’d taken her on lots of outings in the past week. To a little Italian restaurant that had at least one Michelin star. To a vineyard in the mountains not far from the palace, where they had the best sparkling grape juice she’d ever tasted. To one of the national parks that Valdora was famous for, where they had an evening picnic in an alpine meadow.

They’d talked on those evenings, not about anything personal, but in the way they’d used to, about art and politics and what books they’d been reading. Every so often she’d wondered if she should push him more, about why he felt he had to do better all the time, and why he felt that he’d failed, but it was too good just talking to him. She didn’t want to touch on things that were painful for him. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d told her that night at the museum. About how his happiness wasn’t important, about how it was his responsibility to make others happy. About how it was his responsibility to make her happy.

She didn’t want to be his responsibility, though. She was tired of being everyone’s burden. And she was tired of him disregarding his own happiness, because it was important. It was important to her, and all she’d kept thinking about was what he’d told her about his childhood. Him being brought up by parents who didn’t seem to care about him. A castle full of strangers, as he’d so aptly put it. Strangers who, of course, wouldn’t be interested in one little boy’s happiness. No wonder he didn’t think it was relevant. It hadn’t been to anyone else, and so he’d decided it wasn’t important.

That thought made her ache.

But he hadn’t liked being pressed on the subject, either, and when she had pressed him, he’d turned it into sex, which he often did when she touched on painful subjects. In fact, since that night in the museum, he’d taken her to his bed every night, and she hadn’t protested. The opposite, in fact. She’d gone eagerly and willingly, easing her own hurt with his touch and by touching him. If sex was the only way she could get close to him, then she’d take it while it lasted.

Yet people who felt nothing didn’t respond to pain, and Isandro did. In fact, he was a man who’d detached so profoundly, it made her wonder exactly how much pain he’d detached himself from. Pain didn’t come from nowhere, either, it came from caring. Caring too much in many cases.

Perhaps that was the key. Perhaps he’d lied to himself when he’d been a boy, lied to himself so completely that now, as a man, he believed it. He believed that he hadn’t loved his parents and so wasn’t capable of love himself.

But that was a lie. She’d seen his face the moment their baby had kicked for the first time. His dark blue gaze had glowed bright, the wonder on his face lighting it up, making him so painfully beautiful that all she’d felt in that moment was a wild, intense love for him, and for their child. She’d met his gaze and had seen her own love for their baby reflected in his, and she’d felt no surprise. Deep down, she’d always known that she’d never doubted his ability to love. It was he who doubted himself on a fundamental level.

Her bridesmaids, chosen from amongst the household staff, fluttered around behind her, arranging the train of her gown and the veil that fell down her back. Ahead of her were guards arranged to escort her to the car that would take her to the cathedral in central Valdoria.

Crowds had gathered to watch and they were sizeable. The new PR person had told her that reports were generally more favourable towards her, mainly because it was clear that theirs was a great love story and the public loved a love story. Especially one that included a baby.

Except, this wasn’t a love story. As Isandro had first pointed out weeks ago and often since, this was a necessity. At least, on his part it was a necessity.

Not on yours, though.

No. And if she married him, all she’d ever be was another responsibility he had to manage, another burden to bear. Then he’d end up resenting her, the way her grandparents had resented her. Oh, he’d assured her that he wouldn’t, but when his passion for her died, he most certainly would. Meanwhile, her passion for him would never fade.

The new PR manager came bustling over to her carrying a tablet and she held it up for Wren to see. A shot of the crowds waiting for the arrival of the royal bride at the cathedral. They were cheering and waving flags, and she was surprised that they looked happy. Then she frowned as the camera zeroed in on a man holding a child in his arms. A woman stood beside him with her arm around his waist, smiling up at him as he said something to her. A husband and wife, presumably, and their child. A family together. A family who loved each other.

You will never have that with Isandro. All you’ll ever be is a burden on his shoulders. He won’t love you and he never will.

She’d be Carlotta, the queen he didn’t love. She’d be the girl who’d only ever been in the way, the girl no one had wanted. The girl who’d sacrificed everything to be with a man who didn’t love her, and maybe never would.

Tears filled her eyes behind her veil, and she had to blink them back fiercely, her heart aching and aching.

You could leave. You could turn around and leave, and never return.

But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t leave him standing at the altar with the whole world watching. She couldn’t leave a man whom no one had cared about and who had been ignored by everyone who was supposed to care about him. She’d promised him. She’d promised that she’d stay, so how could she break that promise? She couldn’t. Because this was the one thing she could give him that no one else could. She would love him without asking for anything in return.