Page 160 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

Their destination proved to be a small, but absolutely packed bar, where everyone seemed to know him and greeted him with cheers and a lot of enthusiasm. People air kissed, grabbed and hugged, and met her with the same exuberant welcome, which she couldn’t help but be charmed by.

They were thrust towards a small standing table parallel to the bar and a bottle of wine and two glasses were placed in front of them by Jean-Pierre whose name was actually Michael, but no one called him that.

It was bright, and loud, and vivacious and Erin was utterly enchanted.

‘How long have you been coming here?’ she asked, having to almost shout to be heard.

‘More years than I’d admit to, on pain of death,’ Enzo replied with a generous smile, as he poured the rich, punchy red into two tumblers. It struck her that this was far removed from the sophistication of the party where she’d met him. It felt a little as if this was the real Enzo. In France. How controversial, she thought to herself, amused.

‘Something you find funny?’

‘Only thePlayboy of Amalfibeing more at home in a French bistro—’

‘Lies!’ he cried out, loudly, making her laugh, really laugh. ‘Sacrilege! Slander,’ he insisted dramatically with a wink that made her think that she’d read him right.

A few people stopped by to have brief conversations with Enzo, some chatting with her, some rushing off to see other friends, but for the most part they were left alone. Talking about wine, about travel, about small things that felt as real and as important as the big thing that they couldn’t share. Her hand found his forearm often, his shoulder a few times, swept a hair from his forehead once. He brushed her hair from her shoulder, cupped her jaw. The easy touching building towards something else, she thought, something she wanted. Their looks lasted longer, penetrated deeper, built up towards a moment where she thought he might kiss her.

Until everything changed, when a tall, older dark-haired man came to the table, seemingly worse for wear, and slapped Enzo on the shoulder.

‘So, after dodging my calls for. A. Month.Thisis where I find you?’

Ice shot out from where his father had clamped a hand on his shoulder, leaving his chest locked and his mind frozen.

All Enzo could think of was how bad this was going to be.

And how damn furious he was that his father would choose here, choose now to confront him.

He looked at Erin who had leaned back a little, as if wary. God, he wished he could stop her from seeing this. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready.

‘Luca—’

‘Luca? What, you don’t call me father anymore?’

‘What are you doing here?’ he ground out.

Madonna mia, he hadn’t been a father to Enzo for years. But Luca had known that. This was for Erin’s benefit, Enzo recognised.

Luca turned his head and whispered heavily into his ear. ‘You left me no choice, son,’ he said, slapping him on the back a little harder than necessary. ‘You contacted myaccountant.’

So, this was punishment, Enzo realised.

‘But this is where you always come!’ Luca exclaimed louder, for Erin’s ears. ‘The moment the press announced you were on your way to France, it was just a happy coincidence that we were too.’ Luca peered at Erin. ‘Are you not going to introduce me?’ he said, not bothering to direct his question at Enzo.

‘He doesn’t have to, Mr Rossetti. Your reputation precedes you,’ Erin said, not offering her hand or any other sign of welcome.

She hadn’t fawned over the famous actor, she hadn’t fallen for his supposed charm that was by now getting a little old. But still, many of Enzo’s other friends failed to resist—and the fact that she had...

‘I wanted to talk to you about invitations to the wedding.’

Enzo huffed out a laugh. Unbelievable. His father had already heard of his and Erin’s engagement and this was the excuse he was using to make his approach, to ask for more money? There was no way—

‘You’re invited of course,’ Luca pressed on. ‘Isn’t she beautiful? And of course, you can bring your friend,’ Luca said, pointing to Erin.

It took a moment for Enzo to realise that his father was talking about hisownengagement. He was getting married again?

‘She deserves theworld,’ Luca said of the woman standing at the bar looking bored and tapping on her phone. The long hair, high heels, Enzo would never judge, but she was at least twenty years Luca’s junior. This must have been what all the phone calls had been about. His father, looking for money to have another huge, over-the-top, horrible wedding.

Luca grinned at Enzo, and he’d had enough.