Page 184 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

Her own eyes widened with the same sense of shock he was feeling. ‘What?’

‘I mean, it’s the twenty-first century, but it’s the only reason I can think of for this sudden, desperate need to marry.’

‘What the actual...?’ She swallowed the curse word at the last minute, but her cheeks were flushed with pink. ‘I’ll have you know I was raised by a single mother. I wouldneverget married just because I happened to be pregnant with some guy’s kid.’

He arched a brow at her passionate, if slightly provocative, defence. ‘Some guy being me?’

‘Or anyone’s,’ she swore.

‘And what if the guy—in this hypothetical scenario,me—wanted to marry, for the sake of the baby?’

Her jaw dropped, her eyes flashing with something he could have sworn was anguish before there was fire back in every line of her being. ‘Then that guy—you—would have to take a serious course correction.’

‘And what about the baby?’

She squared her shoulders, visibly calming herself down. ‘Whataboutthe baby?’ she demanded with hauteur.

‘Call me old fashioned, but if a couple can make it work and raise a baby together, isn’t that better?’

‘Better than what?’ Her eyes narrowed.

‘The alternative.’

‘Which is?’

‘Single parenthood.’

‘See, this is exactly what I’m talking about,’ she said, looking at him like he’d sprouted two heads. ‘This is why I could neverlikeyou.’

He laughed then, but with a sound of disbelief, as he shook his head. A waiter appeared and Dante ordered for both of them, without consulting the menu, adding a bottle of champagne for good measure. They were probably not going to be celebrating, but he was still hopeful they’d be putting this bizarre conversation behind them and moving to the bedroom portion of the evening before too long.

‘You say things like that as though it’s normal and it’s not. Getting married is...totally personal and subjective andno oneshould get married for the sake of a baby, who can be raised just fine, as I am living proof thank you very much, without some ridiculous ceremony having been conducted between two consenting adults who would rather eat glass than get married.’

He sat back in his chair, loving the way the fire of her temper made Charlotte’s eyes flash, and her lips move faster than normal. The way her soft, auburn hair bounced around her ivory face like flames flicked in a fire grate. And most of all, loving the way the swell of her cleavage lifted and fell with each rush of breath she drew in.

‘We can agree to disagree, given that it’s not relevant.’

Her lips gaped. ‘Fine.’ She glanced away from him, once more visibly trying to calm down.

The waiter returned with the champagne, went to uncork it but Dante shook his head dismissively and reached for the bottle. ‘I’ll do it.’ He wanted to be left alone with Charlotte and sooner rather than later.

The waiter handed the recognisably expensive bottle across, so Dante could curl his hands around the ice-cold neck and unfurl the metal. Alone once more, he was conscious of the way Charlotte’s eyes lingered on his hands as they worked, of the way she seemingly couldn’t look elsewhere.

‘Then if you’re not pregnant, why the sudden urge to get married?’

She rolled her eyes in a gesture he found ridiculously juvenile but also somehow appealing. He ground his teeth, momentarily put off by that.

When this whole thing started off, it was easy as pie. They’d met through a charity function, hit it off and fallen into bed, despite the fact he’d been completely sexless since his divorce—hadn’t even felt a hint of attraction for another woman, in fact. Charlotte had been different though. Beautiful, but impish and irreverent. He’d found her fascinating and, for no specific reason, he’d wanted her, like a lightning bolt bursting through him.

A great night ensued, with absolutely no promises. The only promise Dante felt he could ever give another woman was that he didn’t do promises. But a week later, they’d bumped into one other at yet another event. This time it was the birthday party of a mutual friend—though Dante used the term loosely as Howard Kernshaw was more of an associate than friend. The same sparks that had ignited at their first meeting burst to life once more. They hadn’t even made it back to his place—a broom closet at the venue had been pushed into service.

The next time, it had been the back of his limo, after leaving another charity event. But after that, a month had stretched without a chance meeting and despite no shortage of options in the women-who’d-happily-jump-his-bones department, he’d found himself totally unmoved. He just wanted another night with Charlotte. And then another. Craving in a way that he’d taught himself not to crave, not to want. Not ever, ever to need again.

And so, before he’d weakened, he’d come up with some black and white rules to protect himself if they were going to get involved. It had to be on his terms, but she had to know about them beforehand. This wasn’t a relationship. It was sex. And so long as they both wanted that, both enjoyed it and had fun together, he had no problems with the uncomplicated nature of their relationship.

Knowing how black and white this was meant they could also dothissometimes, too. Go for dinner, share pleasantries, swap superficial stories about their lives, but it was always surface level, as one might entertain a prospective colleague or client.

This—what she was doing now—was getting messy. Personal.