Page 189 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

Allegra had put her own life on hold—her grief too—to raise Dante. She’d been a living saint all his life and the one thing she wanted, the one thing that would allow her to live out the rest of her days in peace, would be knowing that he’d opened himself up to love. That he was still capable of wanting things like a family.

That wasn’t true, but Allegra didn’t need to know that.

Here, Charlotte was offering him a way to protect his grandmother from the legacy of his failed marriage, to give her some hope, at least, that he might live the kind of life she’d always dreamed of. Because Allegra San Marino had put family above all else and she always said it was her greatest achievement.

The man Charlotte was talking to said something else and this time, when she laughed, she leaned forward, stood onto the tips of her toes and whispered something right back in his ear. Something the guy really, really liked, by the looks of it. His grandmother slipped from his mind as he saw red. She was flirting with the man and he was eating it up. It wasn’t hard for Dante to connect the dots—and have them join all the way up to these two falling into bed together.

Dante was moving even before he realised it, even before he made any kind of decision to move. He stepped right away from the bitcoin conversation and strode through the suits and tuxedos, the brightly coloured dresses and clouds of perfume and hairspray, until he was within touching distance of Charlotte. He wasn’t thinking. This was instinct, pure and simple. It might have been just sex with them, but that didn’t change a thing. Charlotte was his and there was no way he’d let her hook up with anyone else.

‘We need to talk.’

Charlotte’s pulse went from limp and lackadaisical to tsunami speed and power in the space of an instant. She’d know his voice anywhere.

Grant Mayberry, who she’d been sizing up—and on the brink of discounting—as a potential convenient husband, threw a quizzical look over her shoulder. She could see in his features the same response she’d seen time and time again at this kind of event, when people came face-to-face with the great Dante San Marino.

Fear, trepidation and a little hope—because Dante held some serious purse strings and, for the right investment opportunities, wasn’t afraid to use them. How many times had she excused herself from a boring, impromptu elevator pitch aimed at Dante, about something or other that needed funding?

‘Dante,’ Grant stuck out a hand. He had small fingers, but she’d already registered that, when she’d scanned for a wedding ring. ‘Nice to see you again.’

Dante dipped his head once in silent acknowledgement before transferring his gaze to Charlotte. ‘Now.’ His voice rang with command but also something new. Anger?

He looked unbearably good in a bespoke, jet-black suit jacket, snowy white shirt and crisp black bow tie. His dark hair was brushed back from his brow and he smelled like his cologne—a citrussy fragrance that never failed to curl her toes.

‘Actually, no,’ she batted her lashes at him, ignoring the way her whole body seemed to spark to life at the sight of him.

‘Think again,’ he said, a warning in his voice that sent afrissonof desire up her spine.

At the same time, Grant said, ‘That’s fine, Charlotte. We can have that drink later.’

A muscle jerked in Dante’s jaw and his eyes didn’t leave her face. The intensity of his look was making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

‘I’m thirsty now,’ she said, turning back to Grant, flashing a megawatt smile. ‘And Dante and I really have nothing to say to each other.’

But Grant evidently knew what side his bread was buttered on—or at least, which side he hoped itmightbe, because he was already backing away, smiling obsequiously at Dante.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she muttered under her breath before whirling around. ‘I suppose I should be glad,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t think I could handle being married—even just on paper married—to such a coward.’

Dante’s smirk was infuriating.

‘You think this is funny?’

The smile dropped. He glared at her again. ‘Believe me, funny is the last thing I find this situation.’

She glared right back. ‘Well, then, it’s just as well that it’s none of your business. You turned me down, that’s fine. I accept it. But don’t get in the way of my husband browsing now, please.’

‘Husband browsing?’ he repeated with incredulity. ‘Are you even hearing yourself?’

She rolled her eyes, then wished she hadn’t when she felt the way his whole body tensed in response.

‘You cannot simply choose a random man and get married.’

‘Oh yeah? Why not?’ She crossed her arms over her chest, her temper spiking so that now her pulse was thundering for a whole other reason.

‘Because it will make you miserable.’

He stared at her as though he was choosing his next words with care. Or maybe like he was fighting something, inwardly. Either way, she didn’t have time for it.

Charlotte sighed. ‘It’s out of my hands. I need to do this—and fast.’ She turned, to walk away, because standing there and staring at him was like trying to hold your ground on quicksand—impossible. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to wrap her arms around the waist she knew to be toned and taut, to hold him close to her body and just breathe him in, before lifting up and teasing his lips with hers, brushing them lightly...but she didn’t. Instead, she began to walk towards the bar, hating the way her frustration had morphed into something else. Something unforgivably like regret, because she hadn’t wanted to walk away from him at all.