Page 198 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

Charlotte’s eyes swept closed. ‘That’s what I was afraid of.’

‘You knew this was part of the deal.’

‘Yes, it’s just—,’ her voice tapered off as she tried to explain. ‘Don’t you think there’s a risk, in spending so much time with her?’

‘What risk?’

‘Well, that she’ll see through us, for one thing.’

His eyes glittered with determination when they met hers. ‘It’s up to you and me to make sure that doesn’t happen.’

‘I mean, I’m obviously going to try, but—,’ She bit into her lower lip, eyes meeting his, as some sort of presentiment of disaster drifted across her. ‘You and I know thatnotgetting to know each other properly is sort of how this all works,’ she gestured from herself to him, with the sinking sensation that she was standing on the edge of a big, gaping void. ‘If we’re going to pull this off, I think we sort of have to...go over more than just the basics.’

He shrugged.

‘You don’t think there’s a problem with that?’ she pushed.

‘You seem to be presupposing that the more we get to know each other, the more we’ll like each other. What if the opposite is true?’

She burst out laughing at the unexpectedly grim—but reassuring—take on their situation.

‘You’ve already said you don’t like me,’ he pointed out. ‘You know me well enough, after six months of sleeping together, to realise that there is precisely zero risk of us developing feelings for one another. We are simply not wired that way.’

‘Nonetheless, I think we should be cautious about this.’

He arched a brow, clearly sceptical. ‘How so?’

‘Well,’ she pondered that. ‘Like if I come up with some questions for you to answer. Things I’ll need to know, that aren’t too personal. That way, it’s less of a conversation and more of an...’

‘Interview,’ he interrupted, expression giving nothing away.

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘That’s fine. If that’s your preference, Charlotte, we can do it your way.’

She nodded, as if in agreement, but inside, her nerves were starting to zip and jangle, because this was more complicated already, than she’d wanted. ‘Are you sure I have to go meet her? You can’t just take a photo of me? Tell her I’m busy working?’

‘She knows I would never marry someone she hadn’t met.’

It wassodamned sweet, so thoughtful and respectful, that Charlotte’s eyes stung with the unexpected ache of unshed tears. ‘You’re really close to her, huh?’

‘She put her life on hold to raise me,’ he pointed out. ‘I respect and love her, yes.’

Charlotte took a sip of her drink; it was full-bodied and spicy. ‘How old were you when—,’ she left the question unfinished, the implication nonetheless clear. So much for avoiding personal conversations.

‘Eight.’ And before she could ask him how his parents died, he supplied, ‘in a helicopter crash.’

She grimaced. ‘That’s awful.’

‘Yes. It was a mechanical failing. It went down quickly, landed hard. My parents, my grandfather and the pilot all died on impact.’

‘Oh, Dante,’ she shook her head a little, reaching across and covering his much larger hand with her own. He stared down at them, as if he’d never seen hands before, then pulled his away. But his eyes lingered on her own hand for several beats.

‘An engagement ring,’ he said, with a single nod of his head. ‘I’ll organise that tomorrow. Do you have any preference for style?’

And just like that, she was doused in ice-cold water, reminded of the strictly pragmatic nature of their relationship. Not only that, but she was also reassured by the way he’d acted like a safety rail, when she’d had a momentary lapse in judgement and briefly forgotten the way things stood with them.

‘Something simple,’ she insisted. And then, for clarity, ‘Not flashy.’