Page 202 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

‘No allergies?’

‘Planning to dispose of me once we’re married?’ He asked with a hint of amusement.

She grinned. ‘Ah, yes. An excellent plan. Why didn’t I think of that?’

He laughed. ‘Sorry to tell you, the prenuptial agreement means even if I were to die during our short marriage, my assets would be held in trust.’

‘Who for?’ she asked, genuinely curious.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re an only child. Who’s the beneficiary of the trust?’

His features shifted a little, his expression briefly haunted, pained. She ached to reach out and smooth away the lines on his brow. To hold his face in the palms of her hands and kiss him, gently, reassuringly. She kept dishing up the curries instead.

‘Because we can help you structure it so that charities receive it,’ she said, glancing at him, offering an impish smile to help him through whatever was causing him pain.

‘My ex-wife inherits everything,’ he said, after a beat.

Charlotte’s fingers slipped and the spoon dropped to the counter, leaving a lurid orange blob of butter chicken sauce against the white melamine. She turned quickly, grabbing a sponge to clean it—she knew how it could stain if left unchecked. But mainly, she needed a moment without Dante’s intelligently assessing eyes boring through her.

Because he’d surprised her.

And on some level, he’d made her feel...something she didn’t want to feel. Something Charlotte knew better than to analyse.

‘Has she re-married?’ She was pleased her voice came out pretty close to normal.

‘No.’

‘Does she have children?’

He closed his eyes briefly, shook his head. No verbal response.

Interesting.

But being interested in him wasbad. Unsafe. Not what they were doing.

‘Did your grandmother like her?’

At that, his lips tugged into a half-smile. ‘Yes.’

There it was again! That pang of something unpleasantly sharp, like a blade, right in her side.

She lifted the bowls and nodded towards the living room, where there was a small table in the bay window.

‘Would you mind grabbing some water?’

He followed behind holding two glasses and, once at the table, he sat without touching his fork. ‘Jamie—that’s my ex-wife—and my grandmother were very close. She took the divorce hard.’

Charlotte arranged her features into an expression of sympathy. It wasn’t hard to feel it, but at the same time she wished she didn’t.

‘Why did you break up?’

There. She’d asked and it was something she probably needed to know. Only, that wasn’twhyshe’d asked. She’d let curiosity get the better of her and she was annoyed at her own weakness.

‘It’s complicated.’

‘We’ve got all night,’ she reminded him.