Page 204 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

Chapter Seven

The sunlight caughtthe ring and made it glow like a dragon’s eye, as Charlotte placed her hand on the railing of the plane steps and began to ascend them. True to his—written—word, Dante had sent a limousine to collect her that morning, just a few hours after she’d woken up and instinctively reached for him, needing his touch, wanting him, craving him. A short search of the apartment had revealed the note and the ring box.

And though the ring was utterly, incredibly beautiful, and not ostentatious rather than just perfect, she’d had a strange heaviness in the pit of her stomach ever since seeing it.

Because it wastooperfect. Because it was just the kind of ring she might have wanted to choose if this had been real and she didn’t want Dante to just get that about her. She didn’t want him to be able to have that sort of insight. It unnerved her and made her question their ability to keep one another at arm’s length, no matter how often they promised each other they would.

Except, it was obviously just a fluke. He’d probably walked into the jeweller, asked for something not-too-diamond-y and chosen the first thing he’d been presented with after that.

She paused, a few steps from the top of the plane stairs, throwing a glance over her shoulder back to the airport runway, looking at the car that had driven her here. The ring itself wasn’t the sole reason she felt so weird and uncertain this morning.

It was everything about last night.

Things he’d revealed without meaning to. Things she’d wanted to admit to him, that she’d never told anyone other than Jane. It was the way they’d fallen asleep together—a first. But at some point in the night, Charlotte had woken up and realised he was still there and despite her every effort, something nice and warming had slid into place inside of her. Something she didn’t ever want to feel because of a man but couldn’t help in that moment.

For a little while, last night, she’d felt as though she were part of something special. As though she were part of something and someone. All her life she’d vowed to never want that. To never put herself in a position like her mother had, of relying on a man. Of relying on anyone, other than Jane. With Jane, she’d allowed herself to trust, to love, to rely.

But Jane was different.

Something had happened when they were young that had connected them, like siblings, but stronger. They both felt that bond and would always feel it.

Again, a hint of guilt shifted through her when she thought of her best friend and she crossed her fingers, hoping that she was more than a match for Zeus Papandreo’s brand of arrogant charm.

Yes, she trusted Jane with her life. But there was only Jane.

The truth was, Charlotte’s mother had been completely destroyed by her love affair gone wrong. She’d been cast out by her own family and her mental health had suffered throughout her life. Charlotte had, from a young age, been aware of the ravages her mother endured, but had been unable to help and had known, all the while, that she was to blame. That her existence had caused that pain. That ache. That brokenness.

Mariah, for her part, had tried to do her best for Charlotte, but Charlotte knew something that no child should ever have to grapple with—that her mother didn’t love her. She couldn’t bring herself to. Because Charlotte was half Aristotle, she was a constant, living reminder of what Mariah would never have. Charlotte had been sent to boarding school, presumably to stop reminding Mariah of that romance. And from that point on, Charlotte had begun to train herself in living her most independent life and relying on nobody.

‘Good, you’re here.’ Dante’s voice popped through the bubble of her memories. She turned back towards the door of the private jet, stomach twisting at the sight of him. In another suit, despite the warmth of the day. Though as she watched, he removed the jacket and draped it over one shoulder. ‘Are you coming?’

She ignored the double entendre. Or barely registered it. He’d caught her in a moment of heart vulnerability, when the past and all her wounds, were right at the surface of her mind, so she had to fight hard to wrap a protective cloak about herself and assume a look of nonchalance that befitted this scenario.

‘Yep,’ she said, after a beat, forcing a smile to her face and taking the rest of the steps, until she was on the little platform just outside the door.

‘Good. The flight is ready for take-off.’

‘Okay.’

Charlotte went to step inside but Dante didn’t move, so the moment she did, they were close enough to touch and all the air in her lungs seemed to urgently need to escape. Her fingertips tingled with a desire to feel him. To brush over his hair or his shoulder. To dig into his neat hips.

‘You need a new bed.’

It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Her eyes widened as she glanced up at his face, frowning. ‘I do?’

‘Hell, yes. That thing barely passes as a bed.’

She laughed then, a natural and spontaneous sound. ‘What’s wrong with my bed?’

‘Apart from the fact it’s tiny and feels like it could break at any second, the mattress is lumpy.’

She laughed. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Deadly.’

‘I would have thought you could handle a few bumps, Dante.’

His jaw clenched. ‘I can sleep on a wooden floor if I have to. But not every night. You shouldn’t be sleeping on that bed.’