Page 206 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

‘You’re right. What have I missed?’

She pursed her lips in exasperation. ‘Dante, we’ve been talking for ten minutes. Have you really not been paying attention?’

Had it been that long?

He pulled a face, shrugged and grinned. ‘Start at the beginning,’ he suggested, enjoying the way she rolled her eyes.

‘I just gave you a very succinct biography of your life, which I’ve committed completely to memory I’ll have you know. But what I don’t have much of an idea of is your grandmother.’

‘My grandmother?’

Charlotte nodded. ‘We didn’t actually cover her last night.’

‘Didn’t we?’ Dante felt the hint of misgivings. They’d done an exceptional job the night before of going over the basics. Actually, more than the basics. They’d gone over the essentials, the bread and butter facts a bonafide couple would know about each other. Just enough to get them out of trouble if his grandmother were to launch into some kind of interrogation. Which was not completely out of the question, given how much stock she put into Dante’s ‘happiness’. Never mind that her idea of happiness—a big, Italian family—didn’t match up with his—no personal risks and being as successful as anyone could hope to be professionally.

‘Nope. I mean, the fact that she raised you, that you respect and love her, but nothing else.’

‘What do you want to know?’ There was scepticism in his tone though, because he didn’t want to keep having these kinds of conversations with her. He’d presumed they were done.

‘What are her hobbies?’

He leaned back in his chair, giving that thought.

‘Like, does she knit? Play bridge?’

He laughed then, shaking his head. ‘You have the wrong idea about her.’

‘So, what’s the right idea?’

‘For one thing, she’s not someone who’s giving in easily to the idea of aging. She might be an octogenarian but you wouldn’t know it to look at her.’

Charlotte was silent, pointedly waiting for him to continue.

‘She loves fashion,’ he said, thoughtfully, remembering the whirlwind trips they’d take to Rome each year, so she could re-stock her wardrobe with the latest couture. ‘It’s her one indulgence. She’s always dressed immaculately. She always has been.’

Come to think of it, the same could be said for Charlotte. Except for last night, when he’d turned up at her place and she’d looked so beautifully mussed up, all casual and relaxed, that something had exploded inside of him. Her hair was the only concession to her inner-wildness, a mane of red that couldn’t ever be fully tamed. God, how he loved to wrap his fist around it, to feel those curls spring against his palm.

‘Okay. But what’s she like?’

‘Like?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What do you mean?’

Another roll of those deep green eyes. ‘Is she funny? Intelligent? Was she cross with you as a child? Does she cook?’ She asked shrugging. ‘How would you describe her?’

He furrowed his brow, considering that. ‘She was never cross with me,’ he said. ‘Which isn’t to say I didn’t deserve it.’ A half-smile crossed his lips. ‘I was always getting into some kind of mess.’

‘You?’ She sounded incredulous.

‘Surely that cannot come as a surprise to you.’

‘Well, yes, actually.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re just not someone I can imagine ever breaking the rules.’