Page 226 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

So much for disappearing into the pool house and pretending to read a book.

‘Have I mentioned that my grandmother is a force of nature?’

‘It’s something I’ve noticed for myself. But this...’ she gestured to the table, grimacing a little.

‘Would you prefer to be alone?’ Rosaria, hovering nearby, had apparently noticed something was amiss.

Feeling rude and ungrateful, Charlotte was quick to shake her head. ‘Of course not. I’m starving.’

‘Ahh, good,’ Rosaria beamed once more. ‘Then please, do sit.’

This time, at her command, they walked towards the table. Dante moved to one of the chairs and pulled it out, gesturing for Charlotte to be seated. She hesitated, something about the moment seeming almost too big for them. Too special. Too...romantic.

‘Va bene?’ His voice was close, his accent deep. Goosebumps lifted over her body.

She realised, when she glanced over her shoulder and looked at him,whythe moment was so overwhelming.

While they’d had dinner before, they’d never done something so overtly romantic. It was like walking into one of those carnival rooms of mirrors, where everything showed as distorted and confusing. She couldn’t really see what they were any more. A combination of the week they’d shared, Allegra’s obvious pleasure and acceptance, the looming wedding, the fact their physical connection was anything but slowing down... Charlotte felt as if the world was tilting in the wrong direction.

She sucked in an uneven breath, her eyes holding his.

He shrugged though, his features wearing a mask of amusement. ‘Just...go with it,’ he suggested. But the trivial nature of his comment was completely undermined by the way he leaned down and placed a kiss against the bare skin of her shoulder, making her stomach clench in instant, unmistakable desire.

‘Dante,’ she whispered, his name so much more than two syllables joined together. It was both a plea and a freak out. A desperate need for reassurance—that everything was going to be okay. In response, he brushed his hand lightly over her shoulder. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, staring at him fully.

‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ he said, with absolutely no idea how those words scored against her skin. After all, he was just reiterating something they’d both said, time and time again. It wasn’t his fault that those words now felt like weapons.

‘Of course not,’ she agreed, pleased her voice emerged so steady and normal.

‘You’re beautiful, Charlotte,’ he said, simply. Her heart skipped a beat and then another, until she felt as if everything was all wonky.

‘No, this is beautiful,’ she said, unevenly, trying, desperately, to hold onto something pragmatic in the face of all this splendour. ‘I’m just me.’

His response was to tilt her chin, lifting her face towards his, then kissing her gently on the lips.

Her heart went into overdrive. She sat down quickly, mainly to escape the intensity of his gaze and the feelings he was so easily stirring inside of her. Or maybe it wasn’t him, so much as the week they’d shared. Charlotte felt as if a match had been struck, regardless, and she wasn’t sure she knew how to put out the flames.

As she sat, his fingers brushed her shoulders, like he wanted to reassure himself that she was there. A moment later, he was taking the seat opposite and she tried to smile like everything was normal when inside she was awash with feelings.

‘How long do you think your grandmother has been planning this?’

‘From the moment we told her our news, probably,’ he said, with a rueful shake of his head.

‘Is she okay?’

‘You mean her limp?’

‘Actually, I meant her going to bed early.’

‘Clearly a ruse,’ he pointed out with an arched brow.

‘Right,’ she nodded. ‘Of course.’ She frowned. ‘And the limp?’

He didn’t answer right away. One of the suit-wearing waiters appeared with a very expensive looking bottle of champagne and began to pour the wine into their long stemmed glasses.

Once they were alone again, Dante leaned forward. ‘She’s come a long way since the stroke, but she can’t quite get her left foot to work how it should.’

Charlotte blanched. She couldn’t imagine Allegra having a stroke. The woman was so very vital, so alive, The idea of her brain misfiring, of her potentially losing her body’s mobility and her mind’s agility, just seemed so completely impossible.