Page 147 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4

She carefully folded her hands in her lap and chastised herself to keep her eyes there. She hoped that his meeting had not gone well this morning, and it meant she could stay in this position, well, forever, but at the very least with enough time to get through to him.

So she had to use her time wisely. Today, they would spend the afternoon at the Christmas market. Tonight, they would have a pleasant, homey meal. Together.

Whether he liked it or not.

This entire endeavor was about life. About Christmas, which was about togetherness. Since he had no family to speak of, no friends since the accident, she was about all he had left. So she would be there and do everything she could to help a good if misguided, man find himself and wade out of his debilitating and self-harming grief.

For a brief moment, it dawned on her that she was in the same position.Hewas about all she had left. If he did not spend Christmas with her, she would be…alone.

Butshewas happy, for the most part. She talked to people. She did not self-punish. So it wasnotthe same.Shehad celebrated the last two Christmases—with tears, yes, but she hadn’t hidden away from her grief.

The car came to a stop, and Amelia lifted her gaze to the window. The entrance to the market was a grand wrought-iron archway decorated with greenery, bright red bows, golden bells and a dusting of snow that hadn’t accumulated on the ground.

Beyond that, stalls stretched out, decorated in bright colors. Greenery and red bows littered every available decorative space while people moved together, shopping and taking it all in. The mountains loomed, beautiful and awe inspiring, in the distance.

Amelia couldn’t stop a smile. It was stunning. It was perfect. She pushed her door open and stepped out into the cold, the sounds of carolers somewhere in the crowd immediately wafting through the air.

She waved off the driver and skirted the vehicle to open Diego’s door for him. He got out of the car like an old man, careful of any move that might break a brittle bone. His scowl was as dangerous as any blade as he took in the festive scene around them.

Stalls of crafts and homemade treats. Scents of cinnamon and vanilla and roasting nuts filled the air. Christmas music flitted around them—from string quartets, carolers and even speakers at some of the stations. It was a beautiful cacophony of color and noise andlife.

“What are you attempting to accomplish with this?” he demanded—and it was a demand, all sharp and angry, but she heard something under all that. Saw something under all his fury.

Hurt. Pain. So much damn pain.

Yes, sometimes one had to hurt in order to find healing. He would, no doubt, shy away from some of that. Fight it. This would not be easy.

And she would not give up. For her father’s caregiving legacy.

Despite an internal hesitation, she reached out and tucked her arm into his. His heat enveloped her, and she could smell something piney and fresh coming fromhim, not the scene around them. All too clearly she could remember what he looked like completely naked, moving across his room.

She pushed the memory away and pulled him forward into the melee. And she told him the truth, in as much effort to remind herself why she was here and shouldn’t be thinking about himnakedas it was to have him possibly understand.

“My father thought you were a good man but that you struggled to see that in yourself. I think remembering who you are might allow you to see the punishment you’ve doled out to yourself is pointless.”

“You’re wrong on just about every level,” he replied. “And I cannot fathom why some tacky market would change my perception of anything.”

“Then there is no danger in walking around the market, Diego,” she returned brightly, still pulling him forward. “No need to fear it.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, causing the people behind to bump into the both of them. They expressed outrage, until Diego whipped his furious gaze toward them. They lowered their eyes, mumbled apologies and skittered off.

His dark gaze moved to her. She shivered underneath her coat, and definitely not because of the cold air. He was angry, and it didn’t scare her. Itexcitedher, and she did not know what to do with that atall.

“Fear?” he repeated, very carefully.

She had to swallow to speak, but she certainly wasn’t going to let thisawarenessof him as a man stop her from speaking her mind. Stop her from her goal. “Yes, I think you’re afraid of anything that might remind you that you’re alive.”

She led him to a stall that sold Christmas treats, trying to cast back to think if she’d ever known what Diego might favor in terms of dessert.

“Alive,” he repeated in the same stunned, offended kind of manner, but he allowed himself to be tugged along. “You do realizeyourfather isalsodead because of me?”

So many things about that sentence caused her pain. The finality of the worddead. A reminder that she would not return to the castello and find her father waiting for her. But as big as all that hurt was, she also felt a deep, sharp edge of sympathy for what must be going on in Diego’s mind to blame himself so fully, so simply. “Diego, fault is complicated.”

“You’ll find in this case it is not. There is no arguing it away. They waited for me. I let them. I had no intention of coming. The wait was pointless and allowed the weather to turn, thus causing the plane to crash.”

He delivered this all dispassionately, but underneath that layer of stoicism, of distance, was the pain that caused this self-recrimination. Amelia’s heart ached for him, but she knew that would be rejected, so she sought to deal in facts and reality over feelings.

“Who’s to say they would have survived if you had been there and on time?”