Page 150 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4

Part of her wanted to anyway, to prove she could. To prove that it hadn’t affected her at all. But ithadaffected her, and it did not leave her feeling any of the ways she thought she might or should.

She should be afraid. Offended. Disdainful. Wholly and utterly uninterested.

Instead, even the memory left her feeling jittery with excitement. Just thinking about going up to his bedroom had her imagination running wild. He did something to her, and she wanted to dive deep into what that something was and could be.

Why don’t you?

No. That would be… Well, for starters, it would be selfish. It would be about what she wanted, or thought she might want, or at least her body wanted even if her mind had its doubts. It would not be abouthim, even if he had some of the same…wants.

Did he?

She stilled at this internal question. Since the market, she’d been grappling with herself. Her interior thoughts, feelings and reactions. But she hadn’t considered his. Not when it came to the physical reactions he may or may not be having.

He was experienced. He knew what he was doing—stirring up feelings. Maybe he’d isolated himself from the world for two years, and that meant he probably hadn’t had any women up at his little cabin, but he’d spentyearsbeing an adult male moving through the world with extreme wealth, privilege and attractiveness.

He knew what he was doing. He probably knew whatshewas feeling. She, on the other hand, inexperienced and slowly realizing just how sheltered she’d kept herself despite a life of loss, hadnoidea how to navigate these waters.

What did a person do when desire seemed to cloud their usually extraordinarily rational train of thought? What did a person do when being in the same room with a man made them feel like they were a live wire, crackling and exposed? Dangerous.

In all the best ways.

It was moving through her now, that heat, that excitement, and he wasn’t evenhere. And even if he were… He might create these feelings inside her, but did he reciprocate any of them?

Ifhe had any reaction to her, it could simply be that he was a certain kind of desperate born of two years of isolation. He might have this reaction to any woman who crossed his path right now.

Well, that was a depressing thought.

“It should be a reassuring thought,” she muttered to herself aloud. Because no matter how curious she might be about the physical reactions inherbody, it did not mean anything would come of that curiosity.

He was her boss, and she had a singular goal when it came to him.

Her goal was simply to show Diego that his guilt was wrong. There was a natural impulse to blame oneself. Even she had gone through that phase briefly after their deaths. But though she understood too easily how cruel life could be, she’d never been able to sink into that guilt the way he did.

She would have to show him that what he thought of himself was not true or conducive to the life heshouldbe living. Not just because hewasa good person, but because he owed it to the people he’d lost to truly live—the way they could not.

Amelia moved about the kitchen gathering her supplies, feeling wound up and frustrated, which was a common enough occurrence aroundhim, but it was even more annoying when he wasn’t evenhere. She was letting just the thought of him make her crazy.

With a scowl on her face, she measured out flour. Making cookies would soothe her. Would remind her of who she was. Not a sexual being. A practical one who cared about the needs ofothers, not herself. That was the Baresi legacy she was striving to uphold.

She had given the kitchen staff the day off so she could have the kitchen to herself for her annual holiday-cookie baking. She would have invited Diego down, but making cookies was something she doubted Diego had any old memories about. His mother had not been known for her time in the kitchen, or too many maternal instincts at all, but making and decorating Christmas cookies reminded Amelia ofherchildhood Christmases, so she set about to do it for herself. This season might be about bringing Diego back to life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t also enjoy her usual Christmas traditions.

And if he was distracted by cookies, perhaps she could talk to him about the ball. She was getting more confident she could assure his attendance, but she wanted to get a sense of what he remembered about the old Christmas balls, what she could recreate to get through to him.

But she did not think of the ball as she got everything out to make the dough. She did not think of what she would do to convince Diego to attend.

She thought of his mouth. His gaze. His body. And what he could do with all those things if she convinced him to.

Diego had planned to stay far away from Amelia. After all, whatever her role in all this was, it had nothing to do with why he’d decided to stay.

He was here for pain.

But eventually, as the day wore on, he realized that avoiding her was cowardly. That all thisavoidancewas not quite the penalty he had been trying to achieve. Pain meant facing things.

Every second should be a challenging misery. Every moment should be a reminder of all he was that was wrong, that had caused horrible things to happen. Hiding in his comfortable bedchamber was not exactlyfun, haunted by memories of Christmas seasons from his childhood.

But it was not the kind of pain he felt in Amelia’s presence. A kind of sandpaper-under-the-skin feeling. He found himself conflicted over what he should be seeking out. What was the most fitting punishment.

Painful memories. Painful resistance to temptation.