Page 154 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4

She’d put her mouth on him. He could not fully come to grips with this turn of events. His assistant. Bartolo’s young daughter. A woman who didn’t evenknowhim—not really.

She’d pressed her mouth to his, and he would never be able to erase the hint-of-sugar-and-vanilla taste of Bartolo’s daughter.

Bartolo, who was supposed to have workedforDiego but had set expectations for him instead. Who had pointed out his extravagances and the way he lashed out to hurt. Who had calmly, steadily insisted there was a better way to be than the way Diego chose.

Without ever turning away from him. Without ever despairing of him. For years, Diego hadhatedBartolo, this “assistant” who had felt more like a nanny or prison warden. Who could not be swayed by threats or bad behavior.

And then it had slowly shifted, until Diego craved those behavioral guardrails. He’d still enjoyed his excess, his irresponsibility, but with a guiding point ofright, he’d felt less self-loathing. Less self-destructive.

Still quite a bit of loathing for his family. Still plenty of selfish desires he wasn’t about to resist. But there’d been a sense that once hehadto, he could make himself into a more respectable person.

And then all those selfish desires he hadn’t curbed caused them all todie. While he lived.

Lived long enough to kiss Amelia Baresi. Not as monstrous as murder, but at the moment, with the desire for her still roiling through him, it felt similar. It all felt dire, like the weight of it should bury him alive.

Instead, he lived. He moved. He…

You breathe,caro. You are alive. This cannot be changed in this moment any more than death.

She had said those words to him, with a gentleness he could not grasp, could not understand. Bartolo had been steadfast. Diego had known that, for whatever reason, the man had cared for him, wanted him to be better. But it had not been centered in the warmth his daughter now extended him.

As if Amelia understood some piece of what went on in his mind. But shedidn’t, because she thought it was a self-punishment he did not deserve.

He pushed through his room and then out the French doors onto the terrace outside his room. He had brooded out here many a winter night, frustrated that his parents insisted on this isolated mountain retreat for theentireChristmas season.

He’d felt like a prisoner then. Because it had all been a performance. They hadn’t wanted to spend quality time together; they’d wanted to show off their picture-perfect family to… Diego didn’t even know. Who had they been trying to impress? And forwhat?

Even now, it filled him with an impotent anger to go along with all the other jagged edges cutting around inside.

He sucked in a breath out here in the dark. The air was frigid, the mountains grim shadows all around him. Lights dotted the landscape—from the castello, from the village beyond.

He was no longer a teen simply angry he was stuck here, though there was some irony to be found. His body raged like a teenage boy who’d never touched a woman. His frustration blazed in much the same way as it had back then.

Except everyone fromback thenwas dead.

And the woman causing him to feel like a thwarted, hormonal teen was his punishment. Yes, he deserved this. That kiss. Her interest. He deserved having to resist it all.

And there was the answer. This was pain, and so this was right.

Every day, he would force himself into her orbit. Every day, he would resist whatever she offered. Every damn day, until something broke. Until it felt like enough, or she sent him back to his seclusion.

He sucked in the icy air and began the process of settling. Yes, that was the answer. Throw himself into all she wanted, into her, but resist this magnetic physical pull. Day after day after day. The more it hurt, the better punishment it was.

Christmas markets, Christmas cookies. The whole thing. Down to the Christmas ball. This was what she was insisting on having. This was what she’d collected him for. The damn ball.

He wanted nothing to do with it. He never had—and now that it was nothing but a memory of everything he’d killed with his carelessness, he wanted it even less.

So he would involve himself in every last detail. He would throw himself into the planning and execution and spend every last hour of the ball weekendsocializingwith the people who had once attended his parents’ parties.

This time, with Amelia at his side.

Pain was the price, and he would finally be paying it in full.

CHAPTER NINE

Ameliahadnotslept well. Fueled by too much sugar because, yes, she’d mainlined alotof those Christmas cookies. But also fueled by too much internal flummox. She kept replaying that kiss in her mind, even when she tried not to. She tried to think about plans for the ball, Christmas events she could take Diego to. She even stayed up later than usual reading through her father’s journal, thinking the sadness over his absence might penetrate this strange haze around her body.

But too many entries were about Diego, his self-destructive tendencies and how little the elder Follieros seemed to know what to do about it. How they enabled his refusal or inability to look within and what her father had done to try and rectify it.