Page 183 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4

It was a sharp order that made him open his eyes once again. It wasn’t real, but he couldfeelthe words. The guilt. Guilt and ghost voices. Proof enough it was just some sort of dark, twisted fantasy.

Because why should Bartolo feel guilty for dying when he’d had no say in it? He hadn’t crashed that plane. He’d simply gotten on it and waited for Diego. Just as his family had.

For some reason, he remembered Amelia asking him why he hadn’t blamed the pilot, when he’d had a choice not to take off. He remembered what she’d said earlier—last night? “Guilt is just a phase of grief, a misguided belief we have some control, but we havenocontrol. Not about the end.”

It seemed to hit him harder now. The idea that guilt was only grief. Only an attempt at controlling the uncontrollable. He’d rejected it when she’d said it, not because she was wrong, but because…

It hurt. It hurt to have lost them for no damn reason. It felt better for him to be the reason. It felt better to punish himself than grieve that which he could not change.Ever.

Come now.

The voices were insistent, some combination of his parents and Bartolo, a clear enough delusion. But insistent.

Diego didn’t want to move, but it seemed wrong to ignore the voices that couldn’t possibly be around him. He managed to roll over onto his stomach. He tried to push up, but his arms shook with the effort and his vision swam with agony.

Crawl if you must, Bartolo’s voice insisted.

Still, Diego saw nothing, but it felt as though… It felt as though someone was there, pushing him.

He managed to get onto his hands and knees, and as the voice that couldn’t possibly be an actual voice suggested, he crawled. Toward the sound of an argument that reminded him of the last time he’d seen his family.

Mother and Father chastising Aurora, while she glibly retorted barbs designed to make them madder.

It wasn’t his family. It couldn’t be. He didn’t believe in ghosts or angels, and they were most assuredly dead. He was simply going insane, but that didn’t make him stop his crawl. Because if he could find his phone…

And there it was. He could see it a ways off, lying on top of a large piece of shattered car window. Still so far away.

He’s never going to make it.

Aurora’s harsh words spurred him on, but a few sad attempts to crawl later, he had to admit to himself she was right. He couldn’t seem to make his body move forward anymore. His arms shook so hard and eventually just gave out, earning him a face full of snow.

I’m going to do it.

He didn’t know what Aurora thought she was going to do—considering she was dead, just a vocal hallucination. He heard voices calling his name insistently even as he sank into the snow.

Mother. Father. Aurora. Bartolo. All insisting he move. But he couldn’t. He was fading again. Dimness crept around his vision. The pain was numbing into something else. Was it death?

Maybe. Maybe he’d join the voices all around him. Maybe it was all there was to be done.

All because he’d sought to get away from Amelia’s love. It seemed so foolish now, with all this pain swamping him. Why had he been so determined to run away from what she offered? How had he fooled himself into believing he was saving her, when all he’d done was hurt her?

You always hurt the people you love.

But if he’d stayed, he wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t be here. If he’d stayed, worked through his fear, found some courage, he wouldn’t have hurt her like this. What a waste to realize this now, as he was dying.

Except he realized he hadn’t heard any voices in a while.

And he wasn’t dead just yet, because what hedidhear was sirens in the distance.

Amelia had considered calling for a cab since Mondo and his father were busy using the castello cars to get guests to the airport. She had considered having Mondo drive her up to the cabin—where she wouldnotgo see Diego at all. She’d simply get in her car andgo.

It washercar after all.

But rushing through her decision to leave for good made her feel like she was running away rather than making a careful, informed decision. So she took her time. Made arrangements for the staff. Wrote her letter of resignation, which she would leave with Mondo to deliver to Diego once she was gone.

She waited for the guests to filter out, wished them happy holidays and wonderful New Years with a smile frozen to her face. While Mondo was driving the last couple to the airport, she packed.

When he returned, she’d ask him to takeherto the airport.