Page 96 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4

CHAPTER NINE

Amelia had not slept well. Fueled by too much sugar because, yes, she’d mainlined a lot of 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.

And when she thought of the boy her father had worried about, she thought about the man who’d sequestered himself on an isolated mountain thinking he was somehow…punishing himself.

Self-destructive, yes. But it wasn’t the guilt she thought that was causing it. It was the grief. Grief and pain that were clear as day in his dark eyes.

Dark eyes that drank her in like she was something delicious. He’d caged her against that counter, and a selfish man, at least to Amelia’s way of thinking, would have taken whatever he wanted, damn the consequences.

But he had not pushed her, had not initiated the taste. She had, and he had let her. Maybe he had kissed her back, but she knew something more lurked under the surface. He’d let her set the tone.

What would it be like if he broke through said surface and took what he so clearly wanted?

And so, on went the thought cycle, always coming back to what if , and the incessant, needy throb of her body that hadn’t stopped since he’d loomed over her.

She was well aware there were ways she could handle the edgy thwarted desire herself. But she couldn’t bring herself to do so as long as he was there, when she might have to face him knowing why she’d done it.

Had he handled his own thwarted desire, down the hall in his bedroom?

Which brought images of that first morning, and his naked body. Would he have taken the long, hard length of himself in his own hand and—

She rolled over and gave a frustrated scream into her pillow.

She had gone into this knowing she couldn’t plan anything. People were unpredictable, and she hadn’t known how Diego would respond or react to anything—except knowing he’d be reticent to return to normal life, to let his guilt go.

She’d known he’d be perhaps even more than reticent to see himself as a good man, as her father had so genuinely wished for him.

But she had not, under any realm of possibility, counted on finding this sort of all-encompassing attraction she’d only previously read about.

Never experienced. She had not expected it to swamp her, distract her and otherwise make everything she’d set out to do seem as though it was on a shaky foundation.

She supposed why it was so frustrating was that she didn’t quite know how to handle the attraction side of things, no matter how many different tactics she tried.

Throwing herself into it hadn’t gone well—he’d left her feeling needy and alone.

Keeping herself apart didn’t do much either—she was still obsessing over him.

So what was the answer?

She didn’t know, and that was obnoxious. She was a careful, determined person. She made plans and accomplished them. She didn’t wander around not knowing what to do. Her parents had both raised her with the expectation that if you noticed a problem, you endeavored to solve it.

Maybe this wasn’t solvable in all those easy ways, but it didn’t mean she could shirk her other responsibilities. So she forced herself to set it aside, set Diego aside. She went through a quick—cold—shower, then went down to breakfast and her to-do list for the day.

This morning, she would work on ball preparations.

In the afternoon, she would convince Diego to accompany her down to a nearby village for a nice stroll.

The nearest village put out elaborate nativity scenes made by local artists every year—something she wasn’t sure he’d attended in his youth but knew his parents had donated money to the artists in years past, so he had to have some awareness of them.

And they would be outside, so she would not have to deal with what happened in the kitchen.

No, she wasn’t going to hide from it. She just needed some time to…sort through it. And being alone didn’t seem to be the best way to do that. Not…just yet, anyway.

Satisfied with this plan, she went downstairs and poured herself some coffee before settling into her small office.

It had once been Aurora’s “music room,” and Amelia kept the small antique piano in the corner.

Sometimes when she felt lonely, she’d go play a tune and imagine the house was still full and no one had died.

She wondered what Diego would think of that story. Would he commiserate? Or would that be too close to feeling for him to take on board?

She shook her head, irritated with herself for obsessing over him.

Yes, her holiday project was getting through to him by year’s end, but that didn’t mean every waking moment had to be about what he thought or felt.

Especially not if she was going to make certain this ball was everything she wanted it to be.

“Good morning.”

Amelia jolted, sloshing a bit of coffee over the rim of her mug. She blinked up at the intrusion to find Diego standing in the doorway.

Sounding cheerful. Amelia didn’t trust it, but she returned his smile anyway. She met his positive attitude with her best approximation of one. “Good morning.”

He was dressed for the day in casual attire, and he walked into the room like he owned it.

Because he does, Amelia.

He looked around and seemed to take in the different details. Did he remember his sister playing music—or, more often, refusing to play—here? Did this room mean nothing to him? She couldn’t tell. Especially when he said nothing, just walked the perimeter of the room.

The silence gave her too much room to think—about last night, about her night. So she blurted out the first question she could think of. “Did you sleep well?”

He paused ever so slightly, studying her as if looking for a deeper meaning to the question. Which reminded her of what had kept her up most of the night and made her cheeks warm.

She thought she recognized amusement in his gaze, but his expression remained neutral enough to pretend like she was imagining things.

“Yes, I suppose I did,” he said, approaching her desk, then taking a chair and pulling it up across from her.

Silence stretched out, and Amelia had to swallow because even though she tried not to, she seemed to be reliving that kiss right here. The soft give of his mouth, the hard lines of his body, the way it had fizzled through her like a dangerous liquid she only wanted more of.

“Can I help you this morning?” She tried to keep her smile in place, but it became more of a grimace as she heard the squeak in her own voice.

He leaned back in the chair, folded his arms behind his head. “I have come to do your bidding.”

“My…” Her brain short-circuited for a moment. What exactly was her bidding? Playing games? Last night? Something…else?

“You did want me here for the Christmas ball, did you not?” he asked, just a little too pointedly.

“Yes, the ball. Yes.” She forced another smile at him that she hoped looked in control and as if she were humoring him with just a dash of condescension. “I’m hoping you’ll attend of course.”

“That is the plan, as it stands. But it is not for some time yet. Surely there is much to do to prepare. I seem to recall my mother running about, pulling out her hair, the weeks before.”

“Yes, she did often get…overwhelmed.” Amelia had always felt Mrs. Folliero simply enjoyed any reason to be dramatic, to yell at the people who worked for her, while having a simple excuse like the ball so she didn’t need to really apologize.

Father had explained to her, in his gentle way, that sometimes Mrs. Folliero needed some attention, and that was the only way she knew how to go about getting it.

Amelia studied Diego. She wondered how many of his issues were simply from not knowing . How to get the attention he wanted, or the care, or whatever it was.

Surely growing up pampered had left some lessons fully unlearned. Just as Mrs. Folliero hadn’t known how to behave when she wanted attention. She hadn’t known to just ask . She’d had to create drama.

So Diego didn’t know how to be good, or heal, or feel his guilt. He needed her to teach him.

“So put me to work,” Diego said, spreading his big hands wide on the desk between them.

“To…work,” Amelia echoed, her thoughts scattering as she took in how big his hands were. That there were calluses and scars because he had been physically punishing himself for two years.

What would it feel like to have rough, scarred hands on her bare skin?

He leaned forward, that same amusement sparkling in his eyes while his face showed none of it. “Is your hearing all right this morning?”

Amelia did not understand what had changed. She did not know how to accept this change. Was it some kind of trick? It certainly couldn’t be a genuine change of heart already.

Could it?

No. He was…playing a game. And she could certainly play back.

She ignored his question about her hearing, swallowed her hammering heart and clasped her hands over her notebook.

“Yes, there is much already in place, but much to do to ensure it all goes smoothly. We have a kind of theme this year.” She looked from her notebook to him, making sure to meet his gaze and hold it.

“As it’s the first Christmas ball since we’ve lost them, I wanted to honor Christmases past. Both nostalgic, but also a kind of…memorial. To what we lost.” She watched him carefully. His expression betrayed no feeling on the matter.