Page 127 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

‘I understand from my father,’ she began haltingly, ‘that, had you and my sister married, you had indicated that you would like the Palazzo as, well, her dowry, I suppose.’

She glanced up at him, wondering how he’d take such a statement. Had something altered in his expression? She wasn’t sure. He made no reply, only kept that dark, unreadable look on his face. She made herself go on.

‘He’s asked me—’ she plunged right in ‘—to enquire whether, now that you and Tonia… Well, anyway, whether you might still have an interest in the Palazzo.’

She swallowed again, unnerved by the expression—the lack of one—on his face. The entrance of his secretary with a tray of coffee was a relief. As she disappeared, and Eleanora busied herself stirring cream into her black coffee, she heard Sanzio Bastoni speak.

‘He couldn’t be bothered to ask me himself?’ He reached for his own coffee, keeping it black.

She coloured. ‘I think… I think he felt it might be awkward, because of Tonia breaking up with you…’

‘So he sent you to do his dirty work.’ His voice was flat.

Eleanora took a breath. Tension was knifing in her, but now was the time to speak.

‘Well… I’m actually quite glad of it,’ she said in something of a rush. She abandoned her stirring. Said what she’d been bracing herself to say at this moment.

‘Signor Bastoni, do you actually want the Palazzo Verano?’

She tried to keep her tone neutral, but failed. For a second his inscrutable expression held. Then, in its place, another showed.

Amusement.

He gave her a level stare. There was the darkest of glints in them. ‘You don’t really expect me to answer that question, do you?’

She stared at him. ‘Why not?’ she asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he drank his coffee. She, with nothing better to do, did likewise. The atmosphere was strange suddenly, different, though she didn’t know why, nor why he’d seemed amused at her question. She set back her coffee cup, feeling awkward. His were resting on her, quite unreadable.

He’s assessing me, she thought. But just what there was to assess she had no idea.

Except that I am nothing, absolutely nothing, like my glamorous, stunning sister…

But that was a familiar acknowledgement, and in the presence of a man like Sanzio Bastoni even more obvious to her. Another too-familiar emotion went through her.

Oh, to have something, anything, that might actually make a man look twice at me. Or even once. Let alone a man like Sanzio Bastoni.

But when you had a sister like Tonia, how could that ever be possible? It wasn’t, and she knew it only too, too well.

Abruptly, he put his empty cup down, interrupting her depressing but far-too-familiar train of thought. He leant forward, drummed his fingers absently, it seemed, on the surface of the table. Then he glanced at his wristwatch. It wasn’t gold, Eleanora noticed, but steel. It looked lean, and businesslike. Like him. He frowned slightly, seemed to pause, then his eyes went to her.

She still couldn’t read their expression.

‘You must excuse me,’ he said, though he didn’t sound the slightest apologetic. ‘I have a business call coming through shortly. But I wish to continue this conversation.’ He paused again, the very slightest pause. ‘We’ll do so over dinner,’ he said.

Chapter Two

Eleanora stepped off the bus that had brought her from the inexpensive pensione she was spending the night at to the grand Hotel Viscari, one of most prestigious in Rome, in the centro storico, where, to her dismay, she was to dine with Sanzio Bastoni. In her cheap grey suit, she was certainly not dressed for such a swish location, but there was nothing she could do about it. There never was…

She’d learnt that bitter lesson early. Even if she made an effort to dress up, glam up, it was useless. Memory seared humiliatingly. All her life she’d been in Tonia’s shadow, and had learned never, ever to emerge. She’d made an attempt when she was eighteen and Tonia a sultry twenty-one-year-old, men all over her and habitually playing one off against the other, capricious and fickle. It had been their father’s birthday and he had thrown a lavish party at a hotel, and for once, just once, Eleanora determined to make an effort, make something of herself. Oh, not to compete with Tonia, let alone outshine her—that was obviously impossible—but simply to be seen as attractive and pretty in her own right. She had gone to the hairdresser, had her hair cut, coloured and styled, splashed out on a cocktail dress, put on make-up and high heels. Walked out of her bedroom feeling buoyed up and confident.

Only to have Tonia, knocking back pre-party champagne with their father, give a peal of scornful laughter.

‘Oh my God, it’s Ellie-Ellie! Trying to look sexy! Have you ever seen anything more ridiculous?’ she’d demanded of their father. ‘How totally pathetic!’

His derisive laugh had echoed Tonia’s.

Eleanora had stumbled back into her room, Tonia’s continuing mockery ringing in her ears, mortification flushing her face an unbecoming red, tears of shame starting in her eyes.