Page 128 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

She had not gone to the party.

Tonia had simply banged on her bedroom door, told her to stop sulking and no one would miss her anyway.

Eleanora had learned her lesson. She would never need to learn it again. Now, she never tried to make anything of herself.

She could see it in Sanzio Bastoni’s eyes as he got to his feet as she was shown to his table in the hotel’s renowned restaurant. His gaze flicked over her as she took her seat, then it was veiled. She was disturbingly aware of her response to his powerful—but completely uncalled-for—impact on her, and tried to still it. It had no place here at all. This evening was just about the Palazzo—and trying to persuade the man jilted by her capricious sister not to buy it.

Because he must be considering it, she’d realised—why else continue the discussion over it? Why even agree to see her in the first place if he wasn’t interested? She felt her nerves tighten. Somehow, she had to put him off the idea.

‘What would you like to drink?’ Sanzio Bastoni’s voice interrupted her anxious thoughts.

‘Oh, um, just mineral water, please—sparkling,’ she replied.

He was looking at her, she realised, with that same unnerving, assessing look as in his office.

‘No, you don’t look like a cocktail type of female,’ he observed. ‘Unlike your sister.’

Eleanora didn’t say anything.

Sanzio Bastoni made another observation. ‘Your father is fond of all kinds of alcohol, so I understand.’

It was said without expression, but Eleanora tensed. She made no rejoinder to that either. What did he expect her to say? Perhaps nothing, for he simply went on, ‘He is fond, too, of the gaming tables.’

He paused, lifting an eyebrow, his eyes still on her. ‘You have no comment to make?’ he posed.

Eleanora looked at him. ‘I’m unclear what relevance either has on the subject of our discussion,’ she returned.

Sanzio Bastoni’s head tilted slightly. ‘Really?’ he replied.

Her water arrived and she was glad. Made a play of taking a sip. ‘It is the Palazzo I am here to discuss with you, is it not?’ she countered, replacing her glass.

He didn’t reply for a moment, and she felt that levelling, assessing gaze on her again. She met it this time, chin going up very slightly. His expression changed.

‘Ah, there it is. I wondered if I might see it,’ he said.

Eleanora frowned. ‘See what?’

His mouth twisted at one side. ‘Your ancestry coming out.’

She looked blank. He lifted a hand. He had large hands, she noticed, with square palms and strong fingers. Working hands.

‘Your sister does it too. Up goes the chin, and down goes the impudent peasant who presumes to challenge her!’

Eleanora made a slight apologetic moue. ‘Yes, Tonia can do that,’ she admitted. Then realised she was being tactless, and coloured. ‘I can’t imagine she ever did it with you,’ she blurted out.

A low sound came from his throat. ‘Can’t you?’ he said.

His eyes were very dark, and there was something in them that made her speak hurriedly. ‘Well, if she did, she was an idiot!’

His expression changed. ‘How so?’

‘Because, Signor Bastoni, it would not be wise to insult you.’

She held his eyes, meaning what she said. Then, immediately, another thought was given voice by her before she could stop it. ‘She really must have been mad to turn you down!’

The moment it was out, she regretted it. It was none of her business—none—and it also had absolutely nothing at all to do with the sorry business of the Palazzo.

Mortified, she seized her menu, busied herself studying it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sanzio Bastoni pick his up nonchalantly, cast a brief look at it, then replace it. The waiter was gliding up to them.