Page 129 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

‘My usual,’ Sanzio Bastoni said laconically.

‘Of course, Signor Bastoni,’ the man said deferentially, turning his attention to Eleanora.

‘Oh, the sole bonne femme, please,’ she said, choosing almost at random. She looked across at her host. ‘Does your usual include a primo?’ she enquired.

‘No, but feel free to have one,’ came the answer.

She shook her head. ‘Just the sole,’ she confirmed to the waiter, who nodded and glided off. The sommelier took his place.

‘My usual,’ Sanzio Bastoni said again. ‘But for my guest—she is having the sole bonne femme.’

‘Then may I suggest—’

The sommelier made his suggestion, she nodded, relying on his expertise, and he took his leave.

Sanzio Bastoni leant back again. His eyes went to hers.

‘So why,’ he began, ‘don’t you want me to buy the Palazzo?’

* * *

He saw her start. She hadn’t seen that coming, obviously. But to him it had been apparent from the moment she’d so revealingly demanded, ‘Do you actually want the Palazzo Verano?’

Now, he wanted to know why.

And, if so, what the hell was she doing wasting his time by apparently fronting for her father who, Sanzio did not need it spelling out, was dead keen on disposing of it. For her father, all that was in question was the price. But for her?

He kept his gaze on her, waiting for her answer. Waiting to see what it would be.

She was visibly trying to recover.

‘It’s more,’ she said now, ‘about why you want to buy it,’ she countered. ‘If,’ she added pointedly, ‘you actually do.’

His fingers drummed lightly on the damask tablecloth.

‘You know,’ he said, ceasing his drumming, ‘you’re really not very good at this, are you? Negotiating,’ he clarified. ‘Of course, I am not going to tell you whether I want your palazzo, let alone why.’

‘Well,’ she responded tartly, and it amused him slightly to hear that note in her voice, ‘you can hardly expect me then to answer your question, can you? Or,’ she added pointedly, possibly, he considered, stung by him telling her she was no good at negotiating, ‘if there is even a question to answer!’

He lifted his hand in a pacifying gesture. ‘So then, here we both are, neither of us making any kind of move—and the Palazzo sitting there, unloved and unwanted, so it seems.’

Something moved across her face. Something that was suppressed as swiftly. But suppression came too late. Had she realised? He doubted it. She really was no skilled negotiator.

Unlike her sister.

Tonia had played him to the last, like a pro. He’d known it, obviously, and even enjoyed it, entertaining himself by seeing how far he could push her boundaries. In the end, though, he’d been glad, in retrospect, that he hadn’t pushed as hard as he might have.

He pulled his thoughts away. Antonia da Verano was a ship that had sailed.

A speculative look glinted in the depths of his eyes.

Her sister, though, might just, if he gave it a little more thought, a little more consideration, be a ship that was sailing right towards harbour.

And she had absolutely no idea of it… .

* * *

Eleanora sipped at her mineral water. She felt on edge. Was it only because of the verbal sparring just now, or was it because she suddenly felt all too conscious that here she was at the Viscari, dining—for whatever reason—with a man as dynamically attractive as Sanzio Bastoni? She was well aware that female diners were casting him covert—and not so covert—looks, eyeing him up. He was either oblivious to it or just took it for granted.