Page 130 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

They were also probably wondering what on earth such an unprepossessing woman as herself was doing with him. If he was moving on from Tonia, it would most definitely not be with a woman like herself.

For a while, he did not return to the subject of the Palazzo. Instead, helping himself to a roll and generously slathering it with butter, he asked, ‘Do you frequent the Viscari when in Rome?’

Eleanora shook her head. ‘I’m very seldom in Rome. And my budget,’ she went on without thinking, ‘doesn’t run to coming here anyway.’

His dark eyebrows rose. ‘Your sister’s budget does,’ he replied.

‘Well, it would,’ she rejoined. ‘Not that she usually pays for herself when she goes out.’

She broke off. ‘I’m sorry, that sounded bitchy.’

She got a sardonic smile in return. ‘Why have looks like hers if you can’t put them to good purpose?’ he posed, his voice as sardonic as his smile.

‘I don’t think she does it deliberately.’ Eleanora sought to mitigate his comment.

‘Don’t you?’ His expression, and voice, were still sardonic.

The sommelier was arriving with the wine, and Eleanora was glad. She wasn’t here to discuss her sister—it was tactless in the extreme, given that Tonia had jilted him.

Having decided the wine was to his liking, Sanzio Bastoni nodded, and his glass was filled up. A hovering aide to the sommelier placed a glass of white wine at Eleanora’s side and she murmured her thanks with a smile. For a second she thought she saw Sanzio looking at her.

Then the sommelier and his aide were disappearing, and Sanzio was lifting his glass to her. ‘To a mutually satisfactory outcome to this evening,’ he said. His eyes rested on her a moment as she picked up her own wine glass.

There was something in his eyes that made, of all things, that disturbing flutter come again inside Eleanora. She squashed it down. It had no place here.

Nor ever would.

* * *

Sanzio savoured his wine, then replaced his glass. Their food arrived shortly—the staff here knew that he did not like to be kept waiting, and neither dish that he and his unexpected guest had chosen took long to cook. Certainly not his Tournedos Rossini.

Memory plucked at him. Years ago, when he was first starting the arduous climb out of poverty, he had treated himself—not here, but a much humbler restaurant—to the luxury of a Tournedos Rossini. He had vowed then and there, that one day it would be his daily fare if he so wanted.

And now it was.

Now, he could enjoy gourmet dining every day, afford anything he wanted, from top marque cars and first-class travel, five-star hotels like this one, wear hand-made suits and shoes, to a luxury office and apartment in Rome, and another set in Milan. As for women—oh, they flocked around him now, the ones who wouldn’t have looked twice at him when he was poor. He could have his pick of them. Including Donna Antonia da Verano—who, in addition to all her obvious appeal as a trophy bride, would have come with a palazzo he happened to want.

Now, however—

Tonia is marrying her marquis, and I— I can only get the Palazzo by buying it.

His veiled gaze went back to rest on the woman opposite him. No greater contrast to her glamorous, sex-siren sister could be envisaged. She was making a start on her sole, and he did likewise with his steak. Time to get on with the purpose of the evening.

‘So,’ he said, decisively, ‘let’s talk Palazzo.’

* * *

Eleanora looked at him carefully.

‘How do we do that?’ she posed. ‘You’ve told me I’m rubbish at negotiating, so what should my next line be?’

He gave a short laugh—though she hadn’t meant to be humorous or jibing, just honest.

‘Why not just tell me why you don’t want me to buy it?’ he replied. His eyes rested on her and there was something in them that she didn’t understand. She veiled her own eyes—she didn’t want to reveal just how desperately she didn’t want the Palazzo to be sold.

‘It would be a risky purchase for anyone,’ she prevaricated. ‘It’s in a poor state of repair.’

‘Caveat emptor,’ he retorted, and there was a caustic note in his voice now. ‘Besides, I am well aware of its sorry condition. I made Tonia take me to see it—she wasn’t in the least keen. One thing puzzled me though. Some repair work has been done on the wing that was the servants’ quarters. What made your father spend any money at all—and why the servants’ wing?’