Page 138 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

There was every need, but he let it go. It would take more than his verbal reassurance to show her what he meant. But then ‘more’ was exactly what he was counting on.

When the time was right.

For now, he dropped the subject and saw her relax again, that visible tension and denial leaving her.

‘Well, there’s no rush,’ he allowed. He reverted to the subject they’d discussed most, the ongoing and prospective work on the Palazzo. She listened attentively, asking informed questions, as he passed on to her what the roofers had been telling him that afternoon, about discovering joists starting to rot from years of water ingress getting under the roof, as they’d begun lifting broken tiles.

‘I’m sorry,’ Eleanora said.

He looked at her. ‘It’s not for you to apologise,’ he said. ‘Eleanora, nothing about the sorry condition of the Palazzo Verano is your fault! You did what you could, spending your own money and getting your own hands dirty doing what you could! I admire you for that, applaud you.’

She flushed again. ‘There was so little I could do.’

‘But what you could, you did.’ He looked at her directly. ‘You are the only one in your family to give a damn about the Palazzo. Which is why—’ he held her diffident, uplifted gaze ‘—you are the only one who deserves it!’

And deserve a lot, lot more—

He let his gaze rest on her, resolve filling him. There was a lot, indeed, that she deserved, and soon, quite soon now, he would be making it happen.

He was looking forward to it. Most definitely.

His eyes glinted, and he got stuck back into his pasta.

Cooked by my very own wife—

It was a satisfying thought. Surprisingly so. Enjoyably so.

* * *

Eleanora paused in pushing the wheelbarrow full of prunings from an overgrown flowerbed. Sanzio had hired in a couple of local gardeners, but there was still plenty of work to go around. Now, en route to the compost heap, she squinted up at the rear façade of the Palazzo. The scaffolding now reached around to the garden side, and several roofers were at work. Two she recognised, but the third—?

With a start, she realised who it was. When she did, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

In the heat of the day, Sanzio, like the other two roofers at work beside him, was shirtless. Eleanora stared—though she knew she should not. Must not.

But she couldn’t resist.

What woman could…? she admitted helplessly to herself.

He was wearing khaki work shorts, exposing his strong legs, his bare torso bronzed and muscular, and broad like his shoulders. Rippling with strength as he levered off a run of broken tiles, his forearms sinewed, dusted gold by the sun, his dark hair ruffled by the light breeze. One of the other roofers said something to him and he laughed. Eleanora caught his profile, how the lines around his mouth indented, accentuating his jawline. He made some riposte and laughed again, as did the two professional roofers. She watched as he accepted a new tile, then, under instruction, affixed it with nails, leaning back to let the roofers check his work. They nodded, and one of them slapped him genially on his bare back in approval. Sanzio laughed again, as if he was pleased at their approbation. As if, thought Eleanora, he wasn’t one of the richest men in the country.

She tore her gaze away; she couldn’t stand there gawping at him. She hefted up the wheelbarrow, her thoughts troubled. She’d hoped that the more time she spent with Sanzio the less impact he would have on her. But as the busy days passed it wasn’t happening.

Yet the days were good—

They’d settled into a daily routine, both working after breakfast, then breaking for a salad lunch, then more work until the end of the day, when Sanzio would go off for a swim in the pool—still functioning, thankfully, though Sanzio had had it cleaned and the broken tiling replaced—while she showered and cooked dinner. She was no fancy chef, but Sanzio evinced enjoyment of her efforts—and always insisted on clearing away afterwards, making coffee and bringing it out to the terrace to drink under the stars.

It was very companionable.

The word struck her, carrying implications. Implications she had not previously considered, or anticipated when she’d embarked on this strange, utilitarian marriage.

Why was it so companionable just to pass the days like this with Sanzio? Was it because they shared a common purpose, the restoration of the Palazzo, which drew them together? She supposed it must be. But it was such a novelty to her, to have someone to share her days with, after living her mostly solitary life here. More than novelty. A pleasure. A pleasure to enjoy…

A ripple of warning went through her as she emptied the wheelbarrow on the compost heap. She must not get too used to this companionable time with Sanzio. After all, at some point in time the restoration would be complete and then there would be no reason for them to stay married. They could—and would, because that was the agreement—go their separate ways.

This won’t last, this time like this. Sharing the days with him.

It was important to remember that.