Page 143 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

Could she really not bring herself now to do what he was asking, even if she dreaded it?

Though why would he want to go out to dine with me? What for? I’m no one’s idea of a trophy wife! Not like Tonia!

And anyway—

She clutched at the only straw she could think of. ‘I can’t possibly dine out. I haven’t got anything suitable to wear. That outfit we bought today is daywear.’

‘That one is, yes,’ he agreed, and his tone now was smooth. Very smooth. ‘But you see, Eleanora, that wasn’t the only outfit we bought. I bought everything the commessa said suited you. Including—’ his voice became smoother still ‘—something you didn’t try on, but which she assured me would be perfect for dining out. She showed it to me while you were in the changing rooms. It all been delivered here this afternoon, while we were out—the concierge put the bags in my room. I’ll bring them into yours so you can take a look.’

He smiled down at her, and in his expression now was encouragement. ‘You can do this, Eleanora, I absolutely promise you. You’ll look wonderful.’

She opened her mouth to protest that however wonderful the clothes would look, she would be just the same as always. Dull and boring and totally not a trophy wife. But Sanzio held up a hand.

‘That was the doorbell,’ he said. He looked pleased. ‘Bang on time.’

‘What’s bang on time?’ Eleanora asked in a hollow voice.

Sanzio smiled down at her. ‘Your stylist,’ he told her.

* * *

Sanzio, dressed for the evening ahead in his tuxedo, took another mouthful of his beer sitting back on the sofa and tried to curb the thread of anxiety he was feeling as he waited for Eleanora to emerge from her bedroom. What if she had balked at cooperating with the stylist, had taken against the dress the commessa had told him would be perfect for her, which he’d agreed with the moment she’d shown it to him…and everything that went with it? What if…?

What if my hopes for her were unfounded?

He could not bear to think so, so he silenced his anxiety—there was no purpose to it—instead trying to focus on the US business channel he was purportedly watching. Then, out in the hallway, he heard a door opening—Eleanora’s bedroom door. He put down his beer, flicked off the TV and sat forward expectantly—half in hope, half in apprehension. There were voices out in the hallway, then the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Then silence.

It stretched. His nerve broke.

‘Eleanora?’

There came no answer. But the door, ajar to the hall, was pushed open. Silently, Eleanora stepped into view.

Relief flooded through Sanzio. And exultation—

Yes, yes and yes—he wanted to punch the air. But he refrained, only let his gaze drink her in as she stood there, still saying nothing, just inside the doorway. Without thinking, he got to his feet and walked across to her. Her face, he realised, looked blank with shock. He took her hands, they were inert in his—except that he could feel a very fine tremor in them.

His eyes swept over her—up then down. Down then up. Then rested on her face.

‘I knew it,’ he said. His voice was low. Intense. ‘I knew it! And now—’ an exultant note entered his voice ‘—finally, you can too. Can see it for yourself.’

His hands pressed hers and he gazed down at her. Her eyes were lifting to his, still blank with shock. ‘Don’t pass out on me,’ he told her. ‘Come and sit down a moment.’

Carefully, he guided her over to the sofa and she sat down gingerly, slipping free her hands, looking up at him.

‘Oh, God, Sanzio, what’s happened?’ She sounded helpless. Bewildered.

Sanzio sat himself down beside her, taking one of her hands again. That fine tremor was still in it. ‘What’s happened,’ he told her, ‘is that Tonia no longer has any power over you.’

She stared. ‘Tonia?’

He gave a short laugh. It had no humour in it. ‘Who else? Oh, your appalling father too, no doubt. I can’t imagine he ever did anything to bolster your confidence in yourself! But now…now…’

He broke off, took a breath, a deep, searing one. He held her dazed, bemused, uncomprehending gaze.

‘Now,’ he told her, and satisfaction was audible in his voice, ‘you can be the beautiful woman I knew you could be—right from the start.’ He smiled at her, warm and appreciative—oh, so, so appreciative. ‘You were just hiding it, that was all. Your beauty. But it was always there. And I could see it, and I wanted you to see it, too. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t believe it. So I knew I had to wait till you could see it for yourself.’