Page 216 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

“Maybe you should,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder.

“Maybe,” he said, and his brow furrowed, as if he really was considering it. “I just think about the ways it could have gone differently. Because we never know what would have happened if we had chosen differently, do we?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “I think about that, too. My parents have changed over the years. There were times when I understood or even agreed with why they made the choices they did, but now I wonder if I should have pushed back earlier.”

It was strange that over the last year, as her plans had evolved, she had been so focused on the immediate problem of keeping both her and her sister out of harm’s way that she hadn’t stopped to assess her complacency. Maybe she should have taken them on directly.

“I don’t think this is my fault,” she added. “I’m just wondering if there were different versions of how this could’ve played out.”

“We don’t control others. We only control our own actions.”

She smiled at him. “It’s easier to see that for others than it is to believe it for ourselves, right?”

His lips twitched up, hinting at a wry smile.

“We control our actions, and we always have options which we freely choose from,” she mused, “but everyone is choosing from the options that the world around them presents. I’m just wondering what options I would have had if I’d stood up to them a long time ago.”

“We’ll never know. We only know where this one path led.” He shifted and wrapped his arm around her, and she lay her head on his shoulder, as if they had all the time in the world.

Chapter Eleven

Gustav wasn’t sure why he had come to this house full of memories. He had fully intended to stop at the docks of the next town, where they accommodated yachts, but instead, he put down anchor in the bay of the village where he was raised.

It was strategy, he told himself. He was softening her to him in the campaign to uncover the last of her secrets, the ones that were “complicated,” that she needed time to think about. To uncover any unwelcome surprises before the final stage of his plan was in motion. So why had he found himself showing her far too much of a past that should stay in the past? Gustav felt no urge to answer that question.

Her head rested on his shoulder, and wisps of her hair danced in front of him, blowing in the wind. He kept his arm wrapped firmly around her and stroked her bare skin with his fingers. His suspicions had eased, but he knew he was still missing something important. Strategically, it was in his best interest to uncover her motivations, though a voice deep inside insisted that the reasons he wanted to know had nothing to do with strategy.

They had to do with emotions that had no place in his plan because this marriage was headed for ruin, and far too much was at stake for him to turn back now. He was not just seeking his own justice; he was seeking justice for his country. But right now, with Livia’s warm, soft body next to his, the price of setting in motion the PR campaign that would bring his father to his knees felt too high. Livia would leave him for her Greek island, and their marriage would become one in name only.

It was better for both of them this way, of course. Tender emotions didn’t survive in the world he lived in. He could not afford them, and the last thing he wanted was for Livia to lose the softest parts of herself. So, he would find a way to accept their future. And the explosive frustration that bubbled inside him when the idea of her leaving him passed through his mind…he would find a place for that, too. Later.

He pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in her scent as he kissed her, and he felt that familiar heat charge between them, but he didn’t follow it up. Instead, he did the last thing he wanted to do. He let go of her.

“Let’s eat,” he said and helped her to standing. He gestured down the stone steps to the seaside beach house. “This way. I’ve ordered our meal to be served by the water.”

The house was perched on a rocky outcrop just a little more than a meter above the water. It was built in the same general style as the main house, with whitewashed wood and two dormer windows peeking out of the second-story loft. But the front was lined with windows, giving a view of the two sailboats tied to the dock and the sea that spread out beyond.

“This looks small for royal tastes,” said Livia with a wry smile.

“I built it years ago as a place to eat and warm up in after a swim during the summer. I also come down here and build a fire in the fireplace to enjoy the seashore during the colder months of the year.”

“You built it?”

“I was interested in energy alternatives and green building, so I thought I would do my first tests here.”

“And then you expanded to public works projects?”

“Nepotism has its advantages, even if you are the Bastard Spare.”

Livia laughed, and he was surprised to find that the sharp edges had worn off that tired insult. This was the hidden threat in allowing himself to soften, he reminded himself. The allure to delay his plan and focus on her was strong and dangerous.

“Are we spending the night here or up at the main house?” she asked.

A scene spread out in his mind in the loft of the beach house that he had built with his own hands, holding himself over her, thrusting as the waves crashed into the rocks below. Something warm and dark and threatening seized his heart. He pushed the image out of his mind.

“We will return to the boat after we eat,” he said.

When they finally sat at the table, with the French doors open to the deck above the water and dishes of fish and salads and fresh breads spread out in front of them, Livia lifted her glass of wine and smiled. “What shall we toast to?”