Page 89 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

“Games?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“You know full well what game I mean. Walking around in that dress with nothing on underneath. Like I wouldn’t notice? You knew that I would. You’re baiting me, Lindsay, and I am not a man that you want to try and put on a hook.”

“And why is that?”

Because I decide that I’m not going to flinch. Why should I? He’s shown his hand. He’s showing me that he’s not immune to me; if he were, then he wouldn’t be reacting this way, would he? No. He would’ve just let it go by. He wouldn’t have had to say anything. That he feels the need to call me out on manipulating him means that it’s working. That he feels close to digging in.

“Because you wouldn’t like the end result. If you think that it would mean anything to me to use you while you’re here, then you’re wrong. I’m a man of vast appetites, cara. But I don’t think you want to be in charge of satiating them.”

“Vast appetites? Does that mean it’s normally your men satisfying that, or are you self-serve?”

“If you seek to goad me, know that I would have no shame in either thing. But it so happens my taste runs toward women. And I have no trouble fulfilling that need.”

“Good. Then since it’s no trouble for you either way, you won’t care about what I do. Looking forward to my outing.”

And then I turn away from him, and make a study of the contents of the closet.

He wants to frighten me; I’m not going to let him. He also wants me.

A surge of something hot, something that doesn’t feel at all like triumph so much as my own response to him, spikes through me.

I do my best to ignore it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lindsay

ONE OF CIRO’S men sends me a message early in the morning telling me that Ciro would like to have dinner with me. Or maybe I’m projecting. Maybe the idea that he would like to have dinner with me is a bit of a strong sentiment. But he has invited me to dinner. He reminds me that I have access to his grandmother’s wardrobe, and I find myself giddy at the prospect of going through it again.

The man is an anomaly. One that I can’t quite put my finger on. Or maybe it’s my reaction to him that feels like an anomaly.

I’m attracted to him; I can’t deny it. But I can’t say that I especially…like it.

I’m also beginning to enjoy this life more than I should. The cashmere clothing in the closet, the lack of concern over where my food is coming from, or whether or not my bills are being paid.

I’ve taken to lounging around the grounds; the pool outside is beautiful, and there are lounge chairs all around it, beautiful flora planted all around, and sometimes when I lie there, I forget that I’m Lindsay. From Alaska. From nothing and nowhere. A waitress in Rome scrapping as hard as she can to live out a dream that probably isn’t going to pan out, because who in the world becomes a famous fashion designer? Not all that many people.

I want to, but is it even a likely outcome, even with how hard I’ve worked? No.

And so I let myself just float in space. I let myself begin to bond with the little life inside of me, whose movements I’m starting to feel occasionally.

It’s sobering and sad, and sometimes I’m afraid I’m losing touch with what I was trying to do with Ciro. Convincing him that we can’t keep the baby.

We. I’ve never been included in this conversation. It’s him. I’m having a hard time remembering what’s real. That’s the problem.

Because here it’s like time doesn’t exist. Here it’s like everything just feels slow and easy, like there isn’t a war going on outside for my life, for the baby’s life.

Ciro’s chef makes incredible fruit smoothies, and honestly, I could lie by the pool for the rest of my life and drink those, and feel like everything is in order, and I am a whole new person besides.

I’ve also made good use of the library. I never read novels. I just don’t have the time. I’m always cramming for tests, reading to get information. But here I’ve been reading for fun. It’s so strange; it expands my mind, shows me pieces of myself that I didn’t understand before. I love mysteries. I like romance too, though I find myself increasingly restless when I read the love scenes. Especially when I see Ciro after.

He’s strong and powerful, beautiful. And just the kind of difficult man that you see featured in books like that. A hard mountain of a male that a woman just needs to fling herself on again and again until he begins to soften.

But I can’t imagine him softening.

And to what end, even?

I don’t know the answer to that question.