Page 113 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

‘It’s been a long time.’

‘Not long enough,’ she said witheringly. ‘And you have no business dancing with Astrid—’

‘Her Majesty,’ he corrected, crossing his arms over his chest, hating the sound of the queen’s name being spoken so familiarly from his stepmother’s lips. The thought of Otto marrying her, of Astrid having Carlotta as a mother-in-law, brought a sense of suffocation to him.

‘The queen is close with Otto. You have no business—’

‘You’ve said that already.’

Her hand raised in a gesture with which he was familiar, her slap unmistakably intended for his cheek, before she remembered they were at the Starlight ball surrounded by people whose good opinion she lived for.

Unlike Javier, who’d given up, a long time ago, about caring what people thought of him. Liberation had come from that and he’d never looked back.

Her hand dropped away.

He wanted to throw his acquisition of the family’s empire in her face and leave again immediately. To get out of this country, as far from his stepmother and brother as he could. But at the Starlight ball, which was hosted by Queen Astrid? Suddenly, the thought of making a scene here in front of Astrid, of creating that PR nightmare for her to manage, was all kinds of wrong.

‘Don’t worry, Stepmother. I’m only in the country for a few days. You won’t have to put up with me for long.’

Her nostrils flared. ‘And the queen?’

His eyes travelled across the room to the stage, where Astrid was once more standing alone like an ornamental figurine. His fingertips flooded with remembered warmth, recalling how it had felt to press against her back, to hold her close.

‘A lovely woman,’ was all he said, layering his words with a smile that might have hinted at something more, then left. He cut through the crowds towards the door, ignoring the way his body was begging him to stop, to turn, to take one last look at the queen.

He didn’t.

A moment later he was out on the palace steps, a flurry of soft snow wrapping around him.

* * *

It had been the early hours of the morning before Astrid had finally gone to her apartment and at least another hour before she’d been able to sleep. She told herself it was simply because the night had been such a success, but she knew the truth.

Whenever she closed her eyes and tried to drift off, she saw him.

Javier Diamandi. With his Viking proportions and those intelligent blue eyes.

After such a late night she would usually take the morning to herself, but a call came through first thing to tell her that the prime minister was in the palace and would like a meeting.

She didn’t have to go. Theoretically, she held the power to refuse him anything but Astrid was carefully following in her parents’ footsteps. They had always held that the best outcome for the country came when the royal family worked collaboratively with the parliament.

‘I’ll be there soon,’ Astrid told her private secretary, who sounded as peeved as she felt.

She dressed quickly. Here was a small way in which she had deviated from her parents, who had followed the old-fashioned tradition of having maids and servants to dress them each morning and for whatever event they had. Astrid worked with the protocol office to ensure her outfits for state affairs were appropriate, but beyond that she was quite capable of, and far preferred, donning whatever outfit she’d selected for the day.

This morning, it was a deep red dress with long sleeves. The jersey fabric hugged her frame. The colour was one she always liked to wear at this time of year. With a week until Christmas, the entire country was buzzing with festive merriment. Nowhere more so than at the palace. Never mind that the merriment didn’t exactly sit in her heart. It was everywhere she looked. She stepped out of her apartment and into the corridor—still a private part of the building for her use—and headed down to her office.

She passed four Christmas trees as she went, small ones that smelled of pine and spruce and which had been decorated in the heirloom ornaments she’d been so fascinated by as a child.

Back then, she’d adored Christmas. It was a huge part of the Norvenheim annual calendar. An event that truly stopped the entire country in its tracks. Streets were transformed into markets with lighting was suspended from side to side. Every town square had a tree that they decorated. Children wandered from door to door, singing carols and raising money for the poor. It was also one of the busiest times of year for Astrid, when the royal family was expected to be most visible. From balls, such as the one last night, to church services, special parliamentary sessions and musical concerts. There was barely a spare moment.

Which made the prime minister’s intrusion into this morning less palatable to Astrid than usual.

She reached for her desk phone and was connected immediately to her private secretary, Anja. ‘I’m here. Send him in.’

‘What do you know of Javier Diamandi?’ The prime minister appeared with a clutch of newspapers and dropped them down on Astrid’s large, ornately carved desk, with a thud. Her eyes fell to them and instantly connected with the photograph on the front page of her and Javier dancing. It was not the clarity of a professional lens. This, she guessed, had been snapped by one of the guests, or even the catering staff.

It was against the established etiquette, but of course she wasn’t surprised. They’d decided not to enforce the removal of guests’ phones. This was the consequence of that.