Page 121 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

‘I thought we discussed everything.’

‘That was a very long time ago.’

‘You make us sound old.’

‘You’ve been drinking.’

‘What’s your point?’

He expelled a rough breath, sick of this conversation now. ‘I don’t have time for this, Juanita. Go back to your husband, talk to him.’

‘I don’t want to.’

He gripped the phone more tightly. ‘That’s your prerogative, but I’m done with this conversation. Goodbye.’

He disconnected the call and replaced his phone on the bench. Not for the first time, he contemplated putting a block on her number. It would have been the more emotionally healthy response. Nothing good ever came of these calls. If anything, they left him feeling hollowed out and catapulted back into the past. Reminded of the way his world had shattered twice within the space of a few years first with the death of his father. It had been Juanita who’d helped him rebuild. Juanita who had become his rock, when no one else had cared. But she was a princess in the sense of her family’s treatment of her. She was seen as the apple of their eye, the only daughter of doting, very wealthy parents, who stood to inherit everything. They’d broken up and three years later she was married to an Italian count. A suitable man, who made her miserable.

He glanced back at his phone, this time to check the time. Almost five. Something tightened in his gut, something he hadn’t felt for a long time. Anticipation built inside of him, but so too did the doubt and the feeling that Astrid might not come.

Was it the conversation with Juanita that had reminded him of that awful feeling of worthlessness? Was it those long-ago memories of his stepmother’s treatment of him that were always there, though buried deep inside? It had been a very long time since he’d felt anything but confident with women. He had no issues finding someone to share his bed for as long as it suited him, though he was always careful to be clear about his expectations from the beginning. He had no interest in becoming someone else’s heartbreak. He generally slept with women who understood that his level of interest in commitment was subzero.

Well, that could definitely be said for Queen Astrid. While she needed a husband, he wasn’t interested in being considered for the job, whatever the media might have to say about it. Whatever his initial revenge instincts might have been.

He’d determinedly stayed offline, rather than see what the gossips were reporting. He didn’t care what people said about him and he hoped she felt the same. But if everything went according to plan, this would remain their secret. There was something so illicit about that, so sensually tempting, that he found himself walking around his apartment with a sense of pleasurable anticipation he hadn’t known in a long time.

* * *

In the end, running away was easy. She didn’t know why she’d never attempted this before, even if just to be driven around the city without a motorcade and hordes of people lining the footpaths. She’d told Anja a friend was picking her up and that she’d prefer to keep the visit out of her formal diaries. Anja, always the soul of discretion, had nodded without revealing a hint of emotion, asked if any security arrangements were necessary, then nodded once more when Astrid had said no.

Javier’s car was discreet and private. An unmarked black vehicle without any visible badging, it was sumptuous and comfortable with darkly tinted windows, so no one could see in. Anja had walked her to the car to ensure no servants enquired about her destination and then she was off, being driven through the gates of the palace, with a heart that was racing and a body that was surging with a need she’d never known before. A need that had refused to listen to reason and be tamed, even when she’d tried to convince herself this was foolish and something she’d come to regret.

She knew, even as she spoke those sage words to herself, that the opposite was true. If she didn’t go to him, she’d always regret it.

She had the rest of her life to be dutiful. To marry a man her parliament approved of, to have the children that were necessary for the continuation of her royal line. This was one night, her night. She wasn’t going to overthink it or get bogged down in what would come next.

She knew the life that lay ahead of her, but that felt like a thousand miles away from where she was now.

Astrid settled back into the supple cream leather of Javier’s limousine and enjoyed looking out at her city, almost as if for the first time. As with every year, the capital was dressed for Christmas, with lights spanning from one side of the wide boulevard to the other, glowing with a golden warmth against the softly falling snow. Every store window she passed had been decorated for the festive season, in the style that was traditional for Norvenheim. It felt impossibly cosy and beautiful.

Ordinarily, when she was in the city, she was aware of how many eyes were upon her, watching her every move, filming her, taking photographs, and her concentration was necessarily on being just what everyone expected. Not a single hair out of place, outfit just as it ought to be, posture straight, smile plastered on. Now, she was unobserved, silent and stealthy, slipping through the streets in the biggest luxury of all—anonymity.

The car came to a stop at traffic lights and hordes of people bustled across. Some carried shopping bags, bursting with last minute gifts, others briefcases and mobile phones, dashing home after a day in the office. She smiled to herself, knowing how shocked they’d be to think they’d been this close to her and not known it.

The sense of being completely anonymous only added to the delicious sense of secrecy. The fact she was doing something just for herself and no one knew it. The sense of excitement only grew as the car began to drive once more. It wasn’t until they reached a driveway in an exclusive riverfront suburb and turned into it, dipping into an underground garage, that butterflies began to beat their wings against her belly.

She wasn’t sure where she might have expected him to live. It was another shortcoming in Astrid’s life that she had very little experience going into ordinary homes. If things had been different, she might have gone off to university and lived in an apartment with a friend or two. But becoming the heir to the throne at fourteen had fundamentally changed the direction of her life. Let alone being the sole heir. Great care was taken with her safety, meaning she stopped going to school altogether. Instead, she had tutors attending to her daily and had lessons shaped around the necessities of her royal future.

Her experience of domestic life had been solely formed inside the palace walls. She’d watched TV shows though, and movies, so she knew enough about what a normal house was to know that Javier’s place didn’t qualify as such, not even remotely.

The garage was the beginning of that. It was large enough to house a fleet of vehicles, though only two were in evidence—the car she had been driven in and another sleek gunmetal grey sports car. Once undercover, a heavy sliding door closed over the garage, enclosing her completely. A thrill ran the length of her spine.

When the vehicle came to a stop, the driver stepped out, came to her door and opened it, in a gesture with which Astrid was well familiar. Doors were always opened for her, but the fact this man was yet another person in their web of secrecy had her glancing at him and relaxing. It was impossible to say exactly why, but there was something inherently trustworthy in his face. She smiled and winked at him, earning the briefest flicker of a smile in return. His skin was a deep tan and his hair black. When he spoke his accent was Spanish, reminding her of the fact Javier lived there, rather than here. Meaning this home of his was no such thing and was more of a place in the city.

‘This way please, Your Majesty.’

She nodded her acceptance and walked on sky high heels towards the elevators. The doors opened as soon as they approached. Astrid was about to step inside when she saw that Javier had come down to greet her. He wore the same suit as he had earlier that day, only he’d now discarded the jacket and the sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to reveal his tanned forearms. Her throat suddenly felt dry as her gaze fell to his hand and remembered the magical power of his fingers. Her pulse raced, her insides twisted.

‘I’ll take it from here, thank you, Enrique,’ he said with a curt nod.