Page 129 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

She pulled a face. Even after losing her family, Christmas was the one time of year when she felt—anything. A connection to history, culture, tradition. A sense that she was a necessary part of the fabric of this country.

‘That offends you.’

She laughed softly, then belatedly recalled the paella he’d made. She lifted her fork and scooped some rice, taking a moment to taste it, aware of his eyes on her the whole time. He was not an insecure man and he didn’t need her praise. While it might have been the convention, it was purely driven by honesty that she said, ‘This is so delicious.’

He dipped his head in silent recognition of that.

‘I suppose Christmas is such a meaningful time of year for me, I find it hard to believe anyone else doesn’t feel the same. In fact, the whole country sort of stops for the next two weeks. It is beautiful and moving. A time of true unity.’

‘I remember.’

‘You must have some traditions you follow. You grew up here, after all.’

His expression shifted ever so slightly, yet she was somehow minutely attuned to him and noticed. The tightening of his jaw, the darkening of his eyes, the way his fingers seemed to grip the fork a little tighter.

‘None that I wish to remember,’ he replied.

She thought about that as she had a little more paella. ‘You weren’t happy here.’

His eyes roamed her face. ‘No, Astrid. I wasn’t.’

She couldn’t say why, but she had a sense that it meant a lot for him to have confided that to her. ‘Why not?’

A muscle jerked at the base of his jaw. Her eyes fell to it, then scraped across to his lips, heat flushing her as she remembered the way they’d felt when they’d tasted her sex. Her insides twisted sharply and she stifled a gasp. She’d never really been curious about sex before. She’d thought of it as a part of marriage, as something she’d do to procure an heir. She’d never imagined she might have the opportunity to explore this side of herself beforehand.

For one night only.

Something dangerous slipped through her.

Temptation.

A desire for more.

More than one night of Javier. She twisted the fork between her fingertips, rejecting that, knowing it was a risk she couldn’t take. Logistically, but also, emotionally.

She wouldn’t let herself want, wouldn’t need. Wouldn’t risk the flipside of that, having known the kind of loss she had.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, reaching out and putting a hand on his, ignoring the sparks that flooded through her. Ignoring everything except the fact she needed to leave. ‘We don’t have to do the whole heart-to-heart thing. I was just making conversation.’

Heart to heart was a misnomer, anyway. She was pretty sure they were two people who adamantly kept that organ well and truly locked away and always would.

CHAPTER SIX

JAVIER HAD FLOWN TO Norvenheim to get the ultimate revenge on Carlotta and Otto. News that he had just acquired the majority shareholding of his family’s business was everything he’d been working towards for years. It had taken stealth and planning, care and diligence, to ensure his machinations weren’t discovered ahead of time. It had been his sole motivation in returning to this country. Yet it wasn’t Javier who approached Carlotta in the end, but rather, the other way around.

Only hours after Queen Astrid had slipped from his mansion, driven back to the palace by a discreet Enrique with their entry arranged by Anja to keep it off the radar of any other nosy palace staffer, his stepmother had arrived at his door. Her expression was mutinous and he didn’t need a psychology degree to understand why.

Yesterday’s newspaper was clutched in her fine-boned hand, the red tips of her nails digging into the paper as though it had somehow wronged her.

‘You couldn’t help yourself, could you?’

He raised a single brow, regarding her with the distaste he felt.

‘This is all anyone is talking about.’

He opened the door wider, wordlessly inviting her inside. He’d prefer not to have conversations of this nature at all, but if they were to take place, behind closed doors was more appropriate.

‘She danced with Otto as well and yet this…’ She brandished the newspaper in his face as she stalked past, slender frame encased in a black coat that was cinched at the waist. ‘This is all anyone can speak of. You.’