Page 139 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

She turned away before he could see the way sadness shaped her features. By pure luck, she happened to open the box with the lights first. She removed them, trying to focus on the task, rather than her memories.

‘You don’t continue to put your own tree up in your apartment?’

She glanced at him, then looked back to the tree, shaking her head once.

‘Why not? It seems like a simple thing you could do, to keep that tradition alive.’

She grimaced. How could she admit the truth? That it was simply too hard to echo her mother’s movements, knowing she’d never see her again. ‘I have plenty of trees in the palace,’ she said, stiffly. ‘You have none. This was not optional.’

He seemed to accept her explanation, or at least decided not to push her on it, and Astrid was glad. She could feel her insides twisting. The sadness she always carried spreading through her in a way she resented. This situationship with Javier was about her having something good and happy, all of her own, just for a small time. She didn’t want her grief to tarnish it, even when she knew how much it was a part of her.

But then, his hands were wrapping around her from behind, taking hold of the lights and staying right there, so she was virtually enclosed in a cage of his creation. ‘It’s okay to miss them, Astrid. Especially at Christmas.’

She didn’t trust her voice to answer.

CHAPTER EIGHT

JAVIER DIAMANDI WAS no psychologist. He didn’t generally make a habit of delving into the troubled pasts of the lives of the women he slept with. There was never any need. Everyone had a history, a backstory, a reason for being the way they were.

So why had he seen the way her face flashed—for the briefest moment of time—with shards of grief and loss and wanted to make it all better? Why had he hated the way she’d turned her back on him, to hide those emotions, even more than she already was?

Queen Astrid Thyra of Norvenheim was a study in hiding, he’d come to realise. She felt deeply, but showed little—at least to the outside world. More and more, though, he was seeing beneath that veil, to what was at the heart of her and he didn’t want her to pull back from him. He liked seeing that side of her.

At first, all he could think about was using Astrid as a pawn in his revenge scheme, but very quickly, he’d come to realise that a silver lining of whatever they were doing was removing her, permanently, from the clutches of his stepmother and half-brother. He could save her from them, save her from being chewed up and spat out as he’d been. Perhaps, though, he wanted to save her in general. To be someone in Astrid’s life, even if only for a couple of weeks, that she could talk to.

Which brought him back to the fact he was no psychologist and that none of these impulses made sense. He wasn’t unfeeling, nor was he a bastard. He treated his lovers with respect, kindness and courtesy. But as far as he was concerned, those relationships were always skin deep. Perhaps it was Astrid’s determination to keep him at bay, to hide her innermost feelings, that had him knowing how isolated she was. How cruelly alone. Adored and revered by everyone in the country, celebrated across the world for her stoicism and beauty. She was a single reed, doing her best not to sway in a growing breeze.

When it came down to it, he couldn’t say precisely why she was different, only instincts were demanding he let this play out. Just for now. He would leave Norvenheim, as agreed, and get on with his life. Wild horses wouldn’t induce him to stay in this country, one that he associated with so much of his own suffering and loss. But for now, he was here so he could be here for her, too. He felt Astrid suck in a deep breath and dropped his head, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck.

‘How do you do that?’ she asked, softly, but the words ran with an emotion he didn’t understand at first and then, didn’t like. Fear.

He moved his hands, placing them on her forearms and turning her slowly. Looking down into her face, she was like the queen he’d first met, her expression unmistakably regal and formal, but her eyes were awash with confusion and feeling. ‘Do what, Your Majesty?’

She blinked quickly. ‘You see through me in a way I don’t think I like.’

Something like satisfaction thrummed in his veins. ‘I don’t see through you,’ he said. ‘I see you.’

More quick blinking as she dragged her gaze over his shoulder. Hiding from him. Satisfaction turned to frustration, but he didn’t push it. This was as new to Astrid as it was to him. ‘How?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Is this a sex thing?’

He almost burst out laughing, but didn’t, because her voice was slightly tremulous, as though she was terrified. He sighed roughly instead. ‘Probably. I’m your first lover. That’s emotionally resonant, even when neither of us want it to be.’

She looked into his face again, as if for reassurance. ‘I can’t be with you,’ she said, forcibly.

He arched a brow, understanding her fear. This was feeling too real. Too much. For both of them. ‘I promise, nothing between us is going to change. I’m not staying in the country, you have to marry and move on with your life. We both know the deal.’

She didn’t look reassured though.

‘But you can’t keep me on the outside, like you do with everyone else.’

Astrid had a habit of pressing her teeth into her lower lip when she was angsting. It was the one foible in an otherwise perfect outward demeanour. As she did it then he was tempted to lean down and drag her lip between his teeth instead. To kiss her until there was no room for doubt in her face, only heat and lust.

‘What does that mean?’

He lifted his hands instead, cupping her face, holding her steady. ‘You know you do it. You don’t let anyone in. You have no one in your life you talk to, no one you’re close to. No one you love and let love you back. Right?’