Page 157 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

She stifled the thought, focusing instead on the guest list, making notes, ensuring no one had been left out. Only, even as she focused on the work at hand—duty, duty, duty—he was there, in her mind. Promising her the world, showing his courage and bravery, only to be shut down. By her. Because she couldn’t let herself love. Especially not him. She’d been right, she knew she’d been right, but it didn’t take away from the sting she felt at knowing she’d hurt him. That she’d let him down. Until the day she died, she knew she would see his face, exactly as it had been in that moment, the rejection heavy on his features, just as it might have been when he was a boy and his own stepmother pushed him away.

She almost groaned aloud as she remembered his pain and faced the reality of having been the cause of it. God, how she hated herself for that. How she hated this whole godawful mess.

The ball itself was one of the hardest nights of her life. It was a long event, filled with merriment and cheer, and even Astrid—an excellent performer—couldn’t fake it that well. Not when she felt the exact opposite. She watched the fireworks with a swirling sense of relief, because it meant the whole thing was almost over and she could slip from the crowd and disappear into the palace, to be on her own again. As she was determined she always would be, at least in her heart.

The ball was difficult, but it was nothing compared to the next morning—the first day of the new year. When she checked her phone, out of habit, and went to a major news site, his photo was there. Only, he wasn’t alone.

She sat up straight, her heart leaping into her throat at the sight of Javier, her Javier, with his arm around another woman. The blonde was staring up at him, smiling, looking like the cat that had got the cream. Astrid knew, because that’s how she’d felt, for a small time. That’s how she’d felt when she was with him.

‘Oh God,’ she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth, trying to stop the sob that wrenched from her, but it was too late.

Grief was no longer swallowing her, it was ripping her to shreds. She lay back against her pillows, phone dropped to the bed beside her, and she cried all the sadness, hurt and hopelessness that was buried deep in her heart.

* * *

His first thought was, naturally, of Astrid. It was impossible that she wouldn’t see these photos. Impossible that she wouldn’t jump to the same conclusion as the rest of the world apparently had. ‘Love Rat’ was trending with his name.

So too were stories around him having let the queen down. And maybe he had. He was the one who’d wanted to change the goal posts midway through their relationship. He was the one who’d fallen in love and challenged her to admit to feeling the same thing. What had she done wrong?

Nothing.

She’d been true to her word.

She’d given herself freely, to a point, but then she’d pulled back, just as she’d told him she would.

And now, he had to live with the fact that she would believe he was sleeping with Maria.

Which was precisely what he’d intended to do, he thought darkly. Their relationship had always been convenient and casual. He’d presumed that taking her to bed might give him some perspective, remind him of who he was, but after dinner, he’d walked her to her car, said goodnight with a chaste peck on her cheek and come home to pick up where he’d left off—drinking more scotch than was wise.

Thank God.

He couldn’t imagine knowing Astrid believed he’d moved on if he had in fact done so. At least he had the comfort of the truth.

Which was something, he acknowledged, he probably owed Astrid. Even when she’d shut him down and treated him with glacial disinterest, he knew that had been her protective mechanisms. He knew she cared for him, even if she wasn’t willing to admit that.

Apart from anything, he just didn’t want to be the reason she was hurting. He could manage his own pain, his own sense of rejection, but Astrid deserved better. For Astrid, he’d walk through the fires of hell, if it meant knowing she was happy. Or at least, not unhappy because of him.

* * *

She stared at her phone with an ache in the centre of her chest.

Javier.

Her pulse raced, her mouth dried out, her stomach flooded with butterflies. Her fingertips trembled as she hovered over the screen and then, finally, hit the decline button.

He’d be calling to explain about the photos, to make sure that she wasn’t upset. Because he was that kind of guy. Decent and honourable. And he’d cared for her. He’d even thought he loved her. But love didn’t give way so quickly. Love was not temporary and transient. It was not something that faded so fast.

She knew because she finally understood what perhaps she’d known all along. She was mired in a miserable pit of it, loving someone she knew she’d been right to let go, even when it still hurt like anything. She had fought it, so hard, but that didn’t matter. She’d fallen in love with someone she could never have. She would never be the same again.

* * *

The twelfth night came and went. Astrid continued to keep up appearances, attending the events that had been scheduled for her, smiling, posing for photographs, receiving flowers. But as soon as she was back in the sanctity of her limousine, being driven to the palace, the mask slipped and she allowed herself to wallow in grief once more. To feel and own the sense of loss, to know that it was now a part of her, just like her parents and brother.

How stupid she’d been not to see that.

She’d thought controlling this would lessen the impact. She’d thought that sending him away rather than risking anything happening to him would mean she was safe from heartbreak, but it had found her anyway…

* * *