Page 89 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

Still, he’d promised to talk and he would.

Then perhaps he’d show her physically what he could give her. It wasn’t love, but he was sure it was near enough as to make no difference.

Chapter Eight

Wren told herself she wasn’t nervous, but as the time for Isandro’s arrival got closer, she found herself on edge. The little library was her favourite, but she’d changed her order for refreshments three times already. Scotch for him and chamomile tea for herself, though, quite frankly, if she could drink, she’d have chosen the Scotch, too.

She hadn’t known what would happen after she’d told him that she loved him, then very unceremoniously shoved him. That he would not understand what love was, or even think that he was incapable of it, had never occurred to her.

She’d stared at him in shock as all those words had come out of his mouth, about how he hadn’t loved his parents and how they hadn’t loved him. How he was incapable of it. How he’d never had friends or pets or, in fact, apparently anything. He’d looked at her in puzzlement when she’d asked him whether or not he’d been lonely, as if he’d had no idea what she’d meant. And that was after he’d confessed that he didn’t know if he was capable of loving their child.

That he believed every word he said, she had no doubt. If that’s what his childhood had been like, then no wonder he thought himself incapable of love. But she didn’t believe that herself, not for a second.

He was a passionate man, a man full of longing, and she knew that because she’d spent five years in his presence, slowly and surely falling in love with him. He was passionate about his country and its people, and about the ideas he had for it. Also, that longing she’d seen in his eyes every time he’d looked at her? It wasn’t just sexual, she was sure. They’d had too many intense conversations that he’d seemed to enjoy for it to be just about sex. He was full of anger, too, which she’d seen every time they’d had to clean up after Carlotta. A man who didn’t care, who didn’t love, didn’t get angry. And while she knew he hadn’t actually loved Carlotta, he’d cared about her.

She had no doubt he’d love their baby, too.

But what about you? What if he can’t love you?

That was something she didn’t want to think about, not quite yet. He’d taken a small step in the right direction, though, by agreeing to give her an hour out of his evening every day. She’d been surprised that he’d wanted to talk about their marriage, let alone agree to that, and perhaps she should have refused. It wasn’t her job to educate him, after all.

Then again, this wasn’t only for her. This was for their child’s sake, too, and even for the nation. A man who understood what love was understood his people, and that would only make him an even better king.

She made another pass around the room, adjusting the tumbler of Scotch that sat on the small side table next to the armchair, then twitching the skirt of the dress she’d put on. She’d been nervous about that. The purpose of their meetings wasn’t sex, and she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, so she’d put on a sky-blue, loose dress of fine linen. Casual and understated, and not at all sexy, or so she hoped.

She’d just sat down in the armchair opposite the one meant for him, when the door opened and Isandro came in. He’d clearly just come from work, because he was still in his grey suit trousers and white business shirt, though he didn’t have a jacket or tie.

As usual, he looked phenomenal and her heart shuddered in her chest as he glanced at her and smiled in greeting. A genuine, warm smile, as if he’d missed her and was pleased to see her.

He must feel something for her if he’d agreed to do this. He had to. He wouldn’t have agreed otherwise, surely?

She smiled in return, pleased when he sat down in the armchair opposite and glanced at the tumbler with open pleasure. ‘Is this for me?’

‘Well, I’m pregnant, so it’s obviously not mine.’ Her heart beat wildly, butterflies dancing in her stomach. How ridiculous to feel this way about a man she’d known for years. She felt like a teenage girl with a new crush.

He picked up the Scotch and took a sip. ‘Hmm. My favourite.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘That’s why I got it.’

He sat back in the chair, his long, powerful legs stretched out in front of him, and she was suddenly very conscious that they were alone for the first time since the wedding dress fitting. Their chairs were moderately close and she was acutely aware of his body, and the hard, muscled length of it. He was looking at her from beneath his long, thick black lashes, his deep-set eyes seeming dark as a midnight sky. Heat flickered in those inky eyes, and he made no attempt to hide it. He wanted her to see it, that was clear. Perhaps he’d been planning to seduce her again, so they didn’t have to talk.

‘You can look at me like that all you want,’ she said, deciding to address it head-on. ‘But the purpose of these meetings isn’t sex.’

‘Perhaps it could include sex,’ he said. ‘I certainly wouldn’t say no.’

‘I would,’ she said firmly. ‘Sex isn’t the point of this discussion.’

‘I’m giving you an hour, so what am I getting?’ His gaze glinted. ‘Quid pro quo, little bird.’

A shiver went through her at the note of heat in his voice, her body far more interested in that than it was in anything else. ‘We’re talking about our marriage, Isandro,’ she said, the reminder for herself as much as it was for him.

‘I don’t think what you feel is love,’ he said, tilting his head and studying her. ‘I think what you feel is sexual obsession.’

Wren shifted in her chair, a pulse of anger replacing the shiver, though the anger did nothing to change the nagging ache between her thighs. ‘You can make me marry you and be your queen, but you can’t tell me how I feel,’ she snapped. ‘It’s not just sexual obsession.’

‘How do you know that?’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Have you ever been sexually obsessed with anyone before?’

Her cheeks heated. She wished she could tell him that she had been and knew the difference, but the truth was that she’d never been sexually obsessed with anyone. She’d steered clear of boys in high school, because her grandparents had strongly disapproved and she’d wanted to prove to them that she wasn’t like her mother. Then later, when she’d gone to university, she’d decided to concentrate on her studies instead of parties and boys. Besides, she’d never met anyone she’d been attracted to, not the way she’d been attracted to Isandro.