Page 67 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

‘Your hand, please,’ Isandro ordered.

Wren didn’t want to give it to him. She didn’t want that ring on her finger, and she really, really didn’t want to marry him in full view of the general public. She didn’t want to marry him in an airport lounge either. She didn’t want to marry him, full stop. Not like this. Not when it was only obligation on his part. He wasn’t going to let her leave, though, which meant there was no other option for her but to do what he said.

‘Isandro,’ she began.

‘Your hand,’ he insisted, and then, when she didn’t give it to him immediately, he reached down and took it.

The warmth of his skin on hers was an electric shock to her system, jolting her awake. Her breath caught and, instinctively, she looked up at him, straight into his inky blue gaze. Fire leapt there, a sudden, flickering flame, and all the breath rushed from her lungs.

That air between them was abruptly thick with memories. That hot, desperate, feverish kiss. Him lifting her onto the desk then shoving her skirt up, before stroking between her thighs…

‘Don’t,’ he said roughly. ‘Not here.’ He didn’t need to explain, she knew what he meant. Don’t think about that afternoon. Don’t think about how it felt and how intense the pleasure had been. Don’t think about any of it.

Isandro looked away, pushing the ring onto her finger without any niceties.

Her throat closed, a bitter grief flooding through her. ‘I don’t even get a proposal?’ she asked, unable to stop herself.

Isandro’s gaze rested on her for a moment, as cold as it had ever been. ‘What would be the point? This isn’t a love story, Wren. This is necessity.’

Of course, it wasn’t a love story. It never was and never could be, and she knew that. She knew that.

It was only her heart that had never got the message.

* * *

Isandro bore the drive from the airport back to the palace grimly. Wren sat in the limo as far away from him as it was possible to get. She was gazing out the window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

The ring he’d put on her finger glittered in the afternoon light.

He’d imagined putting that ring on her finger once or twice, allowing himself impossible little fantasies, yet he’d never imagined shoving it on the way he had, without even a proposal. And Wren’s face, the betrayal on it…

He pushed the memory away, hardening himself. Her feelings didn’t matter in the greater scheme of things, and neither did his. This was about taking responsibility for his actions, and making sure his child grew up where he or she belonged, as part of the royal family and his heir. It wasn’t going to be easy for either of them to front up to what they’d done, but, in time, the scandal would be forgotten and his child accepted by the population.

She’d been right about the wedding, though. Marrying her in secret in an airport lounge would make the whole situation look even worse than it already was. If she was going to be his queen, he’d have to present her to the people and to his parliament, a much easier job after a formal engagement and with a royal wedding scheduled. There would be bad press, of course, but he was prepared for that. He’d thought long and hard about this, and while in the short term there would certainly be fuss, in the long term his reign would be better for it.

Wren was right about her past, too. Parliament would not like the bastard daughter of a woman who’d nearly brought down a government as their queen, and once they found out… Well. He was looking at weeks of hysterical media coverage, and strong opposition from Parliament. Automatically, he started thinking about PR strategies that Wren might employ to handle the situation, then realised that Wren would not be employing any strategies. She’d be his queen, not his fixer.

Something hot and possessive pulsed low in his gut, the part of himself that was his father. It was triumphant, that part, because it meant that, not only would the child be his, she would be his, too.

Isn’t that what you wanted from the moment you saw her?

Isandro turned to the window, staring sightlessly out at the city beyond, rather than the woman in the car with him. Her luscious, delicious scent wound around him, vanilla and musk and sex. She was only an arm’s length away. He could touch her if he wanted, bring her close if he wanted. Kiss her if he wanted, she wouldn’t refuse him. That moment in the lounge, when he’d touched her, put that ring on her finger, had told him everything he wanted to know about whether she still wanted him.

She did. Oh, yes, she did.

But those were dangerous thoughts. Those were thoughts his father would have acted on without a second’s hesitation, following his own selfish desires wherever they led him without heed to the consequences.

Isandro had done that once, and, given the consequences that he was now dealing with, it wasn’t something he’d ever do again. His desires must be kept in check, must be controlled, and he couldn’t do that around Wren.

What does it matter? If she’s going to be your wife?

Again, a low, hot pulse went through him, tensing his muscles and hardening his cock. He could have a wedding night. A proper wedding night. The one he’d had with Carlotta had been disappointing, though he’d made an effort to hide his lack of enthusiasm. Not that she’d enjoyed it, either. They’d had no chemistry to speak of, and after the disappointments of not being able to conceive, she’d taken to sleeping in her own room rather than his.

If you don’t take Wren to bed, you’re looking at a lifetime of celibacy.

He shifted in his seat, his jaw tight. That was true. His bed had been cold for years, which had been part of the reason he’d lost his head so profoundly that afternoon in his office. So, logically, if he didn’t want to make the same mistake with another woman further down the track, sleeping regularly with Wren was almost mandatory. Not that he would ever make that same mistake with another woman. He couldn’t even conceive of it.

Except you clearly did conceive of it when it came to Wren, so who knows? You’ve got too much of your father in you.