Page 77 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

He’d let her have two weeks of distance since that breakfast. Let word of their marriage get out and the furore erupt. She’d needed space to process all of that, and he’d given it to her. Part of him had hoped she’d come to him to talk about it, tell him her worries and her fears the way she used to do. At least let him know personally that the doctor’s check-up had gone well.

But she hadn’t.

Well, he wouldn’t insist. He knew where her weaknesses lay and he was going to exploit each and every one of them, until she was begging to share his bed. Neither of them had wanted this marriage, but he wasn’t going to have a repeat of the one he’d had with Carlotta, not if he could help it.

She had been the only daughter of a noble Valdoran family, and one he’d chosen after he’d ascended the throne on his father’s death. She’d seemed perfect for him on paper—well educated, with an aristocratic pedigree and a bright, sunny disposition. Except after the wedding, he’d discovered that her family had been hiding various scandals that she’d been involved in when she’d been a teenager. He hadn’t held that against her—she was an adult, after all—yet it had soon become clear that the pressures of being a queen had made her fall back into old patterns of behaviour. Especially after they’d had difficulty conceiving.

He’d tried to be patient, tried not to repeat his father’s awful behaviour towards his mother, but it had seemed that, no matter how patient or otherwise he had been, nothing had helped Carlotta. It ate at him, made him question himself, made him feel guilty that he’d dragged her into a life that hadn’t been suited to her. She’d been his responsibility and he’d failed her. He felt that acutely.

But he would not fail with Wren. He would make certain of it.

Wren’s scent wound around him, her soft warmth against his side. He spread his fingers on her hip, relishing the feel of her beneath the silk, satisfied as her stiffness ebbed and she relaxed against him.

Unfortunately, though, her nearness made it difficult to concentrate, and it was only his long years of experience at controlling himself that enabled him to at least look as if he was paying attention to the inanities that came out of people’s mouths.

Wren didn’t talk much, letting him take the lead, which he preferred. He was used to small talk, to working a room, and he was good at steering conversations away from difficult topics should they start to stray in that direction. Through it all, he kept his arm around Wren, making sure she stayed close to his side, a part of him revelling in the freedom of being able to touch her. Of knowing it was absolutely allowed and even encouraged so as to build the image of a loving couple.

‘Do you need a break?’ he asked her as they finished their conversation with some Italian aristocrats, and he steered her towards the ballroom doors that opened out onto a stone terrace. ‘Or a drink, perhaps? Sparkling water or orange juice?’

She had her arm threaded through his, the jewels at her throat glittering. ‘Some fresh air would be good,’ she said, giving him the most radiant smile he’d ever seen.

It caught him full in the chest, that smile, pierced him right through, and for a moment all he could think about was how much he’d been longing for her to smile at him like that, as if all she’d ever wanted was him.

But it wasn’t real, he had to remember that. She was only pretending, acting the part of his loving fiancée. She didn’t really feel that way about him, and, when it came down to it, he didn’t want her to.

He’d already broken one woman. He didn’t want to break another, and most especially not if that woman was the mother of his child.

Ignoring Wren’s smile, he guided her out to the terrace and then, for the first time that evening, dropped his arm from around her waist and stepped away. He watched her face as he did so, looking for any signs of disappointment at the physical distance, but her expression gave nothing away.

‘Do you need to sit down?’ he asked. ‘It’s a long time to be on your feet.’

‘I’m fine.’ She turned slightly away from him, glancing into the ballroom. ‘That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.’

A few members of the press had been invited to the ball to take pictures that would be carefully curated before being published, and he saw one of the photographers lingering by the ballroom doors, watching them, his camera at the ready.

It was the perfect opportunity to remind Wren of exactly what she’d been refusing when she’d told him their marriage wouldn’t be physical. The perfect excuse. A picture for the world to see that the King of Valdora was passionately in love with the woman who was carrying his child. A picture that would help everyone to forget that said child had been conceived while he was still married to the previous queen.

‘Wren,’ he said softly.

She turned to look at him, and when he stepped close, her eyes widened. He held her gaze, letting her see the heat in his, the heat that being close to her all evening had stoked and kept burning.

Her gaze darkened from silver into charcoal, and he could hear her breath catch. Beneath the diamonds of the collar around her slender neck, he could see the pulse in the hollow of her throat beating fast.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, a husky edge to her clear voice.

‘Photo op.’ He lifted his hand and took her chin in a gentle grip, feeling her tremble as he did so. ‘A loving kiss is in order, don’t you think?’

She swallowed, her pale skin flushing with colour. ‘Is that really necessary?’ she whispered, though she didn’t pull away.

‘Oh, I think so.’ He stroked the soft skin of her jaw with his thumb, relishing the feel of it. He could still taste that one kiss they’d shared months ago, and he wanted more. He wanted everything.

She took a shaky breath and her gaze fell to his mouth, before lifting back again. ‘Isandro…’

He bent his head slowly, partly to give her time to adjust and partly to draw the moment out. The delicious anticipation involved in kissing this woman whom he’d been desperate to kiss for so long.

It was a gentle brush of his lips over hers, nothing too demanding and nothing too hot, though he could feel the need roaring inside him. To take and devour and conquer. But he wouldn’t, not yet. He would be patient, stoke her passion, because she was passionate, so very passionate.

She gave a soft little gasp at the touch of his mouth, and when he kissed her again, she shivered. Her lips were so soft, and he couldn’t stop himself from tasting deeper, parting them with his tongue to get to the sweetness of her.