Page 85 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

His frustration wound tighter and tighter. They were dancing around something, an issue that she refused to name or talk about. He closed the distance between them, took hold of her upper arms. ‘Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you tell me what the problem is? And don’t tell me there isn’t one or that you’re fine.’ He stared fiercely down into her lovely, pale face. How odd that, after having her on the grass in the garden, he felt even more distant from her than he ever had.

She didn’t try to pull out of his grip, merely staring back, her chin at that stubborn, defiant angle. ‘Why does it matter to you? Why is talking to me so important? You got the sex you wanted. What more is there?’

There was challenge in her voice and a certain demand, and his fingers gripped tighter. She kept answering his questions with more questions, which was incredibly frustrating. ‘If you think that once in this garden is the sex I wanted then you’re mistaken,’ he forced out through gritted teeth. ‘You can have as much distance as you want before the wedding, but after it, you’ll be in my bed every night.’ He stared at her, searching her face. ‘That’s what I want. What do you want?’

Her eyes seemed liquid in the moonlight, like molten silver, and for a second he thought he saw tears in them. Then she blinked and they were gone. ‘What do I want?’ she echoed with sudden and unexpected ferocity. ‘I want a real marriage, Isandro. I want everything.’

Then before he could reply, she jerked herself out of his grip, turned and disappeared back through the door and into the palace.

Chapter Seven

Wren stood on a small platform in her little sitting room as the dress designer and his assistant began pinning the hem of her wedding gown.

She could see herself in the full-length mirror in front of her, a much taller reflection than she was used to seeing. The dress was absolutely beautiful, she couldn’t deny it, with layers of silver and white tulle skirts falling around her, and a strapless, fitted bodice hand-embroidered with seed pearls and crystals. There was also a silvery lace veil that dropped down her back, almost to the floor.

The gown fitted beautifully over her bump, not making it obvious, yet not attempting to hide it either, since there wasn’t any point in doing that now.

After the engagement ball, the press had been a little less vicious. The photo of Isandro kissing her on the terrace was making the rounds, as well as various others of her looking up at him with complete adoration.

She didn’t want to look at those pictures, see how obvious her feelings for him were, while his were a lie. It hurt, as did the continued gossip and cruel comments about how she was just like her mother, stealing a married man, etc., etc. Trapping a king by deliberately getting pregnant.

Reading everything they said about her made her feel consumed by shame, because even though her intentions hadn’t been manipulative or mercenary, she’d still slept with a married man. Taken at face value, she really was just like her mother.

In the end, she decided there was no value in keeping track of what people were saying, so why keep looking? She wasn’t in PR any more, and had other things to think about anyway, such as the wedding that was being organised at what was very late notice, not to mention meetings with the palace staff to go over what duties were going to be expected of her as queen. The staff had all been very nice to her, which had been a relief. She was a familiar face, and none of them had enjoyed Carlotta’s presence, being very loyal to Isandro. Some disapproved of her after they found out about her pregnancy, but even the ones who did kept their thoughts to themselves at least.

Still, it was difficult to pay attention to anything since that night in Isandro’s garden. He hadn’t followed her after she’d run out on him, though she’d half expected him to. And he hadn’t spoken to her the next day, either, or even the day after that.

In fact, it had been two weeks since that night. He’d made some attempts to talk to her, inviting her to eat with him on a number of occasions, but she’d refused his invitations. Yes, she was avoiding him, which was cowardly of her.

But all she could hear was the sound of her own voice, telling him she wanted everything from their marriage. A ‘real marriage’. And the blank look on his face afterwards, as if he didn’t have the first idea of what she was talking about.

She shouldn’t have said it. She’d thought she’d managed to hide her hurt after he’d made it very clear that this was only about sex, nothing more, but he’d known she was hiding something anyway. And he’d tried to get it out of her.

He’d been frustrated and part of her had enjoyed the fact that she could frustrate him, make him angry, when he was normally so good at controlling his emotions. The only problem with that was then she got angry in response, and she’d been angry with him then. Angry at his continual pushing, his continual need to know everything about her, to unravel her like a ball of tangled yarn, and also at him for finally wanting to talk about something they should have talked about right at the beginning: their expectations about what kind of marriage they both wanted.

He had been very clear about his wants. In typical male fashion, sex was what mattered to him the most, while she…

Wren bit her lip. She wanted everything and now he knew that. It wasn’t love, that at least she’d managed to keep back, but still, ‘everything’ covered a lot of ground.

You should tell him what you want. You should tell him the truth.

But what would be the point? Either way she was trapped here with him. She couldn’t exactly tell a king that she wasn’t going to marry him, not when she was carrying his heir.

She smoothed her hand over her bump, a sudden rush of love catching her as she thought about their child. She had no idea what kind of mother she’d make—she’d hardly had the best example to follow, after all—but she knew one thing. She wasn’t going to leave her child. She’d never leave her child.

Brave words for such a coward.

Her jaw tightened. Yes, she was a coward. That’s exactly what she was.

‘Your Majesty?’ the designer said in some surprise. ‘I didn’t expect you to join us.’

Wren whipped around and there he was, strolling over to the little platform she was standing on, his inky blue gaze pinned on her. A dark, sensual thrill pulsed through her at the sight of him, the memories of that night in the garden flooding through her. The cool of the grass against her bare skin, the heat of his mouth, the scorching flame of his hands on her and then the fierce wildfire of him inside her…

‘Out,’ he ordered tersely, the designer and his assistant quickly leaving the room and closing the door.

Wren didn’t move, her pulse fluttering madly as he came closer. The platform she stood on meant that she was eye level to him, which she hadn’t experienced before. Normally she was the one looking up. It gave her some much-needed courage.

‘What do you want, Isandro?’ she asked, in what she hoped was a regal tone. ‘It’s bad luck to see the bride—’