Page 97 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

‘Perhaps, but there is always room for improvement.’

‘That doesn’t apply to everything.’

His jaw tightened, his shoulders tensing. ‘I don’t know what you want from me,’ he said sharply, tired of the conversation. ‘You don’t want to be a burden, but I can’t help that you are. And now you’re talking about the future and my parents and happiness… What else can I say?’

Something that looked like grief flickered over her face. ‘You take responsibility for so many things, for your country and your people, and I know those are important. But your happiness is important too, Isandro.’

It wasn’t, though, as he’d already told her. His feelings were irrelevant when it came to ruling a country, and besides, why did they matter so much to her?

Because she loves you.

Love. It always came back to that, the one thing that he could not give, and now it was hurting her.

You’ll never be able to make her happy. You’ll try and try and you’ll fail. The way you failed Carlotta. The way you failed your parents.

The thought was cold as ice, sharp-edged and painful. He hadn’t failed his parents, what a ridiculous thing to think. They’d failed him. They were supposed to have loved him, as a parent should love their child, and they hadn’t. They hadn’t shown him what love was or taught him how to feel it himself, and he’d known he was missing out. That there was something vital that other families had, that his family had lacked. He had never known why. Never known why his father had preferred other women and drinking, rather than spending time with his own son. Why his mother had preferred gardening and complaining about his father to asking him how he was. It had been easier for him, in the end, to detach himself from the people around him. To tell himself he didn’t need them.

To tell himself that he would be a better king than his father because he had detached himself. And he’d thought, until Carlotta, that he was better.

Then he’d married, and he’d met Wren, and he’d understood then that he wasn’t any better. He was just the same.

Some father you’re going to make.

That nagging ache somewhere inside him, which he didn’t want and had been trying to ignore for days, deepened. But he shoved the pain of it away. No, he would be a better father. He might not be capable of love, but he would try and try and try for his child.

It will never be enough…

‘Fine,’ he said, ignoring the thought. ‘My happiness is important. Is that what you want to hear?’

Wren came closer, her grey eyes silvery. The neckline of her sweatshirt was loose and had fallen off one shoulder, baring her pale skin. She stood in front of him for a long moment. ‘What if I did leave the baby with you?’ she asked unexpectedly.

He frowned, not understanding. ‘What do you mean leave the baby with me?’

‘I mean, once the baby is born, you take full custody.’

Pain slid through him, sharp as a thorn. ‘What about you?’

‘I would leave. Go home as I originally planned.’

The pain deepened. Automatically he said, ‘No. No, you have to stay here. You can’t leave your child.’

‘Why not? My mother left me. My mother chose my father over me. What if I choose my child over you?’

A strange kind of shock rolled over him. ‘You want to leave our child?’

‘No, of course I don’t. But you said you wouldn’t have married me if not for the baby, so I’m giving us both the chance to escape. You will have your heir and, when you’re ready, you can marry someone else. And I’ll…find someone else to love.’

The shock deepened and he found himself searching her face, looking for whatever it was that had prompted this.

You prompted it. Last night. See? You’re already failing her.

‘I don’t understand why you would do that.’ Anger sparked in his gut. ‘Our child needs a mother who will be present in their lives.’

‘Your mother wasn’t present in yours, and neither was mine,’ she pointed out. ‘We both survived.’

Did you though? Is this survival? Or is this denial?

The questions echoed through him, questions he couldn’t seem to escape no matter how hard he pushed them away. ‘You told me you loved me,’ he said, unable to help himself. ‘Yet you want to leave?’