Modern Romance February Books 1-4. Maisey Yates

“Yes. It’s very strange, that.”

      “Not especially.”

      “A bit.”

      “Only if you like romanticizing things. And I do not.”

      She rolled her eyes. “How very surprising.”

      He paused in front of her, a strange expression passing over his face. The left side of his lips curved slightly upward as he studied her. He moved forward and her breath caught in her chest.

      He reached out, tracing the edge of her mask before lifting it slowly. He pulled it away, the soft brush of his skin against hers enough to make her feel like she was on fire. “So very beautiful,” he said, his words hushed.

      She waited for him to lean in. Waited for him to kiss her again. But he didn’t. He simply stood, looking at her, not touching her, not making a move to close the distance between them.

      She wished she were brave. Brave enough to touch him. To lean into him. To recapture what had happened in that empty room.

      “Goodnight, Gabriella,” he said finally, his words summarily dismissing her, stealing her chance at bravery.

      She cleared her throat. “Goodnight, Alex.”

      She turned and walked into her bedroom. She felt very much like she had missed something. Like she had left a very important piece of herself behind.

      She blinked hard against the stinging sensation in her eyes, did her best to breathe around the rock that had settled on her chest.

      They would leave tomorrow. They had completed their objective. Tomorrow, she would be back on Aceena. Back with her grandmother. And everything would return to the way it was.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

      EVERYTHING HAD GONE smoothly during their escape from Isolo D’Oro, and it continued to go smoothly upon their reentry into Aceena. Alex would have been surprised, but things tended to go smoothly for him, so he saw no reason this should be different. Except for the fact that everything about it felt different in a million small ways he could not quite quantify.

      Well, there was one thing that he could name. Gabriella. He ignored that thought as they walked into the hall at the D’Oro estate.

      He had the painting under his arm, the rest of their bags being handled by the staff. Gabriella was walking along beside him, wearing a pair of plain pants and a button-up blouse, her very large glasses returned to their usual position. And somehow, even with all of that, he saw her no differently than he had last night. She was fascinating, beautiful, irresistible. But here he was resisting. Overrated, in his opinion.

      “We must bring this to my grandmother as quickly as possible,” Gabriella was saying, the animated tone of her voice never failing to stir something inside of him.

      She cared about so many things. Dusty books and history and the people around her. It made him ache. Made him wish he could still feel like that. Feel in ways he hadn’t since he was eleven years old.

      They were directed by the staff to the morning room, where her grandmother was taking her tea.

      “Grandmother,” Gabriella said, the word sounding more like a prayer than anything else. As though Lucia were Gabriella’s salvation, her link back to the real world.

      He still didn’t feel linked to the real world. The shipping company was back in New York, along with a great many of his real-world concerns. Somehow, over the past week, his life had started to revolve around a painting, and giving compliments to the woman that stood before him.

      “Is that it?” Lucia asked, gesturing to the painting that Alex held, facing away from her.

      He nodded slowly.

      “May I?” she asked, her voice suddenly hushed.

      He handed the painting to her, careful not to reveal too much of it. He had seen it, but he felt the need to allow her to experience this at her own pace. In somewhat of a private fashion.

      He watched the older woman’s face, watched as she placed her fingertips over the painting, her dark eyes filling with tears. “I can see,” she said, her voice trembling, “I can see how much he loved me. It is there. Still.”

      “Who?” Gabriella asked.

      “Bartolo. His name was Bartolo. An artist. And I... I did not think there was any way I could sacrifice my position for love. But I’m old now, Gabriella. And I look at this and I see just how deep his feelings were. And then... Then we were thrown out of Isolo D’Oro, anyway. I asked myself every day what the sacrifice meant. I married a man who was suitable. I rejected the one who was not. For what? For a kingdom that crumbled. Seeing it again... Understanding... His love was more than I deserved. He did not deserve one so faithless as myself.”

      Gabriella’s hands were folded in her lap and she was wringing them as though the queen’s words were causing her great distress. “Grandmother, of course you did what you had to do. You did what you felt was right.”

      She sighed slowly, sadly. “It is all any of us can do, I’m afraid. But when your best isn’t good enough it galls particularly with the sharp clarity of hindsight.”

      “I hate to cause you any further pain, Your Highness,” Alex said. “But—”

      “But your grandfather wants this painting returned to his possession,” Lucia said, her tone grave.

      “Yes. There are few things in his life that he prizes beyond money. Beyond anything. This painting is one of them. And though I can’t tell you why, though it must seem strange as you are the subject of the painting, I can only tell you that it is an old man’s greatest wish to have this again.”

      A tear rolled down her cheek, and Alex felt shamed by the emotional display for some reason. Shamed by how jaded he was, by how little credibility he gave to love and emotion when he saw such depth of it before him.

      “Of course he can have it,” Lucia said, her words shocking Alex down to the core.

      “I will pay whatever you ask for it. He’s prepared to compensate you handsomely.”

      She placed her hand over the painting again. “I don’t want money. I want him to have it.”

      Alex met her gaze and nodded slowly. “He will.”

      Gabriella looked over at him, her expression filled with concern. “He isn’t going to make a scandal with it?”

      Alex shook his head. “No. My grandfather has no interest in scandal. He has no need for money.”

      Gabriella didn’t ask if he was telling the truth. Something about that warmed his chest in a way that he wasn’t certain he deserved.

      “You must stay with us tonight, Alex,” Lucia said.

      His heart slammed against his breastbone. Denial was on the tip of his tongue. He shouldn’t stay. He should go. But he was in no position to deny the older woman anything. “If you wish.”

      “And I do have a condition on giving you the painting.”

      Everything inside of him stilled. “Do you?”

      The older woman nodded. “Gabriella shall go with you. She will help deliver the painting. Acting as an ambassador for our family.”

      “If you wish,” he said again.

      He had been desperate to escape Gabriella. Her tempting mouth, her soft touch. Nothing good could come of the attraction between them. Ever. Acting on it—more than they already had—was simply not an option. He would leave her untouched.

      But in order for him to honor such a vow, he would need to get a good deal of distance between them.

      This was not conducive to that goal.

      He had honorable