Page 43 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

She’d barely had any time to explore the expansive space, busy with the arrangements all morning, then getting ready—which took far too long these days with hair and makeup, and then greeting guests as dusk fell.

Balancing the fine china plate precariously in her hand now, she walked up the spiraling staircase toward the sky lounge. Even after all these months, the reach and flex of Adriano’s wealth was a shock to her. Like the existence of this yacht.

But then, he was a man who was as miserly with personal or family details as he was generous with his caresses. Her toes sank into the thick carpet, while the cold glass scraped against her bare arms in a welcome slide.

She’d kicked off her heels, but the dress was an annoyance. Thanks to the breeze, her hair had long ago won the fight against everything that had been used to tame it. When she’d caught her reflection in the gleaming chrome of the appliances in the galley, she’d grabbed a clip and put it up.

On the main deck, the air was filled with the gentle lapping of waves against the hull, creating a soothing rhythm. If only it could soothe the confusion and worry that dogged her like shadows.

All evening, she’d sensed that Adriano wasn’t pleased with her efforts or the party or anything to do with the evening. Catching fragmented phrases of his conversation with Nigella had only confirmed her suspicion.

Whether it was Nyra’s attempt at the party or something else that displeased him, she had no idea.

After a week of losing herself in this new life that only seemed to have moving targets, all she wanted for tonight was to show him that she was worth the scandal she’d brought on him, worth the drama and pain she’d caused in his life. That she appreciated him.

For a second, the weight of all that she’d taken on threatened to crush her. It felt as impossibly daunting as the dark silhouettes of towering mountains that surrounded the lake. Forget the physical toll of the party today— the socializing and the laughing at inane comments, pretending that she didn’t see the censure in some gazes was mentally exhausting.

But she had made her bed—a very pleasurable one when her husband was in it, and she was determined to make the best of it.

If only she knew how to reach Adriano. Because clearly, whatever she had done today to please him hadn’t remotely had that effect.

No wonder she’d spent months limiting herself to one corner of his life. Her husband was powerful, ruthless, kind and beneath it all, a mystery.

* * *

Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped into the master suite on the top deck, which was forbidden to the guests.

Large panorama windows lined one entire side of the suite, offering sweeping views of the lake and the mountains beyond. Sheer curtains drifted lazily from some cool draft overhead.

The centerpiece of the suite was the lavish king-size bed adorned with sumptuous white linens and an array of plush pillows that looked like a fluffy cloud. A hint of fresh flowers scented the air.

On the other side was a chic sitting area featuring furniture elegantly upholstered in velvet. The lighting, she noticed, was carefully designed to accentuate the suite’s luxury without detracting from the beauty outside.

And here, sitting in the largest armchair nursing a glass of whiskey, was her missing husband.

Nyra slid the plate onto the side table before approaching him. Just being alone with him made her heart skip a beat. She came to stand in front of him, between his legs. “Adriano…” she ventured but he remained unmoving.

Unable to fight the urge, she sank her fingers into his thick hair and tugged.

He looked up then. Thick lashes blinked slowly and his gaze focused on her hair. His fingers gripped the glass tightly as if he were stopping himself.

“You cut your hair,” he said.

She touched the short, wavy locks that were already tumbling out of the hold of the clip. “It’s easier to manage this way.”

“I liked it better when it was long.”

“Oh.” Dismay filled her because she hadn’t given him a single thought. Only that she needed to give herself a makeover, inside out. Something fresh to change how she saw herself. “If you really want me to, I’ll grow it back. But with the pregnancy and everything else, it is easier this way.”

“Bene,”he said, looking down into his drink. When she didn’t budge, he said, “Go to bed,cara.”

“You’re drunk,” she whispered, the shock of it making her frown. She refused to pull away from him however. “You never drink.”

“It’s my birthday,si? Only a mild buzz.”

“I’ll keep you company, then,” she said, running fingers down the back of his head, past his neck and then farther down to his shoulders. Slipping her fingers in under the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, she found warm skin and taut muscles.

He groaned—a sound that went straight to her core—when she kneaded the muscles with firm fingers. His head dipped to rest against her belly. Nyra increased the speed and strength of her movements, dipping lower into his back and coming up again.

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