Page 127 of Modern Romance June 2025 5-8

‘She is on her way, Your Honour,’ Simon answered.

The judge turned to glare at Antonio. A glare that Antonio was more than happy to hold for as long as it took. After all, he’d been practically raised by his grandfather—a man who had entwined authority and intent into a near lethal combination. Antonio had been the only person, ever, to defy Gio Gallo’s commands and remain unscathed. But it seemed the old man had had the last laugh after all.

‘You didn’t come together?’ the judge asked, peering over the top of his reading glasses.

‘They have been separated for some time, Your Honour,’ Simon replied for him.

The judge raised his eyebrow, as if he’d hoped to catch him out.

Antonio nearly laughed. He ate men like this for breakfast. Daily.

After Antonio’s marriage to Ivy, his grandfather had actually believed that cutting Antonio off would bring him running back home. But instead it had freed him, and he’d flourished. He’d started his own company and that company had thrived. And so had the people Antoniodidcare for.

His mother. His cousin, Maria.

And now, aged twenty-nine, Antonio was the billionaire CEO of a multinational brokerage company. Alessina International was completely his, no investors, no board of directors, no meddling.

No one to bow to.

Eventually he’d reconciled, albeit grudgingly, with his grandfather. He’d won the man’s respect, Antonio knew that. Which was why he hadn’t expected the other man’s last move. But he should have. Antonio had grown complacent, believing Gio’s age had tempered him. He’d been wrong. Instead, Gio had plotted the future of his grandchildren and that of his company, Gallo Group, to an almost Machiavellian level. And as a consequence, he needed to divorce Ivy and marry Maria in order to meet the terms of Gio Gallo’s last will and testament.

He would do this one last thing, for his cousin. And then he’d be done.

‘Your Honour—’ Simon started.

‘Do you know what I dislike most about billionaires?’ the judge asked, cutting him off.

Antonio wrestled with the urge to roll his eyes. Under any other circumstances, he would have laid down his terms, and an unhealthy amount of money, and walked off without another wasted second. But Simon was right, England was different. And while this particular judge didn’t appear to want money, he clearly wanted to run him through the mill. And if that was what it took to get the divorce? He’d do it.

‘It’s the assumption that your wants and needs are superior to those of others.’

Having met a good number of billionaires, frankly, Antonio was of a similar opinion. Not that he’d admit such a thing to the man currently hellbent on ruining his day. He chose to nod sagely, which served only to irritate the older man. Really, the resemblance between the judge and his grandfather was striking.

There was a timid knock on the door to the cramped office, which did nothing to stop the judge mid-tirade. With half an ear on the judge, who was now compiling a list of faults of not only his wealth but his generation, Antonio glanced as the door pushed open and Ivy McKellen nudged her way into the room.

He half turned to greet her, when Carmondy expounded yet another unfounded objection to Antonio’s apparent crimes, recalling his attention. From the corner of his eye, Antonio caught a glimpse of long, rich auburn hair.

He didn’t remember that. In his lesser travelled memories, her hair was always swept back in a small efficient knot, as she shot him a conspiratorial smile, sharing her amusement with him at her Italian boss’s increasingly outrageous but utterly harmless behaviour.

She’d been far too bright to be stuck serving customers who’d leered at her, keeping them at bay with a quick putdown that was gentle enough to soften the blow, but firm enough that they didn’t get back up again.

She’d impressed him. And that had been hard to do at that point in his life. Undoubtably beautiful, she’d kept him at arm’s length which, utterly without ego, was an unusual experience for him. And then had come the day he’d found her on a break, crying behind the café, and convinced her to tell him what was wrong.

The shameful confession of financial struggle, the desire to protect a sibling, the frustration at the heavy burden…theshame. Oh, Ivy had spoken obliquely, but he’d understood enough. And it had reminded him of his mother. Crying when she didn’t think Antonio could hear her, struggling in the aftermath of her husband’s desertion, all because of him.

Ivy, like his mother, was giving everything to protect her family. And just like that, he’d known. He’d known that she might be theonlyperson who would go through with his mad scheme to win his freedom from his grandfather’s pressure to marry his cousin. Ivy would agree because of her brother and her integrity meant she wouldn’t betray their deal. And, in exchange, the money he would give her would allow her to radically change her life. It had been the perfect arrangement.

Until now.

Ivy shifted uncomfortably on her feet, and Antonio stared at his lawyer until Simon stood, gesturing for Ivy to take his seat. The judge continued to drone on about resources and invaluable time but Antonio couldn’t focus as Ivy hooked the russet waterfall behind her ear. Antonio, who had always been sensitive to stimulation, took in all of her at once.

Delicate. Detailed.Fine.

The women he knew, his family, the staff at his office, were rich, expressive forces of nature, determined; theyworetheir femininity. Ivy seemed to shrink from it. She had been a little like that when he’d known her before, but not to this extent. Perhaps it was her discomfort at the setting but, despite her apparent intention to hide, she was still…luminous.

And then he dismissed the unusually elegiac fancy. He’d not seen or heard from her in six years. He’d not searched for her, looked her up or allowed himself to wonder about the waitress he’d met while spending three months working in London. Because she had been the means to an end, and that was all he’d needed her for.

Even now that she was sitting on a chair less than a foot away from him, she was still just that: a means to an end. She flicked a glance at him just as he looked back to the judge, whose penetrating gaze brightened with satisfaction.

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