Page 42 of Modern Romance June 2025 5-8

Her frantic mind tried to come up with a solution… But she couldn’t get past the reality that it wasn’t his fault she had lost her memory, any more than it was hers. And that he would never have proposed to her in the first place if he had known who she was.

‘We will make the marriage official and then honeymoon at the Isla de la Luna resort,’ he murmured, his voice so flat and his eyes so shuttered she could see nothing of the man she thought she knew. ‘Once we return in two weeks’ time, you can live at thecastillo, I will live in Madrid, but we will continue to be seen in public, on occasion, until a divorce will not cause too many questions.’

Two weeks? Could she survive for two weeks without letting him know the true depths of her feelings for him, and exposing herself even more?

She thought of all the years she had spent, hiding the hurt from her father, making herself believe it didn’t matter if he couldn’t see her. That she didn’t need his approval, or his love. And it occurred to her that by the time he had died, over six months ago now, none of that hopeful child had been left.

Perhaps going through with this charade for the sake of appearances, would cure the feelings she had developed for Santiago. Feelings which she knew now would never be returned. Even though going through that brutal rejection again would be so much worse, because Santiago had always been a better man than her father. The next two weeks would force her to face the truth, and finally teach that naïve, impulsive, reckless girl not to throw away her heart so easily, or trust too quickly.

Hopelessness engulfed her as she nodded.

‘I… I can give you two weeks to repair the damage my identity will cause to your family’s reputation,’ she said. ‘But I won’t sleep with you,’ she added hastily.

How could she, when she still yearned for his touch?

Something flickered in his eyes, something fierce and possessive, but it was gone so quickly she was sure she must have imagined it. He touched his thumb to her cheek, slid it down to press against the pulse in her collarbone. She pulled away, but the vicious jolt of reaction was impossible to disguise.

‘If this is what you wish, Cerys,’ he said, but she could see the cynical glitter in his eyes. ‘We will leave for Isla de la Luna as soon as your documents can be issued,’ he announced. ‘And I will have the legal team alter the prenuptial agreement—so the terms of our divorce are already agreed—which you will need to sign.’

The stabbing pain sharpened when suspicion flickered in his eyes.

She nodded. ‘Of course.’

Did he really believe she would refuse to sign it? That she would want to prolong this agony? Or profit from a marriage which was devoid of hope now?

As he strode away, her heart sank to her toes. Because pretending not to want him—not to love him—when they were alone together was going to be the hardest lie to pull off of all… But maybe if she could fakenotloving him,notcaring for him, or that little boy who had lost his trust in love so long ago—it might become true.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘When did youdiscover your wife was the daughter of your father’s mistress, Your Excellency? The child of the woman who destroyed your family.’

‘Cerys? It is said you did not even remember your own name when you met His Excellency the Duque, is this true?’

‘Es esta una pasión por los siglos de los siglos, Excelencias?’

Santiago pressed his hand to the small of his wife’s back to direct her past the press piranhas who had been lying in wait at the Ibiza heliport for their arrival.

They’d been legally wed that morning in a short civil ceremony at thecastillo, witnessed by his legal team. The press release had been issued to announce their marriage and the honeymoon on Isla de la Luna, but it seemed to have done nothing to quell the furore which had been raging for forty-eight hours—starting only a few hours after he had first been handed Angharad Jones’s diary.

‘No comment.Sin comentarios!’ He ground the words out as he attempted to shield Cerys from the throng of reporters and photographers all vying for her attention.

His security guards pushed the crowd back from the entrance to the private dock. But even so, he felt Cerys flinch as ever more intrusive and provocative questions were hurled at them in both Spanish and English while they walked the short distance to the launch which would transport them to the island.

He ushered her on board, squeezing her hand as they headed down to the cabin, while the crew cast off. But she dragged her hand free as soon as they were out of view. Much as she had done that morning after they had pledged to honour their marriage vows before the officiant. As if she could not tolerate his touch a moment longer than was necessary.

He took the seat opposite her as they sped away from the private dock. He gripped the leather as the boat lifted into the surf. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her profile as she stared out onto the horizon.

She looked pale and tense, her eyes shielded by dark glasses. But he’d seen the shadows under them that morning, when she had arrived in his study to sign the paperwork which would confirm their union and the terms of their divorce. The designer dress the stylist had picked out for the occasion hugged her full breasts and sent a familiar shot of heat through his system.

They would have the resort to themselves—it wasn’t due to open for another two weeks. And while he was loath to spend time alone with his wife—when his emotions were still far too volatile—he had also been pathetically pleased to have her within reach all day.

He had given a statement to the press two days ago, stating that he and Cerys were very much in love and that their parents’ past had not one thing to do with their future. But the old story—scandalous runaway couple, deadly car accident two weeks later, his mother’s subsequent miscarriage and death—had been dredged back up anyway. And the scandalous new twist—that theDuque, who looked just like his father, was now wed to Angharad Jones’s daughter—had been titillating a nation ever since. Hell, it had spread across several continents. His company’s press office had even been contacted for comment by media outlets as far afield as New York and Sydney.

He’d thought he could control the narrative. He’d been wrong. But it wasn’t the press furore which had disturbed him the most in the last three days…ever since he had read her mother’s diary—and had his emotions thrown into a blender—the demons only intensifying all his fears about how much he had allowed himself to feel for this woman.

He’d wanted to punish Cerys, and he’d done an excellent job, but he’d also ended up punishing himself. He’d been working every hour he could during the day to stay away from her… But at night, as they’d slept in their separate bedrooms in the villa, away from prying eyes, he tossed and turned, desperate to touch her, to hold her, to have her need him as much as he still needed her.

As he studied her, her head downcast, her arms folded around her midriff, something twisted inside him.

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