Page 134 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4
The fact this hisassistant—in other words, the woman who workedforhim—thought she could order him about withnotrequests was…
Infuriating? Maybe. The past two years had dulled all his emotion to a gray sort of numb. So the spark of something like irritation was almost fascinating.
He typed out his next response with that strange feeling sizzling inside him. When he hit send, he didn’t even go through the pretense of standing. He sat at his chair and waited for the response to his I will not be getting in any car.
It came in less than two minutes. This time, she had copied his informal style—no greeting, no send-off.
We can discuss it when I arrive.
When she…arrived? Diego looked up at the door.Arrive.Amelia Baresi had never once darkened the door of this place. No one had except the occasional messenger or delivery man. All items left at his doorstep, no interaction required.
This was done quite on purpose and for a wide variety of reasons.
Arrive.
He got to his feet and strode over to the lone window. He looked out over the world outside his cabin. It wasn’t actively snowing, but the entire yard, such as it was, was covered in the snow that packed down month after month way up at this elevation. It would be almost impossible for a vehicle to make it up here.
Did she know that? What could she possibly be after? For two years, she’d been exactly what he’d wanted—needed. Hands off and efficient.
What had changed?
It didn’t matter, he decided, moving away from the window. Nothing mattered except his penance. So no matter what she was after, what she thought she was doing, it wouldn’t matter.
Diego Folliero was exactly where he was meant to be, and nothing would change his mind about that.
CHAPTER TWO
Ameliasatinthe back seat of the car watching the icy, mountainous terrain go by. She hadn’t been sure her presence would be necessary, but after Diego’s last email, she was glad she’d decided to come.
She had not expected him to jump on her request that was not a request, but she’d hoped that maybe curiosity might lure him down to the castello without too much back-and-forth.
She should have known better. Nothing in the past two years had given her any indication that Diego wasbiddableany more than her father’s journal entries did.
Luckily she’d come armed with a few reasons why he should want to reinstate the Christmas celebrations at Castello di Natale, which obscured her real reason for trying to bring him back to, well, real life she supposed.
Perhaps it was none of her business that he’d turned himself into a hermit, but if her father were here, she was sure he would do the same. And since she had nothing else left of her father, this seemed like a way to…feel connected to him again. Something far more tangible to honor his legacy of caring for people than justwork.
So, she would turn Diego Folliero into a good man. Or unearth the good man underneath whatever he’d turned himself into.
Whether it was overstepping or ridiculous or she was met with continued resistance, she would simply keep moving forward. Until she reached her goal. No matter what. Maybe Father was gone, but she’d never stop hoping to earn his approval.
The car pulled to a stop in front of a small cabin. It was well tended but incredibly rustic. She studied it in shock and concern. Surely… Surely this wasn’t right. She knew he’d been isolated, but this was beyond isolation.
It was smaller than the garden shed at the castello. There was only one window, and it was barely larger than her hand. Little puffs of smoke wisped up from the chimney, giving the impression that the cabin was warmed solely by…fire.
She met the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror. His expression was sheepish, a kind of acknowledgment that things were this…dire.
She had never in a million years imagined this. The man hadinternetbut no evidence of running water.
Before she could decide what to do about it, the door opened and a man appeared. Not just any man. Diego. His form took up the entire expanse of the doorway. He was dressed in very plain clothes, but it did not take away from the sheer impact of him.
It was no surprise that he was handsome. Perhaps she hadn’t had the presence of mind to catalog all the details of that kind of handsome at her father’s funeral, but she knew it existed. She’d seen pictures of him. She’d heard all the stories of how women had thrown themselves at him before the plane crash.
She’d known it, understood it, but still hadn’t expected it to be quite so jolting in person. Because itwasa jolt, like a shot of electricity along her nerve endings. Not at all pleasant, but interesting. Different.
Alarming, certainly. It shouldn’t feel like this, like a blast to the solar plexus, to simply look at him. Not when he wasn’t dressed as befitted his station or bank account. Not when he’d clearly been buzzing his own hair short. Not when…
Get yourself together, Amelia.
