Page 135 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4
She inhaled deeply, let out a shaky exhale. She was simply having a physical reaction to the moment. She had gotten through the last two years with clear goals. Funny they all centered on Diego, a man she barely knew. A man she barely saw or truly communicated with.
Now here she was, dealing with him on a personal level, determined to find that good man her father had seen, and she wasn’t about to be flustered or lose sight of her goals because he wasattractive.
“Take the car out of sight,” she told the driver. “I’ll text you when we’re ready to leave, and you can return.” She had the sneaking suspicion she would not be welcomed, so she needed to have all tools at her disposal.
She got out of the car, marched through the icy cold to the doorway. She fixed a pleasant smile on her face. “Mr. Folliero,” she greeted, making sure she sounded businesslike. “It’s good to see you again.”
His expression was stony and stoic. He looked her up and down in a quick dismissal. “I cannot say the same,” he said, his voice a low rasp, as if he were not used to speaking.
She blinked once at the unexpected rudeness, tried to keep her smile from faltering. “Well.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, even as she listened to the sound of the car’s engine disappear.
“I did not invite you,” he said to her stunned silence. “I do not intend to return to Castello di Nataleever, let alone this holiday season. So there is absolutely no reason for you to be here. Uninvited. Unwanted.”
Ouch.She could handle uninvited, butunwantedwas a little pointed considering her life situation.
No. There wasn’t really anyone out there living whowantedher.
But her father had, and that’s why she was here. “I apologize. I’m sure you’re very…” She trailed off, attempting to look beyond him into his cabin, or hermitage or whatever word befitted the sad little shack. “Busy. In some fashion or another. But your presence is needed, and I’m afraid that cannot be disputed.”
“Idispute it.”
Amelia narrowly resisted rolling her eyes. In a way, she was used to his lack of manners, but she usually got to roll her eyes from behind a computer screen. Now she had to manage her face and her tone.
“We can stand here in the freezing cold, trying to enact some sort of power struggle,” she said, making sure her voice revealed only a reasonable suggestion, even though it clearly wasn’t. “Or you can acknowledge we’re on the same team, have the same goals, and let me in so we can discuss how to move forward.”
“I do not wish to move forward.”
She sighed, packing as much condescending disdain into the sound as she could. “Honestly. After two years, do you think I would simply arrive on your doorstep demanding your appearance for fun? No. You are needed.”
“And I am telling you, myassistant, that I am not and will not be.”
Stubborn did not do the man justice—but she’d come prepared for stubborn, hadn’t she? “I was under the impression that you cared for my father, as I know he cared deeply for you.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Diego demanded.
“You would let his daughter freeze on your doorstep after all he did for you?”
There was a moment, maybe more than one, when she thought the guilt trip wouldn’t work. That having the car leave wouldn’t aid her any. That he’d step inside, slam the door and happily leave her to freeze, refusing to ever come down the mountain.
But then, on a disgusted noise, Diego moved out of the doorway and allowed her entry.
It wasn’tmuchwarmer inside. The cabin was mostly just one big room with next to nothing in it. A fireplace, the fire in it small and crackling. She moved toward it now to find warmth. A table and chair stood in a far corner, with his computer and a view of a crude kitchen-like area.
“This is…actually shocking.” She had assumed his isolation was about just that. Keeping the grief and condolences away from him. Maybe she’d assumed he’d wanted to remove himself from things that reminded him of his family.
She had lived at the castello for ten years before the Follieros’ deaths and could count on one hand the times she’d seen Diego. His relationship with his family had been…complicated. Amelia hadn’t needed to know the specifics to know that.
The Follieros spoiled their children, but they didn’t…spend a lot of time with them. They did not seek to understand them. Amelia had always inferred that Diego stayed away because distance was better than arguments.
Which didn’t negate grief—she’d never thought it did. But she hadn’t for one second thought he’d be living like…a pauper. Like some kind of monk suffering for his religion. She had simply thought, much like when her father was alive, that he stayed away from the complicated. But this was…something more than that.
She wrung her hands by the fire but didn’t feel the warmth. She felt chilled through.
She had sorely miscalculated a few things.
“I should have brought a therapist,” she muttered, then winced a little. She almost apologized for the unfeeling remark, but Diego was scowling very unwelcomingly at her. Impressive arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her like she was a vermin he’d like to eradicate.
She might have altered her plan, let him stay, acknowledging that a simple trip down the mountain would not solve his problems, but it was clear this man needed to find his way back to civilization again. This couldn’t be a healthy expression of grief. Hiding. Isolating. Living this…rustically when he didn’t need to at all.
