Page 185 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8
He tapped his fingers against his knee, willing his hard-on to calm the hell down, because it didn’t matter that she was wearing that silky camisole top he adored the feel of, what she was doing now was moving the goal posts into what Dante considered an absolute danger zone—one he never, ever intended to enter again. God knew the first time had almost killed him. He still carried the wounds of that marriage, though he would never admit as much to another soul.
‘I’m going to tell you something that no one other than Jane and my mother know about me.’
Her tongue darted out and licked her lower lip in a gesture that spoke, plainly, of nervousness. And he’d never, ever seen Charlotte nervous before. Not when addressing a swanky crowd of thousands of would-be benefactors. Not when he’d first approached her. Notever.
‘But before I do, I need you to promise me something.’
‘Why?’
She rolled her eyes again. His fingers itched with a desire to reach for her and pull her into his lap, to kiss her until her eyes were rolling back in her head for a whole other reason.
‘Because this is very, very confidential and needs to be handled sensitively.’ She glanced around furtively, as though a dozen reporters might be about to jump out with boom mics in their faces.
‘Okay, you have my word.’
‘You won’t tell anyone what I’m about to say?’
‘Cristo, Charlotte, did you assassinate JFK or something?’
‘Yeah, one of my little-known skills is an ability to time travel.’ She bit into her lower lip, clearly so unsettled now that he took pity on her.
He reached out and topped up her empty champagne flute. ‘I’m listening.’
She nodded, looked around once more, then started to speak. ‘This is about my father,’ she whispered, so softly he almost didn’t hear.
‘Your father?’ He relaxed a little. He’d never heard her mention her father. He’d always presumed she didn’t have one. Which was absurd, because everyone had both a mother and father in some form or another, but he’d presumed hers had died. Or that she had no idea who he was. Actually, he hadn’t really put much time into thinking about it at all, or he might have asked. Except, that would have been breaking one of his rules. |So no, actually, he would never have asked.
She nodded once.
‘What about him?’
‘The thing is, I’ve never met him.’ Her throat shifted as she swallowed.
‘Why not?’
‘His choice,’ she said. ‘And then, I suppose, mine. Not that he changed his mind, but even if he had, I would have taken great delight in screaming “hell, no” down the phone line.’ Her smile lacked humour. ‘But he didn’t change his mind. He didn’t ask. At least, not until recently.’
Dante’s frown deepened. That was interesting. What might have occurred in a man’s life that he would decide, out of the blue, to reach out to his twenty-four-year-old daughter? Then again, Charlotte was starting to make a name for herself on the charity circuit. He knew—not from her—that some big corporates had been headhunting her for a while, offering eye watering salaries to have her come join them. Maybe the dropkick dad thought he could get some money from his daughter?
The conversation was veering dangerously close to the ground they always assiduously avoided. Personal details were anathema to them. He wanted to remind her of that, even when he’d agreed to have this conversation.
‘I hate him, Dante.’
Dante tilted his head to the side, considering that. His own parents had died in a helicopter crash—along with his grandfather—when he was eight years old. He had loved them, as all children love their parents. He wished he’d had a chance to know them better, but there hadn’t been the chance for that. His grandmother had raised him from that point on.
‘I know that sounds harsh, but this guy...’
Charlotte was intelligent and fiercely determined when it came to the charities she championed, but there was a kindness to her that she worked hard to hide. For her to say she hated someone, he knew it was a big deal.
‘He ruined my mother’s life,’ she finished carefully. ‘And made it abundantly clear that he wished I’d never been born.’
Dante could only imagine living with that reality. It went some of the way to explaining why Charlotte had developed a tougher than nails exterior. She was a fighter. Evidently, she’d been fighting from birth.
‘But now he wants to meet you,’ Dante prompted.
‘His circumstances have changed. His wife passed away recently. She was the reason I was a big, dirty secret.’
She dipped her head a little, her cheeks flushed.
