Page 188 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8
Chapter Three
Charlotte would havepreferred to take a few nights to lick her wounds after Dante’s rejection. She thought she’d inured herself from that kind of pain—and she hadn’t realised that his saying ‘no’ to her proposal would genuinely hurt, given the super casual nature of what they’d been doing. But somehow, she’d gotten used to the idea of him being around. Not in a ‘real’ sense, but just as someone she could hook up with whenever she wanted.
It would have been nice to just stay home—well, technically at Jane’s house, because Charlotte had just sort of ended up living there when her lease had ended—and absorb all of the body blows she’d been dealt lately, but she knew she was already living on borrowed time.
She’d just presumed Dante would just fit in with her plans. After all, he had almost as much reason to go for a fake marriage as she did.
His grandmother was the only family member he had left, and she was getting very old and frail. According to Dante, she’d made no effort to hide how much she wanted him to get married again and start having adorable little Italian babies. Dante had looked concerned when he’d admitted as much to Charlotte and Dante San Marino wasnota man to look anything remotely like concerned, generally.
He was ridiculously confident, almost toxically alpha, arrogant to the point of infuriating, whip smart in a way that sometimes hurt her brain, and richer than sin, to boot. A combination of old family money and new business nous, meant he was constantly in the finance papers for this deal or that.
Charlotte had offered him an easy way to give his grandmother what she wanted, without any of the complications he clearly wanted to avoid.
And he’d still said ‘no’. Which left her up the proverbial creek without a paddle and no time to spare if this was going to work. She needed a husband and she needed one now.
So, instead of staying home and watching box sets with a huge tub of ice cream, Charlotte had slipped into a Stella McCartney dress she’d found on eBay the summer prior, pushed her feet with their newly-painted toenails into a strappy pair of sandals, grabbed a glittery clutch and zhushed her hair, before stepping onto the street and hailing a cab.
The event at the swanky art gallery wasn’t one she routinely went to, though she was invited every year. However, it was a fundraiser for a children’s hospital, so technically it was a good work opportunity—any charity function had, by definition, a guest list full to bursting with people willing to donate to good causes.
Tonight, though, her focus wouldn’t be on schmoozing London’s elite. No, she had to work fast, if she was going to find a man who might be willing to marry her—without expecting any kind of romance or relationship in the mix.
Fortunately, finding a shallow would-be husband amongst this crowd wouldn’t be too hard. The Roman Numeral set tended have a few rank and file members who would be sure to fit the bill.
Her dress was silky and fell to a couple of inches above the knees, showing the creamy translucence of her skin. She walked confidently in her heels—a virtue of being short and having to go to a lot of these sorts of things, she could probably have run a marathon in a pair of three-inch spikes.
‘Name?’ Through the foyer of the hotel, and at the entrance to the ballroom, a woman in a stunning one shoulder lime green dress greeted Charlotte expectantly.
‘Charlotte Shaw.’
The woman ran a manicured nail down the list then nodded. ‘Miss Shaw, welcome,’ she waved inside the room. It was a swirling hive of activity and voices. Conversation, laughter and gossip, no doubt. If you’d been to one of these things, you’d been to them all.
She drew in a deep breath, steeling herself, as she always did, to be Charlotte Shaw. Not Lottie, who was more comfortable lounging around in her pyjamas and watching re-runs of Friends, eating Thai takeout. But Charlotte Shaw, who’d gone to a prestigious girls’ school, an even more elite university, graduated with impressive academic marks and received invitations to join some of the top tier firms in the country. Charlotte Shaw who had made a name for herself in the charities sector. That version of herself was expected to be polished, professional and sophisticated. She pasted a smile to her face and breezed in, as though she had not a care in the world, when in fact, she cared very, very much about how quickly she could wrench the Papandreo company out of the hands of the man who’d been such a monumental jerk to her and her mother.
Dante almost hadn’t come to the damn event, but given the enormous amount his hedge fund had donated to the charity, it had seemed in poor taste to not at least put in a brief appearance. He generally left this sort of thing to his assistant, so he wasn’t really even sure why he’d felt compelled to put on a suit and come and mill with some of London’s filthiest rich elite. Not for pleasure, certainly.
And not for company, either.
He knew he’d want to meet someone else, at some point. Another woman he could sleep with, anyway. But the problem was, Charlotte had been such a perfect fit. Not just because of the way things were between them in the bedroom, but because she so perfectly matched his total non-desire for a serious relationship. As soon as he’d explained where he was at, in terms of women, she had echoed his thoughts. Spelling out her need for independence. Saying they shouldn’t get deep with each other, and that it was fine to just call a spade a spade and admit that they were essentially using each other for sex.
Excellent.
And not something, in his experience, that many women would go for.
So, as his eyes scanned the room, and he continued to listen to a high-level conversation about bitcoin, he did a double take to see Charlotte locked in conversation with a guy who basically looked as though he would lick the soles of her shoes if she asked it of him. And marry her?
Dante stood a little straighter, eyes narrowing.
Charlotte’s hand reached out, touched the guy’s forearm. He was vaguely familiar. Something in steel? Shipping? Dante had met him at an event, some time ago.
Charlotte laughed, her red hair moving like a wave around her face, so his gut rolled, because he knew how it would feel—soft—and smell—sweet. She was clearly wasting no time in finding someone whowouldfall in with her marriage plans.
The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks. She had approached Dante, first, and he’d refused her. So here she was, the very next night, looking for an alternative. Something she’d no doubt have no trouble doing.
Only, he didn’t want her to marry someone else. He didn’t want her to get married at all. Which was pretty damn hypocritical, given that he’d sworn off the whole idea of marriage himself. But so had she.
Charlotte didn’t want this. She was doing it for revenge, and for altruism, and she’d asked him for afavour.Because she could trust him to go through the motions of the engagement and the wedding. She trusted that she could rely on him and, in exchange, it wouldn’t get messy.
She’d even dangled the only carrot that would ever, every induce him to even halfway consider marriage: hisNonna.
