Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #1-4

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

D IONI HAD OBVIOUSLY fantasized about this moment upwards of a trillion times, give or take.

Even before she knew she was pregnant, she had done her best to salve her wounds—and her pride—by imagining Alceu groveling to her in a thousand different ways. Though she had not taken as much pleasure as she’d expected she would in her daydreams of him crawling about on the ground, or throwing himself prostrate before her, or falling to his knees theatrically to beg her forgiveness.

Because, she had long since concluded, the sad truth was that the Alceu she liked—the Alceu she had always liked, and far too much for her own good—was proud and coolly arrogant and wholly uncowed by anything or anyone.

It was a shame that she couldn’t change him, even in her own head.

Nonetheless, she had let her fantasies run wild. And as time went on, and her situation became more unavoidably real, the daydreams had shifted. Maybe she ran into him by accident somewhere. Maybe she had a child who so resembled him that word got back to him, somehow—though not via her brother, because even in her dreams she hadn’t worked out how she was going to tell Apostolis about any of this. There was an infinite variety of scenarios, but they always ended with him seeing her again and counting himself a terrible fool. She would pity him . He would come to her, awash in declarations, and he would beg her to marry him—

But not like this.

Because this was all wrong. She was enormous, which was fine because she was pregnant but was so ungainly . She was covered in princess cake crumbs. Instead of finding her in her depressed, effortlessly elegant mode, she was her clumsy, messy, tattered self.

This, naturally, was when he chose to ask her—well, tell her—to marry him.

And there had been no declarations. There had been thinly veiled accusations to suggest that she’d deliberately gone and gotten herself pregnant to spite him. There had been temper. And it had all led to an order , not a request.

“Are you demanding that I marry you, Alceu?” Dioni asked into the quiet of the brownstone all around them, as if she thought calling it what it was would shame him, somehow, into rethinking his approach.

Instead, he scowled. “You are carrying my child.”

“You say that like that’s a revelation. And I suppose it is, for you.” She shrugged, and tried to brush some of the crumbs off the wide shelf of her belly, then gave up. “But I’ve had six months to resign myself to the paternity of my child, and at no point during those six months did I think that marrying you would be an option. Or a good idea.”

Or on offer, though she did not say that.

He studied her for what seemed like a pitiless age or two.

“Nonetheless,” he said.

She waited for him to expound on that, but he didn’t. He just stood there, maddeningly fierce, those rich, dark eyes of his seeming something like ferocious as he gazed at her. Almost as if her failure to fling herself at his trouser cuff and weep with gratitude was a personal betrayal to him.

“ Nonetheless is neither a complete sentence nor a reasonable answer,” she pointed out.

“What do you imagine are your options here, camurria ?” he asked quietly, though she did not pretend she couldn’t hear the steel in his voice. It was stamped all over him. “I doubt very much that you would have gone to the trouble to run across the world and hide from reality if you did not know exactly where this was headed all along. Why bother to pretend otherwise?”

Her heart was beating too hard in her chest and it made her breath feel tight. And the last thing she needed was for more of her body to hurt in new and unexpected ways, but she couldn’t let herself focus on the ramifications of what he was saying. So she parsed it instead.

“You called me that before. Camurria. I looked it up.” She glared at him. He stared back, impassively enough, save for that dark fire in his gaze. “Apparently, it’s Sicilian for pain in the ass . But I suspect you know that.”

“If the shoe fits,” he replied, silkily.

“I’m not a shoe,” Dioni tossed back at him. “I’m not an object that you can claim, now, when you wanted nothing to do with me six months ago. Nothing’s actually changed. The fact that I’m pregnant is because of you, but this baby has nothing to do with you. I will raise my own child, precisely the way I want, and I don’t need any help or interference from anyone.”

And she told herself that was what she wanted, more than anything. When the truth was more that it was what she’d come to accept that she was going to get—whether she really wanted it or not.

That was the reality she’d spent months coming to terms with here.

He was a wild card at best.

“But this is a fantasyland you are describing, and you know it.” She could see that something had shifted in him. That whatever emotion had led him to propose—though she doubted he even admitted he had such things, or maybe he didn’t know he was capable of emotion—in that particularly rough-sounding voice was gone.

Now he was the Alceu she had always known. Contained. Stern. Absolutely certain of himself.

What was wrong with her that he made her shiver, deep inside, in the parts of her body that only he had ever touched?

That she was still so wildly attracted to him, while she was carrying his child inside of her body, made the heat between her legs seem to bloom. Soft, wet.

Extremely disappointing , she thought.

“I think that a proposal is supposed to involve a question of some kind,” she told him, and she did not question why it was she was entertaining this. She should send him on his way. She should not have let him come inside in the first place. “Not an ill-tempered command tossed out over a kitchen counter.”

“I would think that the punishment suits the crime, does it not?” he retorted in a tone that really, she thought, should have made her furious.

Instead it made that blooming inside of her deepen. Then expand.

And maybe the best way to describe Alceu’s effect on her was like an illness. His wildfire power over her came upon her without warning, robbed her of little bits of herself, and left her shaking for days.

He was debilitating.

What she needed to do was make him leave and get back to her very important work of daydreaming about various ways he really should grovel before her. It turned out that she found that notion far more appealing, suddenly.

She tossed her takeaway cake box into the appropriate trash receptacle. She brushed another round of crumbs off of her shirt, into the sink, and made herself count to ten.

Twice.

Because surely she could do with a little calm.

When she turned to face him again, he still hadn’t moved an inch. But then, he didn’t have to, did he? He filled the room all the same. As if the din of the city all around them, audible even through the walls and windows, was his name—pressing in upon them.

Branding her the way his touch had, months back.

“I am going to pretend none of this happened,” she told him. “You’re welcome to do whatever you like, but I certainly hope it includes taking yourself back home to Sicily, where you can sit in your castle and brood as much as you like. I hear you’re very good at it.”

She went to sweep dramatically from the room. But she miscalculated.

Maybe it was because sweeping hither and yon was best done in the appropriate sort of dress. Or in any kind of dress at all. Raggedy jeans that kept catching at her heels didn’t quite give the same impression, and even if they did, Dioni was still and ever herself.

So really, it shouldn’t have surprised her at all that she tripped.

And she would have gone flying and done a header into the floor had Alceu not reached out as if he’d anticipated her every move, and simply...caught her.

As if she weighed no more than a feather.

As if it had been a foregone conclusion that he would catch her like that, so easily.

As if it was inevitable .

Alceu gazed down at her. She could see every striation in his dark eyes. Every shade of brown in the world, each one of them magical. He held her in his arms as if they were in a gorgeous, achingly cinematic film, as if the music was swelling and the audience was gasping and everything had been leading to this .

His stern, uncompromising face seemed fiercer this close. She really ought to have been afraid, though she wasn’t. Dioni could not seem to keep herself from lifting a hand—it was almost as if it moved of its own accord—and tracing the bold, ruthless features before her.

The face she knew better than her own, having dreamed of it so often.

And something about those sensual lips of his—so austere, so reserved—shifted.

They did not quite soften . There was nothing about Alceu that was soft .

He muttered that word again. Camurria.

“Careful,” Dioni said, though her own voice had gone all husky. “Or I will start to imagine that is an endearment.”

His dark eyes blazed and warmed her, everywhere.

Then, at last, he lowered his mouth to hers.

And he had been inside her body. He had knelt between her legs, out on that rain-swept terrace. Then he had licked his way between her thighs and taught her things about herself she had never dreamed could be possible. That she could writhe like that, heedless of anything but him. That she could lose herself entirely, the whole of her being focused on what he did with his mouth, his lips, even his teeth.

Alceu had held her over him on one of the chaises, tucked away from the worst of the weather. He had lifted her up as if she were insubstantial, settled her against the hard heat of him, and then slowly, painstakingly, he had lowered her down and surged into her.

One delirious centimeter at a time.

He had felt and seen the precise moment when she’d flinched, because the pain of entry was like a punch where a person least wanted to be punched. And Dioni had watched the way his gaze had gone something far darker than merely possessive. She had felt the way his hands wrapped around her hips and gripped her, so tight and sure that she could only move as he bade her.

Then, once she had seated herself astride him—and he was so deep within her that she had understood what wholeness meant and had never been quite the same since—he had taught her how to move.

Dioni had felt that too, every stroke, every thrust and reverse. She had felt the friction, the astonishing heat.

When she wasn’t imagining him groveling, she was imagining that. The press, the pull. Her softness and his hardness.

The glory of it all, a spiral of jubilation and greed that had swept her away.

She had felt every part of him, and had marveled at the way he seemed to know exactly how to angle himself so that she could not help but fall apart.

Over and over again.

Dioni had felt more sensation than she’d ever believed possible out there in the rain. She’d imagined that she would never know anything better, or more disastrous—

But this kiss was better than all of it combined.

This kiss was a revelation , and she understood why.

It was his mouth descending upon hers. It was him . He was the one holding her in that low, romantic swoon of a position. He was the one who traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, made that low sound in his throat, and then deepened the kiss.

He was the one who shifted her so he could pull her up against his body and then tilt her head so that he could kiss her at a better angle.

And then it was all deeper, better, wilder .

Dioni could think of nothing she wanted more in all the world than to kiss him back.

Forever. Then again.

As if there were infinite variations and he intended to explore each and every one of them. She could feel her belly pressed to him, and something about that was shockingly erotic. That the baby they’d made was so obviously there between them and still he kissed her with a sensual, carnal intent that taught her entirely new ways to find him thrilling .

On and on it went, with new angles to try and different ways to use their mouths, until they were both panting. And her hands were fists against his chest, ruining the perfect lines of his suit. And her hair had fallen down all around her, but not of its own volition this time.

Because his hands were deep in the mess of it, gripping her skull and guiding her head where he wanted it to go.

She understood that when he finally pulled away it was because it was that—or possibly expire on the spot.

“Oxygen,” she managed to pant out. “Oxygen is good.”

And for a moment, Alceu simply rested his forehead against hers. And they breathed together.

A fantasy she had not thought to have, and that would now haunt her, she was sure.

But before she was ready, he stepped away.

He held her there at arm’s length and gazed at her as if he was truly taking her in for the first time. Her mouth, wet from his. Her hair in a careless tangle that spilled over her shoulders. Her narrow shoulders and big, round belly.

Dioni could track the way his face changed as he looked.

How he grew more and more stern the longer he gazed down at her. Until he was frowning down at her—still holding her by the shoulders as if he thought that if he let go, even a little, she would run.

Or, maybe worse in his eyes, fling herself upon him.

And the more breaths she took, and the more she settled down, she had to acknowledge that his concern was not misplaced.

“You understand that marriage is the only option, do you not?” Alceu asked, and darkly, but he did not leave her any room to respond. Wise man. “It is not a matter of pity , but of propriety—and this is nothing to celebrate. You would do well to pity yourself.”

He let go of her then and stepped back, and Dioni was not sure if she was bemused or insulted as he immediately began setting himself to rights. He smoothed down his shirt and his coat. He even ran a hand over his hair, as if anything could make it look out of place.

And he continued to frown at her as he crossed his arms, which on anyone else—meaning, on her—would wrinkle everything immediately.

But this, of course, was Alceu Vaccaro.

Sheer, ferocious male perfection.

So she licked the taste of him off her lips and endeavored not to smile when he scowled at her.

“The Vaccaros are well known in Sicily and for all the wrong reasons,” he told her in that same dark tone. “There is not a single ancestor in my family tree that I do not view without abhorrence. I come from a long line of monsters, each one more dedicated to proving themselves the worst. Most preferred not to ruin their own lives, but made certain they ruined the lives of others, cutting a wide swath across the island and well into Europe.” He looked something like pained for a moment. “Marrying you constitutes the breaking of a vow, and many will see this as yet one more example that despite everything, a Vaccaro always shows himself. A Vaccaro always proves that he cannot be trusted.”

Dioni found herself drifting, focusing on his mouth as it moved instead of the words he was saying. And he seemed to realize that because he made a low, growling sort of sound that had her gaze snapping to his.

But if he expected contrition, he would have to contend with his disappointment, because all she did was smile.

His scowl deepened. “The house that I grew up in is a monument to narcissism and greed. It was built to stave off enemies, and these were not imagined enemies. I find it embarrassing, but I’ve made it my life’s work to take that building and the property it sits on and make it over into something good. If you expect a life of ease, you will be greatly disappointed.”

And then he raised his brows as if he expected a response. Immediately.

“I assure you, I understand the point of this lecture,” Dioni said, mildly. “I, who have not yet accepted your proposal, would do so only because I am a gold digger of the highest order.” She waved her hand, taking in the kitchen they stood in, gleaming and beautiful. The gardens beyond. The entire brownstone itself, which was an extraordinarily luxurious property. “As is self-evident, I should think. I would do anything to escape this cruel and terrible life.”

“I understand that you are used to a pampered life,” he growled at her. “Perhaps you forget that your brother is my closest friend.”

Dioni never forgot that, little as she wished to think of Apostolis just now. Apostolis, who was always so kind to her. Apostolis, who had always made time for her. Apostolis, who had supported her when she’d wanted to go off to school, even when her father had initially balked.

She particularly did not want to think about his friendship with Alceu and how this situation must certainly test it, once her brother found out. Maybe she was deluding herself that she could keep it from him much longer, but the idea of telling him made her stomach hurt.

Especially if he was understanding. He forgave her everything and had supported her always and this was how she’d repaid him?

It did not bear thinking about.

“I did not exactly grow up in a workhouse, I grant you,” she said instead, rolling her eyes as if she was far more at her ease than she was. “But you seem to forget that for all the legends that swirl around my family, we have always been in trade. I have been working at the Hotel Andromeda since I was a girl. I am not unaccustomed to work, Alceu, though again, I don’t recall volunteering to help rehabilitate your image on an island I’ve never visited.” She smiled then, and widely. The very picture of beneficence. “Though I will say that this is quite a novel approach. No actual proposal, all dire warnings. Truly, it’s the stuff of which romantic poetry is made. I salute you.”

“This is what I am trying to make clear to you,” he all but threw at her, that same arrested fury in his gaze that she remembered from the storm they’d shared. “There will be no romance. You already carry my child. The Vaccaro line continues, I am no better than those who came before me, and unless I can raise our child to put an end to this once and for all, it will carry on as it always has. I have failed. This—you and me and what must happen now—is nothing but damage control.”

He stood there, arms crossed, telling her all of these dire things in what she could tell was perfect seriousness. He believed every word he was saying.

This time it was her heart that hurt, and more than the way it usually did where he was concerned.

Because he was doing this while he was standing there ramrod straight, as if facing his own firing squad. Only the gleam in his gaze told her that he was not anywhere near as calm as he pretended.

Or perhaps he believed he was. She imagined he always believed he was.

But then, none of it mattered anyway.

Because he had kissed her.

And so she knew, now.

Because her whole life she had been chaotic. Clumsy. Usually stained. Always a bit raggedy.

But when he kissed her, deep inside, she went still.

Still and bright and beautiful.

It was as if all the pieces that made her Dioni were little more than chunks of coal, but when his mouth was on her, all of that fused and became the diamond she’d been meant to be all along.

That was what it had felt like, that calm, endless glow from within while his mouth teased her and tamed her, taught her and remade her.

That was what he felt like, as if he was the glue that could hold her together.

“Dioni,” he said gruffly. “You must marry me.”

And she agreed. Of course she must, though not for any one of his dire and depressing reasons.

She did not have to know a single thing about him, his family, or the Vaccaros’ reputation in Sicily to know that he was wrong. Whether he could ever accept it or not.

Because she was a motherless child who was the reason for her own lack, and she knew a thing or two about redemption and forgiveness.

She did not believe in irreparable .

“Thank you for asking so prettily,” she said.

“Dioni.” Her name was a stark growl and it shivered through her like another crushed bit of coal turned diamond gleam.

“Yes, Alceu,” she said quietly. “I will marry you and live a life of despair in your villainous castle. Oh, happy day.”

But inside, what she felt was nothing short of joy. She watched the way his expression changed again, something almost haunted moving over his stern face, stark and unmistakable. She watched the way he loosed his arms, and stood straight again.

She realized that for all his bluster, he hadn’t known how she would respond.

And deep inside, that stillness glowed, and she knew.

You are going to fall in love with me , she thought.

And it was so impossible, so wildly unlikely, that it could only be true.

Dioni intended to see to it herself.