Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #1-4

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

Venice Carnival, two days later

F AYE HATED THAT she felt so conspicuously alone. Especially as she was now a married woman and the reason she was alone was her insistence on coming here for work.

She could be on her honeymoon; even arranged marriages indulged in arranged honeymoons. But she’d insisted on sticking to her work schedule, and now she felt a bit like a child who had overplayed her hand.

The simple gold wedding band that Primo had slipped onto her finger only two days ago was heavy. She resisted the urge to look at it and see how it nestled against the engagement ring. Markers of his possession of her. When he hadn’t yet possessed her at all. Not like that.

She felt a little breathless. They’d only shared a kiss. But that kiss would be burned onto her memory for ever. The civil wedding ceremony had passed in a blur of vows and promises that she’d been too conscious of Primo to focus on. Standing beside her. So tall and broad.

If she hadn’t had to walk down that aisle at a snail’s pace to meet Primo she might have stumbled at her first view of him waiting for her. He’d been dressed in a light grey three-piece suit, with a slightly darker silk tie and a white shirt. He’d had a small sprig of flowers in his lapel matching her posy. A touch that had made Faye feel inordinately emotional and somehow guilty. She’d put no thought into the wedding plans, leaving it all up to Primo’s team.

But apart from all of that he’d been almost too beautiful to look at directly. Not beautiful. Gorgeous. And sexy. Filling out his suit in a way that drew the eye to his powerful physique. Hard jaw. Firm mouth.

And then that mouth had been coming towards hers before she’d been able to prepare herself, and the kiss that she’d thought about from the moment she’d met him had been every bit as terrifyingly exposing as she’d feared it would be.

Faye had been on dates in the decade since her divorce. She’d even taken some lovers. But not one had ever ignited such a burning inferno inside her. Not even her husband had done that, she’d realised in that moment. It was as if there’d been a spark deep within her, just waiting for Primo to ignite it fully.

When Primo had pulled back, it had taken an age for her to open her own eyes. She’d realised he was practically supporting her as her legs had turned to jelly. Mortifyingly, before she’d been able to gather her wits, he’d leant close again and said, for her ears only, ‘See? I told you there was something between us. I look forward to getting to know you better... wife .’

Those words had made her insides swoop and dive like a besotted teenager’s. She’d pulled back, terrified he’d see just how much his kiss had impacted her. How much the knowledge that he did want her impacted her.

But he’d simply smirked, as if he could hear her every thought, and taken her hand, tucking it under his arm, making sure she was all but welded to his side as he’d strolled back down the makeshift aisle and the quartet had played a sunny, joyful tune.

A short time later they’d sat together for lunch. Primo had taken a sip of wine and said, ‘You’re still insisting on going to Venice this evening?’

Faye had only had to think of that kiss and the way he’d smirked at her to nod her head fervently and say, ‘Absolutely. I can’t let my clients down.’

‘Shame. Maybe I could come with you? I’m due to take a short break, actually. I could play house husband while you work?’

Faye had immediately been rewarded with an image of a naked Primo lounging amongst rumpled sheets in the midst of the fading grandeur of a palazzo, awaiting her return like some louche playboy, there for her pleasure...

Faye shook her head to dislodge the memory.

At that moment a waiter in an all-black silk Pierrot suit with a mask covering his face passed by with a tray, and she swiped a glass of sparkling wine before her imagination went any more rampant. She took a big sip.

She was here at the Carnival to meet with some clients and visit art galleries. She’d just negotiated a couple of deals totalling in the millions, and she should be savouring her success, but it felt hollow. Because for the first time she was noticing that she had no one to share it with.

Damn Primo Holt for awakening a weakness inside her.

And more. Desire.

It just went to show that she didn’t have to scratch far beneath the surface to unearth vulnerabilities she hadn’t felt in a long time. So much for her prized independence!

She took in her surroundings, forcing her mind away from thinking of him . The masked ball was taking place in a centuries-old palazzo, right on the Grand Canal. Candles and soft lighting turned everything golden. The costumes people wore were as elaborate as the palazzo, with its wall murals, frescoed ceilings and Murano glass chandeliers. Some men were in simple classic tuxedoes and some in capes and silk shirts, like heroes from a romantic historical novel, all wearing masks.

The women’s dresses ranged from modern evening gowns to costumes that would have made Marie Antoinette look shy and retiring, complete with wigs and stunning decorative masks with feathers and jewels.

Soft music came from a masked string quartet.

There wasn’t a jarring note of modernity anywhere. Faye could easily imagine that she’d been transported back in time by a couple of hundred years.

She rolled her eyes at herself, glad of the scarlet lace mask that covered half her face. It matched her dress, and the lace choker around her throat. Her hair was piled high into a chignon—she’d aimed for artfully rough and messy, because she’d had to do it herself. The dress was strapless. Lace over silk. The bodice was fitted over her chest and to her waist and then fell in voluminous folds to the floor. It wasn’t as eye-catching as some of the costumes, but she didn’t mind that. She’d never particularly liked to draw attention.

But you like the attention Primo gives you.

Faye’s insides clenched. Perhaps she’d been too hasty, insisting on coming to Venice. Because right now she could be consummating her marriage, and not feeling this awful sense of regret and hollowness spreading throughout her—

‘Waiting for someone?’

Faye’s racing mind stopped dead. The little hairs rose up all over her exposed skin. His voice . No. It couldn’t be. Was she so desperate that she was imagining him?

The back of her neck tingled. She turned around and came face to chest with a tall, broad man dressed all in black, with a cape tied at his throat and thrown carelessly over one shoulder. She looked up. His face was half covered with a hawk-like mask, revealing a firm jaw and that mouth. That mouth she could probably pick out of a line-up even though they’d only kissed once.

For an incredible moment Faye could almost imagine that a couple of hundred years had melted away and they’d slipped back in time. He looked like a buccaneer. A marauding pirate. She felt breathless. Her heart was pounding. Her insides were melting, turning hot and languorous.

Somehow she managed to say, ‘No, I’m not waiting for anyone.’

He cocked his head to one side. ‘Shame. You look a little lonely.’

Faye felt her faculties return and lied through her teeth. ‘Not lonely at all.’

‘A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be here alone.’

Faye almost rolled her eyes. ‘Have you said that to many women this evening?’

He shook his head. ‘No, just you. But perhaps I have it wrong, maybe you’re avoiding someone.’

Faye smiled sweetly. ‘Wrong on both counts. I’m here for work, actually, at the invitation of a kind client.’

‘Who has left you here alone? Very remiss of her.’

‘Him, actually.’

His eyes flashed behind his mask. The black made them look very blue, and his skin look even darker. ‘This...client... Was he trying to foster a more personal relationship?’

‘That’s really none of your business.’

‘Isn’t it?’ was the swift response.

After all, even though they hadn’t acknowledged each other’s identity, this was her husband. For the first time Faye felt a thrill go through her at the thought that this was her man . And he had come all the way here for her. And he might be jealous.

Or maybe he hadn’t and wasn’t. She felt exposed...a far too common sensation around this man...

‘Tell me,’ she asked, ‘are you here for business too?’

He shook his head. ‘Would you believe that up until this morning I had no plans to come here. I can’t explain it, but I felt a calling...maybe it was because I saw you in a dream and I wanted to see if you could be real.’

Faye hated how those words affected her. Because he’d said them blithely, with no care, and because it highlighted the part of her that reacted to words like that. Wanting the sentiment to be real.

‘I am real, and I’m pretty certain I didn’t appear in your dreams.’

He looked at her. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’

A moment tautened between them, alive with electricity. A waiter came by and the man in black—Faye refused to acknowledge who he really was just yet, like a coward—took a drink and deftly swapped her half-finished one for a fresh glass.

Then he said, ‘Join me on the balcony? It’s a little stuffy in here.’

Faye nodded and let him take her gloved hand, leading her through the crowd to open French doors leading to a balcony. Another couple were at the other end, heads close together.

She still couldn’t quite believe that he was here. That she’d been lamenting acting too hastily only a moment before he’d appeared.

They stood together and for a moment nothing was said. They took in the iconic and impressive view of the Grand Canal and the palazzos on the other side, lights shining from windows, each one a portal into another life, or lives, being played out as they had been here for hundreds of years.

‘The history of this place has always humbled me.’

Faye looked at the man in surprise, and then almost felt irritation. Would he stop reading her mind? She shook her head at her own ridiculousness.

He obviously saw her reaction and said, ‘What? Did I say something wrong?’

‘No.’ She couldn’t help smiling a little. ‘I was just thinking the same thing.’

He was looking down at her. She couldn’t read his expression. She was glad of their masks, creating this barrier between them. Then he reached out and touched her mouth with a finger, but it was so fleeting that she wasn’t sure if she imagined it, even though her lip tingled.

He said, ‘Look, let’s stop this—

Before he could emit another word Faye blurted out, ‘Can we not? Please?’

She knew he was about to dismantle this shimmering delicate facade of anonymity and she wasn’t ready. She felt a little foolish, but she really, really wanted to preserve this moment, and she didn’t want to analyse why it was so important to her. Something about not being ready to face the reality of why they’d married. For a business deal. She wanted him to want her , uniquely, and felt somehow protected behind the flimsy lace mask. As if it disguised the truth of their situation and how badly she wanted him.

‘Can we leave?’ she asked, before she lost her nerve. Before reality could return.

For a moment he said nothing, and Faye was afraid he’d make some flippant remark, but suddenly the air was infused with a sense of urgency. He just nodded, took her hand again and led her back into the room, dispensing with their glasses en route to the entrance. From there he led her down to the ground level, where a water taxi was waiting.

Faye hadn’t even noticed that she’d left her cape behind until Primo was undoing the silk tie on his and taking it off and putting it around her bare shoulders. It still held the warmth of his body, imprinting onto her skin, making it rise up into goosebumps.

‘Thank you.’

She glanced at him through the gauzy lace of her mask. His mouth looked firm.

‘You’re welcome.’

He sat beside her and put an arm across the back of the seat. Faye knew she should ask where they were going, but she was too afraid of shattering this illusion that they were strangers taking a moment out of time. When the reality was anything but that.

For a second, it struck Faye that perhaps this man she’d left the party with was in fact a stranger, and that she’d projected her desire for her husband onto him, willing him to be Primo. But when she sneaked a glance at him again, she could see the distinctive jaw under the mask. Hard and stern.

As if sensing her looking at him, he turned. The hawkish mask should have made him look scary against the backdrop of a moonlit Venice but she felt only excitement. His eyes were very blue. It was Primo. Her husband.

The boat’s engine had stopped now, and they were being steered into a landing pier that was attached to a soaring four-storey palazzo.

‘What is this place?’ Faye asked, in spite of her wanting to maintain the charade of anonymity.

The fact that it was obviously one of Venice’s older palazzos was obvious. It was one she’d noticed on her trips up and down the canal. She knew who owned most of them, but not this one. Which usually meant very old money.

Primo replied, ‘I own the top-floor apartment. The rest of the palazzo is owned by the Monegazio family.’

Faye’s sucked in breath of shock that was disguised by the fact that Primo was getting out of the boat. He extended a hand to her and she took it, holding her dress up with the other hand as she stepped onto concrete.

The Monegazio family were one of Venice’s oldest and most venerated. They had a private art collection that was the stuff of legend. It had never been seen in public. And apparently her husband owned their top-floor apartment.

Primo bade ciao and grazie to the boat taxi driver and led her to huge ornate doors that opened as if by magic as they approached. An elegant older man was on the other side, dressed in black trousers and a long-sleeved black jumper.

Faye heard him address the man as Matteo, and they exchanged a few words in Italian. Cleary he was some kind of concierge. The man dipped his head towards Faye in greeting, and then disappeared through an open door off the main entrance hall. Presumably his apartment.

Primo led her deeper into the palazzo. Faye got a tantalising glimpse of vast canvases on the walls as they walked over faded ornate rugs. There was a big table with a massive vase of fresh flowers.

She suddenly realised they were standing at modern gleaming metal doors. Primo pressed a button. Faye let out a surprised huff of laughter. ‘An elevator? Isn’t that a little sacrilegious in a place like this?’

‘This was part of what they needed my money for. The oldest member of the family, the matriarch, is confined to a wheelchair now, so the palazzo had to be made accessible. They’re asset-rich and cash-poor.’

The elevator doors opened, revealing a very standard and modern interior. It was jarring after her feeling that they’d been transported back in time. The elevator ascended and the doors opened again into a large marble-floored entrance hall. There was a circular table there, upon which sat a piece of modern sculpture. Faye recognised the artist instantly, and would have stopped to inspect it more closely, but Primo was ahead of her, striding into a living area and turning on low lights.

She followed, and her jaw dropped. It was a vast open space with windows out to the canal on either side, as this palazzo was not adjoining any others. One side of the room was a sumptuous living space, and subtle dividers at the other end demarked a dining area with a big, generous table. Oriental rugs overlaid a traditional terrazzo floor. Everything was cream and gold and very, very, luxurious.

She looked up; the ceiling was ablaze with ornate frescoes. Cherubs and angels and clouds and skies. It should have looked ridiculous. It didn’t.

‘It’s...’ Faye struggled to find words to describe the beauty around her. She couldn’t.

‘It’s a little more...ornate than I would normally go for, but it suits the surroundings.’

Faye nodded. ‘It would have been criminal to turn this into a minimalist space.’

‘Drink?’

Faye realised that Primo had moved over to a drinks cabinet. She felt unsteady, as if they were on a ship. And, considering the water all around them, it wasn’t a totally ridiculous notion.

She relished the thought of some fortification. ‘Sure.’

He looked at her. ‘A gin martini?’

He remembered her drink of choice. She felt a little jolt in her belly but shook her head. ‘Too strong. A glass of prosecco would be fine, if you have it.’

He inclined his head and was soon approaching her with a flute of golden sparkling wine and holding a glass of what looked like whisky for himself.

He held out his glass. ‘Saluti.’

Faye clinked her glass against his and echoed his toast. She took a sip. The effervescent wine bubbled down her throat. Perfectly chilled and fragrant. Like the excitement mixed with trepidation fizzing in her veins. She’d never felt like this before sleeping with other men. Not because she was so confident, but because none of them had ever affected her on such a deep, visceral level.

He lifted a hand and gestured towards his face. ‘If you don’t mind?’

Faye’s heart thumped. It would be ridiculous to ask him to keep it on.

She shook her head. ‘Not at all.’

But as he unmasked himself she moved away a little, and looked at the canvases on the walls. They were all impressive, all originals, and did not follow any discernible pattern.

Faye stood before one. ‘You have a Renoir.’

Primo came and stood beside her. ‘As you can see, my collection is somewhat...eclectic,’ he said, and his tone was self-deprecating. ‘I can’t claim to have any great knowledge. I tend to choose something if I like it, rather than because it’s of strategic importance or because it fits into a narrative.’

Faye continued around the walls, taking in a snowy Dutch landscape. ‘Truly, that’s the best way to buy art—not because you should or because something is in fashion.’

‘Is that how you buy art?’

Faye looked at him. He was watching her, his face no longer hidden, a shoulder leaning against the wall. For a second she couldn’t breathe. He looked so beautiful.

How could this man really want her?

She was nothing that special.

She struggled to remember what he’d just asked her. Art. How did she buy art.

She shook her head. ‘Actually, apart from curating my own family’s collection, I don’t collect a lot of art. I’m too conscious of what my clients are looking for. I have bought pieces along the way, but invariably I end up selling them on.’

Primo took her glass out of her hand and put it down, then said, ‘Give me your hands.’

Faye did so, bemused. Primo tugged off the gloves that matched the dress. Silly to feel so exposed when it was only her hands. Primo put the gloves aside and then took the hand upon which her engagement and wedding ring sat and lifted it.

He arched a brow. ‘You’re a married woman?’

Faye scowled at him and he let her hand go, putting his hands up. ‘You’re the one still hiding behind a mask.’

Reluctant to let go of the last shred of illusion, but knowing it was silly to keep it up, she turned around and presented Primo with her back. For a long moment Primo did nothing, and Faye almost turned around again, but then she felt his hands at the back of her head, undoing the mask. It fell into her hand.

She would have turned around then, but Primo’s fingers were in her hair and he was pulling out the pins holding up her chignon. Strands of hair started to fall down around her shoulders. When all the pins were out, he speared her hair with his fingers and massaged her scalp.

Faye had not expected that. She closed her eyes at the delicious sensations of Primo’s big hands on her head. She felt like purring. She forced her eyes open and turned, dislodging his hands.

His eyes were a very bright blue. He said, ‘You’re still wearing your cape.’

Faye lifted her chin in a silent gesture for him to undo it. He did, his fingers making light work of the tie. She shivered lightly as it fell to the floor, baring her shoulders and the top of her chest.

He put out a hand and Faye looked at it for a moment before putting her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers and he led her from the living area, down a corridor to another doorway.

His bedroom.

It was a feast for the senses. Parquet flooring. A Murano glass chandelier. Hand-painted wallpaper in the Chinoiserie style. Gold trim. French doors leading directly out to a balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. A vast bed with a Rococo-style headboard trimmed with gold. Pristine white linen.

Faye couldn’t take her eyes off the bed, but then Primo said, ‘Okay?’

He was giving her permission to say no. Something about that consideration, especially now that they were married, made a piece of Faye’s defences crumble.

She nodded. She couldn’t not . She wanted him.

But just when she thought he’d waste no time in getting her on her back, he said, ‘Look up.’

She did, a little bemused, and gasped out loud. The ceiling was an explosion of colour and clouds and cherubs, much like the ceiling in the main room, but there was a subtle difference to this one. She recognised the artist and couldn’t quite believe it.

‘Tiepolo?’ she asked, naming a famous Venetian painter known for his Rococo style. There’d been rumours that he’d worked on palazzos for private families, but she’d never seen the evidence.

‘Yes.’

‘This ceiling must be priceless,’ she breathed.

‘It is. I own this entire apartment, but I don’t own this ceiling,’ Primo revealed.

‘Art like this belongs to the world, not to one person.’

‘Indeed.’

Eventually Faye took her gaze down from the ceiling to look at Primo. The air seemed to quiver between them.

He reached out a hand and pushed a lock of hair over one shoulder. ‘Do you know how exquisite you are?’

Faye ducked her head, but he tipped up her chin with a finger. She said, ‘You don’t need to say things...like that. I’m not here to be wooed. We’re married. This is an arrangement.’

Primo’s eyes flashed with something, but Faye couldn’t decipher the emotion. He said, ‘We wouldn’t have to be married for me to have wanted you out of all the women at that party.’

Faye gulped. ‘But I’m nothing—’

Primo put a finger to her mouth, stopping her words. And then, before she could take another breath, his finger was replaced with his mouth and she was pulled tight into his body, his hands around her waist.

After a long, drugging moment he pulled back. Faye struggled to open her eyes...focus. Primo’s eyes were so hot she felt seared.

He said, ‘Don’t ever suggest you’re nothing again.’

Faye swallowed. She could taste him. ‘I...okay.’

This was a wholly new sensation for her. Not just because she hadn’t had sex in a while, but also, she realised now, because she instinctively chose men she felt in control around. With this man, she was not in control. But she trusted him. And that was almost scarier to acknowledge, when she’d spent the last decade keeping herself very protected.

He took his hands down and without taking his gaze from hers started to undress. Slowly, methodically, taking every piece of his clothing off until he was naked.

Faye’s blood was sizzling and it hurt to keep her gaze up.

He said, ‘You can look. I won’t break.’

There was a thread of amusement in his voice. It emboldened Faye to drop her gaze down and...

Oh. My. God. The man was hewn out of living, breathing rock.

Broad shoulders and chest. A smattering of hair. Muscles that could have been carved and shaded by an artist. Golden skin. Slim hips. The darker hair at his groin where his body was hard. Thick and long.

Faye’s eyes widened. He was magnificent. Every inch of him virile and unashamedly masculine.

‘I’m feeling a little underdressed here,’ he said, reminding her that she was still in her own costume, which suddenly felt restrictive. She reached for the zip at the side of the dress, under her arm, and started to tug it down. But it got stuck.

Primo stepped forward. ‘Let me.’

Faye lifted her arm and Primo tugged at the zip until it gave way under his fingers. Of course it did. She couldn’t imagine this man touching anything—even an inanimate object—and it not giving way to his touch.

The dress loosened around her chest, but to her surprise Primo held her arm up and pressed his mouth against the underside of her arm. A shudder of pure desire went through Faye. It felt like a shockingly intimate act.

He let her arm go. Primo stood in front of her again and slowly peeled the dress from her chest and then down and then with a tug over her hips it was falling to the floor.

Now she stood before him in nothing but a matching underwear set—strapless bra—and her shoes. She kicked them off, which lowered her a few inches, making her feel tiny next to Primo’s formidable height and bulk. But she didn’t feel nervous or intimidated.

He was looking at her, that bright gaze lingering on her breasts, spilling out of the flimsy bra cups, moving down to her belly and hips and thighs.

‘You are beautiful.’

Faye wanted to say the same thing to him, but felt shy.

Thankfully Primo took her by the hand again and led her to the bed. He sat down and pulled her between his legs.

‘Turn around,’ he ordered gruffly.

She did, and felt him undo her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Then he tugged her panties over her hips and down. She stepped out of them. Now she was fully naked.

He gently urged her to turn around again, and when she did his mouth was at the same level as her breasts. He cupped one fleshy weight and leaned forward, placing his hot mouth around one straining peak. Faye’s head fell back and her hands speared his hair in a bid to hold on to something.

She was lost in a vortex of sucking, drugging heat, with a wire of tension linking directly from her nipple to between her legs. She didn’t even realise her legs had given way until she was in his lap with his arms around her. Her pulse was thundering.

He stood up, taking her with him, and laid her on the bed. He went to retrieve something from a drawer, muttering something about not being able to last, and when Faye realised it was protection she said, ‘It’s okay...’

He looked at her with the foil packet unopened in his hand.

She said, ‘I won’t get pregnant. It’s okay.’ She deliberately didn’t elaborate, and knew he most likely assumed she meant she was taking the contraceptive pill.

He put down the protection and came over to the bed, ‘I’m clean. I get tested, and it’s been a while since I had a lover.’

‘Me too,’ said Faye, feeling shy again.

He came over her on both arms, muscles bunching under his gleaming skin. Faye couldn’t quite believe that Primo Holt was looking at her with such...naked hunger.

He kissed her again, an arm going under her back, arching her up to him so that her breasts were pressed against his chest, the hair there a delicious abrasion against her sensitised skin.

She moved restlessly under him, growing bolder, a hand seeking and finding his erection, wrapping around him, and glorying in the sheer evidence of his arousal. For her . It was the biggest aphrodisiac in the world.

And then he took his hand from him, saying again, ‘I won’t last. I need to be inside you.’

Faye needed no encouragement. She spread her legs around him and he guided himself to the centre of her body. Their skin was slick. Faye was panting. Primo teased her for a moment, dragging the head of his erection along her folds. She lifted her hips, causing him to impale her a little. Her eyes nearly rolled to the back of her head.

He let out a huff of laughter and said something like, ‘I knew we’d be good together.’ But she couldn’t be sure. She was half crazed.

‘Please...’

‘Open your eyes. I want you to be sure you know who you’re making love to. Not some random stranger from a masked ball.’

She looked at him. ‘Of course I knew it was you...’

Even as you tried to pretend it wasn’t , reminded a little voice.

Faye put her hands on Primo’s arms. ‘Please, Primo...’

It was as if saying his name broke some last shred of his control and he was sinking into her, stretching her so wide that she gasped.

He stopped. ‘Am I hurting you?’

She shook her head, unable to speak. She squeezed his arms, urging him on, and he sank deeper. Faye could feel her body accept him and mould around his length, taking him in all the way until she didn’t know where he ended and she began.

She’d never known making love could be so...intense. And Primo had barely even moved. And then he did, pulling back out and then moving in again. Slow, methodical movements, making the tension wind tighter and tighter.

His movements got faster, and Faye’s entire body was as taut as a bow. He put a hand under her bottom and squeezed the firm flesh, then brought his hand around to where their bodies met. With one flick of his finger, a storm broke inside Faye’s body and she was sent flying so high she wasn’t sure if she’d ever return to the woman she’d been.

Primo’s movements were more frenzied, wild, and with a guttural cry he stilled inside her, his body jerking as he too was split apart by pleasure.