Page 113 of Modern Romance May 2026 Books 5-8
I take a long drink of my champagne as I utter a prayer that maybe one day, even if it’s long after I’m gone, Aiden can finally look in the mirror and see the man instead of the monster he thinks he is.
Chapter Thirteen
Aiden
THE GONDOLA GLIDESbeneath a stone bridge. An Italian song is playing softly through the speakers lining the boat as the gondolier navigates the waterways of Venice.
It’s after midnight. The masquerade will go on until two or three in the morning. But after hours spent among the crowds, I found myself craving the quietness of our hotel apartment.
Seraphina is seated next to me, her head on my shoulder, one arm looped through mine. She’s been quiet since we left, contemplative. Every now and then she’ll turn to look at a passing building, but she’s otherwise muted.
“Everything all right?”
She nods. “Just a long day.”
I turn my head and press a kiss to her forehead. Her body relaxes as she utters a soft sigh.
“Thank you,” I murmur against her skin.
“For what?”
“For everything.”
Randolph bought our ruse because of her. Seraphina knew exactly what to say, faced him head-on when men with numerous job titles and fat salaries have cowered before Randolph.
“You’re welcome.”
The first notes of the next song begin to play. Soft at first, with the gentle singing of a choir. I freeze as the familiar strains flow over me, catapulting me back to a cramped, moldy apartment and a scratchy record player on the floor.
I can see my mom so clearly, standing at the window and looking out across the trash-strewn courtyard of our apartment. Can see the dreamy look on her face as Luciano Pavarotti’s voice swells to impossible heights. I remember how she reached down and scooped David into her arms and swung him about the apartment, his little giggles filling that wretched space with a moment of happiness.
“Aiden?”
Emotion chokes me. My arm tightens around Seraphina.
“This song.”
She leans into me, wraps her arm around my waist and holds me. Doesn’t push, doesn’t ask questions. Just listens to the music as we drift down the canal.
Pavarotti’s voice crescendos. Crests. I exhale sharply as the song ends.
“My mother’s favorite song.” I shut my eyes, struggle for composure. “She always wanted to come to Venice. Buy a mask and go to a masquerade.”
A long moment passes, filled by the gentle lap of water against the hull, the next song starting to play.
“The masquerade is for your mother.”
Of course Seraphina would make the connection. It matters that she does. I pull her tighter against me.
“Yes. She deserved a far better life than she got.” I hesitate. The words rise up again, the need to tell her. “So did my brother. My biological brother. He’s the reason I want to shut down New Field.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“David.” Even just saying his name out loud hurts. Waves of guilt crash over me. “When Mom died, we were put into separate foster homes. I promised him I’d find him, but by the time John adopted me and I had the money and resources to look, he’d run away just like I had. He popped up every now and then in the juvenile system for shoplifting or getting into a fight. But he was always gone before I could get to him.
“Two years after I graduated college, I found out he’d stolen a car. He crossed state lines and hit a semitruck, injuring the driver. The driver survived with a broken wrist and a concussion, but David’s crime and his past juvenile record led to a federal sentence.”
“New Field,” Seraphina murmurs.
