Page 232 of Modern Romance May 2026 Books 5-8
No matter what he did, Rocco stood to lose one of them, possibly both.
He had to question why was he risking his relationship with Silvio. The years between losing his aunt and meeting Silvio had been the most aimless of his life. Silvio had provided him an anchor. A sense of pride in who he was and a belief in his own ability to build a future for himself.
His relationship with Mira was still new. It shouldn’t matter this much to him, but she also instilled in him a sense of pride and purpose. He experienced a distinctly masculine pleasure in having such a bright, warm woman at his side whom he could provide well for.
When he looked into his future, he saw her there with him. He didn’t want to throw that away.
How had Silvio kept such a secret from his wife all this time? After six weeks of hiding it from Mira, Rocco was ready to crack.
He shook off his brooding, preferring to stay in the moment with Mira. Her head was tucked against his shoulder, her hair silky as he absently combed his fingers through it.
Six weeks since she had burst into his office. Six weeks since she had become his lover. Not a day passed that Rocco didn’t question his priorities. As tremendous as their sex life was, he knew he shouldn’t allow his libido to rewrite his life.
Nevertheless, he had found himself making small adjustments in all aspects of it, ones that felt threatening after so many years of striving to create the wealth, security and daily life that he wanted. The single-minded achiever in him demanded he continue to acquire and push forward, but Mira’s presence in his life had him veering into taking vacations, and doing nothing more productive than working a tendril of her hair between his finger and thumb, and allowing her to come between him and his closest friend.
It was becoming a habit for him to go into work late or skip an evening engagement so he could do exactly what he was doing right now: sprawl on the sofa on the terrace with her, drinking wine and nibbling on whatever antipasto Florenza had left for them, mellow from recent lovemaking. Sometimes they talked, other times it was like this, a comfortable silence.
At least, it was comfortable until she said, “Cambridge has an archeology program that interests me.”
“In England?” He stiffened in dismay and reached for his wineglass. “We have more than a dozen universities here in Rome. You can’t find one with a program that appeals?”
“There are, but…” She sat up and curled her knees so she was on her hip, facing him, no longer touching him. “I’ve been thinking about getting my own place here, but—”
“Mira.” A very old, clammy sensation encased him, one that yanked him from this space of everything being good and right into darkness and the unknown. Into such a grave loss, he didn’t know if he could withstand it.
He dropped his hand off the sofa back to close it around her upper arm, urging her to silence so he could ask, “Do you not like it here?”
“In Rome? Yes. It’s busy, but—”
“Here.”How had he missed it? He had thought she was content. That he was providing her everything she needed. “Or do you mean you want to buy something as an investment?”
“No. I—” Her brow flexed with confused anxiety. “Your home is beautiful, Rocco. Of course, I love being here with you. But it’syourhome. I can’t presume you want me to stay here with you forfour years.”
“Presume,” he commanded. What the hell was she even talking about with getting her own place? “If you have your heart set on Cambridge, I’ll figure out how to work from London, but I would prefer you stay here.”
“Really?” Her expression softened and glimmered with wonder. “You’re asking me to live with you?”
“You already do.” They hadn’t spent a night apart. Her clothes were next to his in the closet. There were tampons under the sink.
“I thought you were just too lazy to drive me to a hotel after we had sex.” Her mouth quirked. She was being glib, but the way she lowered her gaze told him there was some truth behind it.
“Where do you live if not here?”
“I have a flat in Berlin,” she pointed out, lashes lifting even as her chin stayed tucked. “Once my villa is ready, I can live there.”
“That’s months away. When it’s ready, I will sometimes live there with you, but when we’re not there, you will live here. With me.” He hadn’t felt this riled and possessive since they’d stepped off an elevator in London and Axel had talked her into walking away from him. Trying to lighten the mood, he added, “Because, no, I do not want to get up and drive you home after we have sex. Especially if you’re in bloody Praiano.”
“Is that the only reason?” She bit her lip. “We haven’t talked about us. And we don’t have to,” she quickly added. “I’m okay with taking it a day at a time. I just…”
She wanted to know where they stood.
“Come.” He gathered her so she was straddling his thighs, knees against his hips, eye level. So damn pretty and soft and lovely he didn’t know how to process it.
I know who your father is. The words were right there, but if he said them, he would lose her. The thought of her living across town in her own flat was intolerable. He couldn’t make himself push her away.
So he revealed pieces of himself that he guarded just as carefully, something he hoped would keep her with him if that other truth came out.
“I know you want to know what our future is.” He tilted his head back, unable to see it clearly as long as this secret left a murky streak on the lens. “I don’t know. But I want to see if we have one.”
