Page 239 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8

Dante knew his.

But they both had to speak the truth.

The tea took quite a long time coming—in fact she was half dozing when the bedroom door was pushed open.

‘Happy Birthday to You...’

She started as a gorgeous Dante, who could actually sing, pushed aside his embarrassment, and she simply bathed in the glow as he came in carrying a tray. She sat up, stunned to see there was even a little cake, with a candle lit.

‘You remembered.’

‘Well, it’s not like you let me forget,’ he pointed out. ‘A seven-year-old would be less excited.’

She let out a gurgle of laughter, then sighed in delight when she saw the beautiful cake, her name piped in pink with little silver hearts, and knew it was Cucou’s work.

‘It’s wonderful...’

‘Blow,’ Dante said. ‘I want some cake. It’s your favourite,’ he added.

‘How do you know?’

‘I asked the pastry chef. Raspberry, with liqueur and cream and white chocolate...’

He was slicing away and it was her first proper cake of her own.

Her favourite cake had his bed feeling like a little boat in an ocean storm.

‘I might save it for later. Have a huge slice then...’

‘Too much champagne?’ He put the knife down. ‘You won, by the way.’

‘Won what?’

‘Whatever this competition is with your sisters. They will be very jealous,’ he said as he handed her his phone. ‘You look stunning.’

‘Gosh!’ She looked at the picture of herself arriving at the ball and instead of feeling sad, felt proud to have gone alone. ‘Go, me!’

‘There are a few.’ He scrolled through them. ‘A back shot... Look at that poor guy on the stairs. Homeless from the neck up, as Gio would say.’

She laughed when she saw he was referring to himself.

And she had her photo. Dante was gazing at her, and she at him.

That’s your father and me.

Yes, she had her photo.

She looked up. Did she dare tell him now? Shatter this perfect morning?

No, she decided, because that was for later. This morning was simply about her and Dante. The morning he’d brought her a cake and made it the best birthday ever.

‘Here,’ he said, and handed her a parcel.

It was wrapped in gold paper and there was even a wax seal, and a slender golden rope.

‘It’s beautiful...’

‘I think you have to open it to say that.’ Then he looked at her as a tear slid down her cheek. ‘Why are you crying?’