Page 108 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

Though he would never have admitted it.

Apostolis had never blamed his sister for his mother’s death, though he wondered, now, if his father had. Because it would be just like Spyros to nurse a grudge for nearly thirty years, act as if he felt nothing but tender feelings for Dioni, and then wait for his will to do the real talking for him.

This, he assured himself, was why he insisted on uncovering Jolie’s lies.

They both needed to know where they truly stood, always. So that there could be no pretending.

So that what happened to him once already could not occur again. He would not be, again, the recipient of a terse voice message from Spyros shortly before he’d finished university, letting him know that he was on his own. And was not welcome to return home until he could afford to get there himself.

I cannot imagine that this will surprise you,Spyros had said slyly.You know how irresponsible you are, do you not?

But he had known that it was a surprise. He had planned it that way.

If he was on his own, Apostolis preferred to know it from the start. There was a reason that the only person he had ever trusted on this earth was Alceu, because they had proven themselves to each other. Time and time again.

What was that saying?Trust, but verify.

That was all this was, he assured himself, as the car pulled up in front of a block of flats in a neighborhood nowhere near the beautiful views that Geneva was famous for. He frowned down at the address in his hand, but told the driver to wait as he climbed out.

Then he strode to the door of the building, and wondered how, precisely, he planned to go about this—

But he didn’t have to figure that out, because the door opened as he stood there. A couple came out, bickering in low, bitter tones.

He caught the door and brushed past them without a second glance. Then, inside, he followed the stairs up three flights until he found the flat number that he had written down.

There was that band tied around his chest once more, and much tighter than before. There was something drumming in him, and he didn’t like it.

Did he really want to knock on this door and have his questions answered?

For a moment he wavered, thinking of those golden nights out on the terrace, awash in starlight and wine. The flush of music and something that felt like magic.

You know what that magic is,a voice in him whispered.It’s only that you don’t want to admit it.

He thought of Jolie climbing over him in the bed they shared, moving over him like more of that same perfect light, as if every time she touched him was an act of hope.

But here, in a downtrodden building in a questionable neighborhood in a city he had never particularly cared for, he shook that off.

This wasn’t about hope. It was about truth.

He stomped forward and pounded on the door in question. He waited. And heard faint sound from inside, so he pounded again. Harder this time.

And he was ready when he heard the latch. He was ready when the door swung open. He would handle this, whatever it was, and if she thought that this would end their war, she would find he had been keeping the tanks and missiles at bay—

But then the door opened, just a sliver, and he stopped.

Everything in himstopped.

Because a girl stood there, looking back at him through the latched opening. He estimated that she was in her late teens or early twenties, and he recognized her immediately.

It was the eyes, far too blue for any land this far north. It was the hair, chopped short around her face, but still, a shade of sunshine he knew too well.

“If you’re here for debt collection,” the girl said, in a voice that sounded controlled enough, though he could see a bit of anxiousness in her expression, “I’m afraid that my parents have just left—”

Apostolis felt an earthquake rip through him, mercilessly. A fundamental, seismic shift. He had to reach out to steady himself on the doorjamb, and the girl’s eyes widened.

“Don’t be afraid,” he managed to get out. “I won’t hurt you. I am not here fordebt.”

And he had no idea how he would go about paying his. How he would ever manage to make up for the things he’d said.

---