Page 89 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

That had been upsetting enough.

But he also knew about the money she sent to her revolting aunt and uncle. Monthly.

Jolie couldn’t risk that. She couldn’t risk him knowing what she was doing because she was certain that if he did, he would somehow disrupt her payment plan—and then what would she do?

It had been made clear to her years before that even the slightest hiccup would be interpreted as a green light to go right ahead and use their daughter’s greatest asset to enrich themselves as best they could.

And somehow, she very much doubted that her loathsome aunt and uncle would find a way to marry Mathilde off to a rich man the way Jolie had managed to do. She suspected it might be significantly more unsavory than that—possibly even those street corners that had haunted her all these years.

Even the thought of Mathilde at risk like that made her furious.

But she was running out of ways to control what was happening here. She knew that. She could feel the noose of all that awareness and fury between them tightening by the day.

“Too bad,” she told herself sternly. “You don’t get to mope about in your feelings.”

Because it was already evening, and she had her duties to attend to, like it or not. She blew out a breath and got to her feet, then set about getting dressed for the night ahead. More drinks, more laughter. More confidences and effortless hostessing, whether she felt effortless or not.

And still more game playing, where her husband was concerned, which was...dangerous.

Because only Jolie knew, down deep in a place that she did not like to examine in the light of day, that sometimes, while she was playing this role for their guests, she pretended that it wasn’t a role after all. She pretended that it was real, what she and Apostolis supposedly had together.

That they were lovestruck newlyweds, hardly able to bearnottouching each other. All those lingering looks. Hands that found their way together and were difficult to part.

She pretended far too much, too often, and she very much feared that one of these days she was going to forget to disengage herself on the walk back to the carriage house. That she was going to forget to put her mask back into place when they were alone.

Worse still, there was a part of her thatwantedthat day to come. Even though she knew that was nothing short of madness.

Because every time she thought about surrendering to Apostolis Adrianakis in any regard, something deep inside of her sounded out a low, wild sort of tone. It seemed to reverberate all through her body, taking her over until all she could do was shake.

Deep inside where no one saw it, but she could feel it.

Some days she felt nothing else.

And yet she knew that if she surrendered to him, she would never be the same.

Jolie padded down the circular stair, the shoes she wore barely a whisper over her feet so that she was entirely too aware of thefeelof the steps beneath her feet. And as she walked through the open house toward the door, she was aware of everything else, too. The way the simple dress she’d decided to throw on seemed to caress her as she moved. The way the cool breeze from outside rushed in through the open glass doors to whisper its way over her skin. Even the necklace around her neck seemed to press against her the way his hand might flatten against the wall beside her head—

She rolled her eyes at her own fancy, something close enough to amused at her inability to keep her attention where it belonged. Or at least, away from the places where she knew better than to let it go.

Outside it was another magical Mediterranean evening. As she walked across the drive and the yard, it was so easy to let the beauty of this place wash away all the rest of it. It was so easy to pretend that these moments would be the bulk of the five years looming ahead of her, and not...the other moments. The more difficult ones.

She could hear the sounds of the guests before she rounded the corner of the hotel, and it felt natural for her lips to immediately curve into the specific shape she used for her public-facing duties. When she was doing her best to be enigmatic and alluring, the consummate hostess, beloved and yet a perfect, blank canvas for the guests to fill in as they pleased.

For a moment, right there at the corner of the building, she stopped. And she stood there, just beyond the terrace where she could see everyone there beneath the pergola wrapped in vines and twinkling lights, but no one could see her. Not unless they were looking for her specifically.

Their guests at present were a very famous singer and his expansive entourage of friends, backup singers, and longtime band members, some of whom stayed in the nearest village and went back and forth from there as they pleased. It meant that the terrace was filled with sparkling conversation, spontaneous bursts of music, and the sort of laid-back luxury that could only be achieved with a tremendous amount of money. Many of the faces she recognized, and not because she’d seen them here before. But because everyone had seen them, everywhere.

Yet her gaze skipped past all those famous visages and found him.

Apostolis, looking right back at her as if she was standing in a beaming spotlight instead of the shadows of the evening.

As if it was only the two of them out here tonight. As if the only thing between them was the sultry Greek air.

And even across the brightly clad, sophisticated group of cocktail partiers, Jolie could feel the weight of the way he looked at her. It was as if he trailed his fingers all over the surface of her skin from afar and she had no choice but to hum in reaction.

As if it was that orcombustwhere she stood, eaten alive by all that sensation.

She felt certain he knew it, though there was only that faint curve in the corner of his mouth to make that clear. It occurred to her that she knew how to read him by now. And more, that the fact she could suggested a measure of intimacy with him that she wanted, badly, to deny.

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