Page 90 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

But she couldn’t.

And instead of walking onto the terrace to take up her duties, Jolie watched Apostolis instead—impressed despite herself that he was far better at this job than his father had ever been. At least during her tenure at the Andromeda.

She imagined the old man would turn over in his grave at the very thought. But that didn’t make it any less true. Spyros had been overly impressed with his own legend. Toward the end of his life, he had believed that part of what the guests were paying for when they came here washisnotoriety.Hisown considerable star power. The hotelier himself.

Apostolis did not sit as Spyros had done in his favorite corner of the terrace, holding court. He did not set himself apart from the guests, as ifhewas the guest of honor.

All the things that had made him such a tabloid staple, he put to good use here, with the guests. He made them laugh. He leaned closer as they poured out their confidences to him. More than one set of guests had already left convinced that they had becomebest friendswith the next generation of Adrianakis men.

Yet he called her the actress.

Part of her ached at that, because surely, since they were both so surprisingly good at this, they should have been able to band together. To workwitheach other, notagainsteach other. Surely there had to be some way to make themselves a team instead of dire enemies, forever and ever, amen.

But even as she thought that, she felt something bitter twist her lips.

Who was she kidding? She was the too-young woman who had married his father. She should count herself lucky that he was able to maintain the level of civility he already did. Maybe she would have to learn how to be thankful for that.

And besides, she had duties to perform. She couldn’t keep hiding out here, not when there was so much at stake. Not when she knew that he would take anything she did and make it negative.

So Jolie welded her smile into place and did what she did best. For years now.

She made herselfindispensable.

The sun took its time sinking all the way down to the horizon. It stretched out as it went, shooting glorious hues as far as it could reach. Oranges. Pinks. Deep tendrils of violet.

When it was dark at last, the singer was prevailed upon to gift a few songs to the assembly. Everyone gathered around, listening as he played. The first two songs were contemplative. Almost mournful, like quiet elegies into the night as it settled around them.

And once again, Jolie found herself drawn to Apostolis’s gaze—only to find that that he was closer now.

He smiled at the person beside him as if they had bonded, soul to soul, and then made his way over to Jolie.

Because, she reminded herself sternly, that was what a married couplewoulddo. That was what people were truly intimate did. They went out of their way to be close to each other even when that closeness had nothing to do with sex.

Hadn’t she watched her grandparents model this behavior for years?

Jolie thought that it must have been the music that was making her think about her grandparents now. About grief and loss, and how it was woven so tightly into every moment that came after that, perhaps, it became its own complicated tapestry. Made up of joy and despair, because that was what made a life. Without them, what would living be but boring?

Maybe that was why, when she felt that blast of heat beside her that she knew by now was Apostolis, come to stand next to her, she risked tipping back her head to look at him directly.

He was already gazing back down at her. And beneath all the lights that were strung about the pergola, there was no pretending she couldn’t see all the different shades of deep, rich, brown and black his eyes were. That bittersweet gleam with something magical shot through it all, as if he was made of the same gold that they’d all watched dance over the waves tonight. A part of the sun’s last breath before it surrendered to the night.

The crowd jostled slightly then and she found herself pressed up against the length of Apostolis’s body—in a way thattrulymarried people would not mind in the least.

She made herself smile. She made herself laugh a little, as if this was the time of her life, because she needed people to believe it was. That was one of her most important duties.

So she did her best. When he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. When he tucked her up against him so that she was straddling the side of his body. When she was stood there like that, one hand on the front of his chest and the other at his side.

And the fact that they were touching like this in public, paradoxically, seemed to her like the most intimate they had ever been.

Maybe it was because the touching wasn’t the point.

They weren’t locked up in that carriage house, slugging it out in yet another round of their endless battle. This was the sort of offhanded intimacy that long-term couples accepted as their due. This was the kind of familiarity that simply happened over time and togetherness.

This was as if they actually were the story they pretended they were for the guests.

And when the music changed and the singer began to sing something silkier and more suggestive, it was as if the melody...simply swept them away.

Everyone began to dance. All around them, people paired up into couples, and then everything was that sway, that silk, that sultry little song. How could she resist?

---