Page 144 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

I shrug and focus on my food. “It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.”

I stab a beet with my fork. This isn’t the conversation I want to be having. I want to enjoy my meal, the sight of Paris at twilight, the knowledge that Dessie is doing better.

I look up to tell him just that...

...then falter at the faint glimmer of pain in his eyes. A pain I know all too well.

“Who did you lose?”

He blinks. For a moment I think he’s going to make a joke or dismiss the question.

“My mother.”

I’ve never heard so much conveyed in just two words. Grief, loss, anger, regret. Emotions that take my assumptions about Gavriil Drakos’s childhood and turn them on their head.

“I’m...” My voice trails off and I swallow hard. “You’re right. There are weeks and even months where everything seems fine. And then you see something or smell something or hear something and it takes you right back.”

“What takes you back?”

Don’t.

My heart shouts at me to stop, to keep myself intact. But he’s looking at me now with a different kind of hunger lurking behind his mask. A need to connect with someone who understands. I know deep in my bones this is not something he has revealed to many, if anyone.

“Popcorn.” My eyes burn and I look back down, stirring crumbles of blue cheese around my plate. “When I was little, I would get scared of the storms. I thought the rain and lightning would drag Grey House into the sea.” I pause, giving myself a moment to let the wave of anger and anguish crest, subside. “So Dad would make popcorn. We’d sit in my window seat and watch the storm until it passed like it was a movie.”

His eyes burn into mine. “My father took that from you.”

My throat tightens. “He did. But my father didn’t do himself any favors. His obsession with making it big started him down that road in the first place.”

Gavriil’s lips part slightly as understanding dawns. That it’s not just his father who created my fixation, but the actions of my own, the greed that drove him away from his daughter and the woman who loved him.

Needing to get back on firm ground, I ask, “What takes you back?”

He blinks and looks out over the city. He stares so long at the lights flickering on as night drifts in I wonder if he’s going to answer.

“Scratching.”

I frown. “Scratching?”

“In the walls. On the floor at night.” The twist of his lips is quick, harsh as he glances at me. “Rats.”

The horror of his answer has me reaching for him before I can stop myself. I nearly lay my hand over his when the waiter arrives with our second course. I snatch my fingers back just in time. But it doesn’t stop the physical ache inside me, the hurt for what he must have endured in those lost years before arriving at Lucifer’s villa.

The waiter sets bowls of squash soup topped with green onions and a swirl of coconut milk in front of us. China clinks in the background. Someone laughs. Soft, seductive jazz plays from hidden speakers. Gavriil recovers first, picking up his spoon as he shoots me a casual smile, as if apologizing for sharing something so terrible. I start to reassure him, but he speaks first.

“Tell me more about Dessie.”

Right now I’d tell him almost anything. Anything to take his mind away from the hell of his past.

“Like what?”

“Like why your father’s ex-girlfriend accompanied you down the aisle.”

“She’s a second mother to me. The one constant I’ve had in my life. I wouldn’t be who I am today without her.”

“She loves you.”

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