Page 86 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

She mightn’t be ready to marry yet but that unfettered smile had to mean something. It was almost like the way she’d looked at him years before. When they’d been everything to each other.

His pulse skipped.

What would have happened if they’d carried through their original plan to elope? Would they still have been together? Or would the passion of first love have petered out?

They’d been too young. The fact he’d been able to move on and build a new life proved it wouldn’t have worked between them.

He thought of all the good that had come from his move to Greece. Finding his family, his roots. Finding his way professionally. If he and Portia hadn’t been ripped apart he’d probably not have made it to Greece. How much he’d have missed. His family meant so much.

Except Portia hadn’t betrayed him. She’d been a victim, even more than he.He’dbeen the one to betray her by believing her father’s lies.

Lex watched her settle at a table and pick up a menu. With her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, she barely looked older than the teenager he’d known at Cropley.

Something punched him in the belly. A writhing ball of emotion that seared his gut.

Portia still made him feel so much.

It wasn’t just the baby he wanted to look after, but her. He cared about her. He’d let her down once; he wouldn’t do it again. He owed her his protection.

She was alone with no one to support her if anything went wrong.

Except him. He’d be there, he vowed.

‘Lex?’ She frowned up at him. ‘Are you going to eat or stand there brooding?’

Half an hour later, replete, he sat back as she finished her juice. Funny how he could happily just watch her. Usually his mind buzzed with business plans and priorities. He’d always had a lot of energy to expend. But around Portia it was easy to let go of the busyness of his life and just be.

Lex smothered a grimace. He’d never been one for just sitting. He’d be meditating next.

‘Why art history?’

He’d held back from asking since she shied from discussing herself. But it was time to chip away more of those barriers.

‘You find it a strange choice? But you’re an art lover. I’ve seen the pieces you have in your home.’

His eyes narrowed as she channelled attention back to him. ‘Why are you afraid to talk to me about it?’

‘I’m notafraid. I just... It’s personal. I’m not used to sharing my hopes and plans.’

He stiffened. Having a baby together wasn’t personal?

Was she reminding him their renewed relationship had been based on sex alone?

His mood dipped. The bright, sunny girl he’d known had altered. Once she’d have shared her plans, excited to discuss them. Was it just their broken relationship that stopped her?

Or something more elemental? She’d changed, withdrawing into herself. What had happened in those intervening years?

Something stark pulled his skin tight.

Portia focused on the straw she used to stir her drink. As if the fresh juice were more interesting than her future. ‘If you must know, I want a career in the art world.’

‘So you’re still sketching?’

He’d remembered her love of art but now, suddenly, he recalled the sketchbook she’d often carried. The deft drawings she’d done while she waited for him to finish his chores. Of spring flowers. Of the horses. Of Cropley through the changing seasons.

Anything but portraits. She’d said she couldn’t get faces right, though to his eyes her attempts had been outstanding.

Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?

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