Page 122 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

“I’m glad I could—”

Before I can react, Gavriil crosses the room in two strides and envelopes me in a hug. I freeze, shooting Michail a look over Gavriil’s shoulder.

“Don’t look at me,” Michail says as he takes another swig of bourbon. “I just came because he told me we were coming to kick some sense into you.”

“Gavriil…”

My brother pulls back and grasps me by the shoulders.

“Thank you.”

The gratitude behind his words, the unspoken acknowledgment of what Lucifer put me through in an effort to set Gavriil up to fail, hits me. I nod.

“You’re welcome. You can thank me by never hugging me again.”

Gavriil’s smile flashes white and bright.

“What can I say? Love does crazy things to a man’s head.”

They leave five minutes later, Michail saying something about an important meeting he has to get to in New York. He avoids my gaze as he says this. I make a note to call Alessandra in a couple days. We’re not friends. But I respect the hell out of the woman. She’s the only estate lawyer who Lucifer didn’t fire or scare off.

Blessed silence descends. I sit back in that gray chair, the one with the high armrests and slightly inclined back. It invites me to sit, to relax.

Just as Tessa would have.

I stand and move to the balcony. Even out here, I can see her touch. The swapping out of the ostentatious patio furniture for white lounges and dim lighting that, when it grows dark, will enhance the intimacy of the terrace.

Quiet. Privacy. Rest.

She knows me. Has known me for years. She never once said she loved me. But I saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice as she talked to me, especially on that last day when I could feel her heart breaking. When mine broke along with hers.

I turn and glance back at the master suite. It’s perfect, right down to the framed photograph on the bureau of Gavriil and me from our first press conference in California following Lucifer’s death. A subtle touch, but one that matters, especially in light of Gavriil’s and my conversation today.

The room is perfect. Except one thing’s missing.

Tessa.

Just like that, the puzzle pieces of my relationship with Tessa fall into place. The room doesn’t make sense without Tessa here. My life doesn’t make sense without her.

And I let her go. Again.

Urgency grips me. I yank my phone out of my pocket, start to dial the number for my secretary in Corfu as I rush to the door. I need to get to Paris, need to tell her everything, need to ask her to cancel the petition for divorce—

A knock sounds on the door. I grit my teeth, not in the mood to deal with Gavriil’s or Michail’s machinations.

I grab the door handle and yank it open.

“I told you two…”

My voice trails off as I realize who’s standing on the other side of the door.

Tessa.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Tessa

ISTARE ATmy husband, standing framed in the doorway looking impossibly handsome as always in black pants and a black shirt.

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