Page 70 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

I force myself to drink the rest of my bourbon slowly. Take a bite of the triple chocolate torte with hand-whipped mousse the waiter brings out. Tell myself over and over again that I’m doing the right thing.

Only to have the possibility that she’s right and I’m letting my own concerns and guilt override her wishes circle back and slap me in the face.

I never saw Tessa use the crutches back in Greece. I had just always assumed she preferred to move around with the support of her wheelchair. I only knew about her accident because Gavriil told me shortly after he met her on one of the few occasions we talked while Lucifer was away. About how she’d been playing along a wall, slipped and fell, sustaining an injury to her spinal cord that left her partially paralyzed.

But when I saw her at Gavriil’s wedding, so happy, so assured, it had been yet another indicator that I hadn’t bothered to look past the surface. That I had taken so many things about Tessa at face value.

Like this proposal. I should have asked why. Why does she want me to be her first lover? Does she understand I can’t offer her more than what I already have? I was thinking with an entirely different part of my body, one that is still painfully hard even after her departure.

I should feel guilty. She’s young. Innocent, both figuratively and literally. Yet as she reminded me, she’s no longer a teenager. She’s a grown woman who’s accomplished a great deal.

…don’t you dare take away my choice.

The longer I sit, the more I contemplate the possibility that I dismissed her idea too quickly. I’ll fulfill the terms of Lucifer’s will. Tessa will get her divorce. And she’ll get whatever she wants out of this newly proposed arrangement. As she pointed out, she’s a grown woman more than capable of making her own decisions. She uprooted her life, moved to another country and is cultivating her own business.

If we talk, if she can explain her reasons to my satisfaction and we can agree to mutual terms, then perhaps there is a way for this to work.

The alternative if I say no is she pushes through with the divorce, I lose my share of Drakos Development and everything Lucifer willed to me.

And Tessa finds someone else to be her first.

Like hell.

The strength of my reaction surprises me. But it’s understandable. Right now, Tessa is my wife. One day, I will accept that she will move on. Find someone who can tell her all the sweet things she wants to hear, cuddle on the couch, take her out to restaurants like this. Give her a family.

A noise rises above the din of the restaurant. One no one else can hear. But I can, clear as if it were happening now instead of twenty-three years ago. Soft, muffled cries. A child crying into a pillow as he mourns his mother with no one to comfort him.

No one except a spineless brother standing just outside his door, his hand on the doorknob even though he knows he can’t open it. Can’t risk what will happen.

A cold wall slams down. I will never be a father. Unlike Lucifer, I’m fully aware of my own weaknesses, including that any children of mine would deserve far more than I am able to give them.

I need to take the rest of the evening to think. Even though I’m not having Tessa sign an actual contract for me to take her virginity, I need to write out terms, see everything in black and white. Complete a final review on my concerns about her emotional vulnerability and any other potential conflicts.

As much as I don’t care to admit it, I also need to review my own ability to stay detached. I’m not at risk of falling in love. It’s not something I would ever allow to happen. But I have concerns about this craving Tessa has ignited. I need to be sure that when the time comes for us to part ways, I won’t let petty jealousy or possessiveness interfere.

I glance over my shoulder. The bell towers of Notre Dame stand tall and proud against the darkening French night sky. They’ve survived generations of war, fire and humanity creating its usual havoc.

I can survive this challenge. Survive, conquer, control.

Tessa’s scent lingers in the elevator as I leave, a light blend that makes me think of strawberries and violets. It stirs my blood as anticipation courses through me.

I’ve never lost a negotiation. I’m not about to start now.

CHAPTER FIVE

Tessa

THE FIRST TIMEI imagined myself to be in love with Rafael Drakos, I was nineteen years old. I’d known him since I was seven and my father moved us from a small town outside of Dublin to Santorini. As a child, he’d intimidated me, dark-eyed and brooding. He rarely interacted with Gavriil or me. It didn’t bother me. Gavriil preferred to keep his distance from the man he described as having a block of ice for a heart. I got enough moodiness from my father and his never-ending quest to earn my grandfather’s approval, so staying away from the older Drakos brother wasn’t hard.

Until that summer when I went to my first event at the Drakos villa. A birthday party for Lucifer. The massive estate, set on a private island I could see from our front porch, was just a short boat ride away from Santorini’s famous caldera. The mansion dwarfed our home, playing host to Corinthian pillars and too many balconies to count, all of them offering unobstructed views of the sea. There was beauty there, but also opulence, so much that I felt smothered by the sheer luxury of it all.

My mother had insisted on pushing my wheelchair up the ramp and into the main hall, a cavernous room lined with Greek sculptures that should have been in museums instead of someone’s private home. Most people gave me looks of pity. A few whispered behind their hands, as if being in a wheelchair meant I couldn’t hear. Gavriil hadn’t come down yet. Lucifer had made a beeline for my father as soon as we’d entered. He’d coveted Sullivan Legacy for years and wasted no opportunity to speak with my father.

Despite my parents’ tense marriage, my mother had sensed my father’s rising irritation. She’d wheeled me off to the side and told me to wait while she went to serve as a buffer between Father and Lucifer.

So I’d sat, as I often did. Observing. Waiting for a few acquaintances to arrive who didn’t let my wheelchair stand as an obstacle between us.

Until a glimpse of the sea just beyond a balcony had called to me. I’d wheeled myself outside and up to the railing, only to belatedly realize I wasn’t alone.

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