Page 83 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

Some of her excitement dims. I’ve never regretted telling anyone exactly what they need to hear. But as doubt creeps into her eyes, I mentally chide myself for not stopping and crafting a better response.

“I won’t be taking on any more. But this client…” Her voice trails off. “She’s the reason why I wanted to start my own firm.”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitates, then pulls her phone out of her pocket. “I love designing. Sometimes it’s a simple change or upgrade. Other times it’s a complete overhaul.” She taps something on her screen. “And sometimes, it might be the first time someone gets a home that’s truly made for them and their abilities.”

She hands me the phone. I swipe through the photos. An old, rambling farmhouse that looks to be one step away from disaster, with steep stairs, a slight pitch to the floor and a sagging roof. I know nothing about design. But from what little I can see, it should be condemned, not redesigned.

I say as much as I hand the phone back to her.

“It’s been in her family for generations.” She smiles as she looks down at her phone. “Just outside of a village in southeastern France.”

“Given the state of the house, I’m surprised your client has the funds to fix this.”

“She received a grant.” Tessa doesn’t meet my eyes. “There’s also a charity that’s providing some support.”

A suspicion forms in my mind as I stare at her. “Tessa.”

“Don’t.” She looks at me then, her face hard even as her heart shines in her eyes. “This is a big part of what I want to do with my company, Rafe. To help people.”

“An admirable goal. But you also have to think about it from a business perspective. Maybe hire some help instead of giving away your services for nothing.”

“With what I earned on that Paris apartment and what I will earn from Juliette’s house and the penthouse in London, I have plenty.”

“But you can’t run a business on charity.”

Her lips thin. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Her words deliver an unexpected blow. It shouldn’t matter. She’s behaving foolishly, leading with her heart instead of the numbers she’s no doubt ignoring. But, I remind myself, she’s an adult. Capable of making her own decisions and, judging by the way she’s refusing to meet my eyes, more than aware that she’s making poor choices.

Perhaps another opportunity will come up in the coming weeks to discuss. To steer her toward efficiency and practicality rather than trying to save the world. She won’t like it, but I’ll also be including a generous settlement in her account when our divorce is finalized. The account I know she still hasn’t touched. Another thing that shouldn’t bother me. How Tessa chooses to fund her life is none of my concern.

“Have you thought about redecorating the villa?”

Her question catches me off guard. “Excuse me?”

“The villa,” she continues, as if she hasn’t heard my voice’s sudden drop in temperature. “It’s a beautiful structure. With the right upgrades and renovations, it could really be—”

“Once I receive my inheritance, including this villa, it will go on the market as is.”

Her eyes widen. “Why? You could do so much with it—”

“I have no interest in doing anything with it other than turning a profit.”

Her eyes narrow. “Is that all you ever think about? How much money you can make?”

“It’s the only thing I know or care to know.”

I can feel her disappointment. I dismiss it, telling myself it doesn’t matter.

“There’s more to life than money.”

“And there are plenty of villas I can purchase with the money I earn.”

“Is it because your father—”

“Don’t.”

---