Page 95 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

“They’re hosting a gala fundraiser tomorrow night. They want me to attend.”

I lean forward, propping my chin in my hand. “I feel like there’s more to the story of why a world-renowned museum is calling you.” I bite down on my lower lip as he glares at me.

“I made a donation.”

“How big of a donation?”

“Drop it, Tessa.” His phone rings again and he swears in Greek.

“You should go.”

He looks at me and frowns. “No.”

“Why not? It’s good publicity for Drakos Development. Not to mention their museum looks incredible.”

He cocks his head to one side. “You’ve never been?”

“No. I should add it to my travel list.” A list that’s growing longer with each passing day.

“I’ll go.” I start to smile, but he holds up a hand. “On the condition you attend with me.”

Excitement races through me. “Really?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it.”

My excitement vanishes as nerves flutter in my stomach. “Won’t it look odd, though? With how intimate our wedding was, I don’t think a lot of people even realize we’re married.”

He shrugs. “My personal life is none of their concern. I’m only asking if you want to go.”

I can’t remember the last time I went to a party. My mother only allowed a few large-scale events a year for my “safekeeping.” The thought of going without her keeping a stranglehold on my leash is very appealing.

As is the idea of finally having the chance to redeem what happened all those years ago the night I fell in love with Rafe.

Thought you fell in love.

“I’d like that.” I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t bring anything fancy enough for a gala, though.”

“Give your sizes and preferences to James and he’ll have several dresses sent over for you to choose from.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

For a moment, I think he’s going to lean down and kiss me. But he simply nods and leaves the room, leaving me alone with my sketch pad and the sounds of the sea just beyond my balcony.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rafe

THE STRAINS OFa string quartet drift over the outdoor terrace of the Acropolis Museum. The pillars of the Parthenon are visible on top of the Acropolis hill, the marble lit up with golden light as the sun sinks below the horizon. Waiters in tuxedos navigate the crowd of people dressed in expensive finery as they balance trays filled withtiropitakia, prawnsaganakiaand juicy olives. Tour guides stand off to the side, ready to whisk gala attendees up to the top of the Acropolis for moonlight tours of the Parthenon and the Temple of Athena Nike.

The kind of event I find, and have always found, to be a waste of my time. I donated money because I like the work the Acropolis Museum does. I despise my own heritage, but I understand the importance of protecting history and legacy. Whether it was the comfort of seeing artifacts and treasures preserved for thousands of years or just having an escape whenever my father surprised me at the villa here in Corfu, I spent countless hours in this museum. It’s a place of refuge.

But one I prefer to enjoy in private, I think irritably as a young woman jostles my arm on her way to the bar.

I had no intention of coming. But when I saw the awe on Tessa’s face when I told her who was incessantly calling me, followed by her enthusiasm for my attending, the answer had been clear. Discovering how much her mother had suppressed her over the years—I’d almost go as far as saying imprisoned—and seeing how much she was enjoying her new life, saying yes was the right thing to do.

My eyes shift down to the woman at my side. Not because I haven’t brought a date to a company event in years. Even though people were aware of our marriage, Tessa’s appearance sent a flurry of gossip through the room as soon as we walked in. I’ve seen more than one person look at her crutches, too. What would it be like to always live under such scrutiny? To have people look, hold up their hands as they whisper behind your back?

Yet here she is, standing confidently by my side even as she gazes around like she’s never seen such beauty in her entire life.

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