Page 59 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

Now, as I stand within arm’s reach, I realize she’s nearly a foot shorter than me. I gaze down at the familiar heart-shaped face, the large caramel-colored eyes and full lips softening the defined cheekbones and elegant jawline. A stunning face, one made more arresting by the newfound confidence radiating from Tessa’s petite frame. A faint fragrance teases my nostrils, something light and floral with an underlying sweetness.

“You’re right.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Elegant.” I tilt my head to one side. Two can play at this game. “Just like Contessa.”

Her brows draw together as she glares at me. “Mine’s not elegant. It’s ridiculous.”

“Noble and graceful,” I counter, enjoying the heightening of the flush in her cheeks.

She huffs. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting tomorrow.”

I take in her dress, the rosy hue of her lips. That awareness hanging in my chest takes root, spreads. I’ve always thought Tessa was attractive, with a haunting quality that drew me to her side on more than one occasion. A kindred spirit. A notion that made the idea of marrying her to solidify a merger with her father’s company acceptable. The few times I’d envisioned anything about our marriage, it had always been simple: quiet conversations, existing in each other’s presence with a level of comfort I’ve never experienced with anyone else.

There’s no comfort in this moment. No, now there’s desire. Not the subtle attraction I’ve kept a firm grip on for the past couple of years as I observed the woman Tessa was growing into, but something that sinks deeper beneath my skin and kindles a spark.

I mentally step back. There’s no room in this marriage for any emotions that could turn it from a mutually beneficial arrangement into something messy. I’m also acutely aware of the smoothness of her skin, the brightness of her eyes. Hallmarks of her youth and the thirteen years that separate us. It never bothered me before. But it does now as my eyes drift down to the swells of her breasts, as I wonder how she’d feel in my hands—

I look away. It’s just the surprise of seeing Tessa in a different light. That and simple human biology.

“Negotiations concluded sooner than I expected. I’d like to take you out to dinner.”

A V appears between her brows. “Why?”

I give her a tight smile. “We have business to discuss. We’re in one of the premier food capitals of the world. We might as well enjoy ourselves while we talk about an unpleasant topic.” She glances down at her dress. Jealousy tightens the muscles in my neck. “Unless you have somewhere to be.”

She stares at me for so long I wonder if she’s going to answer. Then, finally she shakes her head. “I was just going out to a bistro. I can go tomorrow.”

Victory surges through me. I’ve learned through countless mergers, negotiations and takeovers that once someone has agreed to the first step, the finish line is already within reach.

She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, as if readying for battle. I smile down at her. She can fight all she wants. But before I return to Greece, I will have won the war.

CHAPTER TWO

Tessa

IGLANCE AROUNDthe dining room of La Tour d’Argent. The simple ivory-colored tablecloths and caned chairs keep the focus on the food and the view outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Seine River curves through Paris, a dark blue ribbon dotted with boats. The towers of Notre Dame are backlit by the sun sinking toward the horizon.

The kind of restaurant one would take a date.

My eyes flicker to Rafe, who’s seated across from me perusing the menu. Once I would have given anything to be on a date with him. The man who captured my imagination as a child with his dark intensity. Who transformed into an unattainable, romantic hero during my teenage years.

The man I fell into what I thought was love simply because he was the only man who ever noticed me.

The ache in my chest grows as Rafe’s eyes cut to me. I know what he’s doing; evaluating me, trying to see if there’s any chink in my armor he can use to his advantage. Why he wants me to stay, I have no idea. It’s certainly not because he wantsme. I’m not going down the road again of thinking hope and love can conquer all, at least where Rafael Drakos is concerned. That dream died the night of our wedding when I overheard exactly what he thought of me and our arranged marriage.

The events of the last hour have taken their toll. Exhaustion pulls at me. Sharp pricks of pain shoot up my calves. Nothing I haven’t faced before, but it’s more challenging tonight. Going to physical therapy this morning and then using my crutches tonight, coupled with the psychological stress of having my soon-to-be ex-husband unexpectedly show up outside my door, has taken its toll.

Still, I force myself to sit up straight, to casually raise my glass of wine and take a modest drink of my rosé. I’ve gotten much more comfortable asserting myself and telling people around me what I need. But I refuse to be vulnerable with Rafe.

I stare out the window at a tourist boat drifting down the river. This restaurant was on my list of places to try this summer. But instead of reading over the menu or enjoying the sight of Paris at night, my awareness is laser-focused on him.

Am I aching because I’m nervous of why he’s here? Why he’s finally sought me out after all this time when he barely said two words to me at his brother’s wedding? Or is it because a part of me wants to cling to him, to what I thought our future could be, even though I know I have to let go?

“How are you enjoying Paris?”

Irritation pierces my melancholy thoughts. “As much as I appreciate the attempt at small talk, let’s not pretend, Rafe. You invited me to dinner to discuss our arrangement.”

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