Page 61 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

“Have you talked to them since you left?”

I drop the piece of toast I just picked up and sit back with a sigh. “No, I haven’t.” I don’t mention how my mother blew up my phone the first week after I left, leaving dozens of voicemails and hundreds of text messages until I changed my number. “Contrary to what everyone back on Santorini believes, I’m an adult. I have my own place, my own business and my own money to keep me going until my company is more secure.”

“That would be the trust fund left to you by your mother’s mother.”

Of course he knows every detail of my life. “Yes.”

He cocks his head to one side as he raises his glass to his lips. “A rather small amount.”

I don’t bother to hide my snort. “Two million euros would mean a lot to almost anyone else in the world. And the interest is enough for me to live on, even without my business, for decades if I live within my means.”

“You could have more.”

I curl my fingers into a fist. “You can’t offer me what I want.”

His brows knit together. “I’m one of the wealthiest men in the world. Of course I can.”

God, Gavriil was right. His older brother is truly incapable of seeing anything but facts and dollar signs.

Too late, I realize I said the first part out loud. Heat floods my cheeks. “I…”

“What was Gavriil right about?”

Rafe’s voice is silky, just as smooth as the bourbon in his glass as he holds it up to the light. Nervousness makes my throat dry. I grab my rosé and take a long drink as I mentally prepare myself for what needs to be said.

“That you only care about Drakos Development.”

One corner of Rafe’s mouth quirks. “Care is a strong word.”

“Regardless, there’s no room for anything else in your life.” I pause, fight past the resurgence of pain I tried to bury four months ago. “Including a wife and children.”

His eyes snap to mine, that pale blue swirl of ice and mystery that enticed me when I was young and stupid. That lingered in my heart after the quiet conversations he engaged me in at the dinners, galas and fundraisers our families attended.

That I mistook for something more than business.

“The contract clearly states—”

“I know what it states.” I try to keep my tone even, my voice steady as I fight against the demons I thought I had conquered. The ones urging me to just accept what was already offered, including a loveless marriage with a strict no-children clause.

“I’ve changed my mind, Rafe.”

His blink is the only outward sign he’s heard me. “You signed, Tessa.”

“I did.” For all the wrong reasons. “But I’ve changed my mind. Living in Paris has opened my eyes to what’s possible for me when I’m not locked up on Santorini.”

The flash of fury is unexpected. He leans forward, his gaze fierce. “Locked up?”

A shiver creeps down my spine at the lethalness underlying those two words.

“Figure of speech,” I murmur.

Just like that, the anger is gone, replaced by that aloofness no one can break. Did I imagine it? Am I still so desperate for some sliver of his attention that I’m spinning stories in my head?

He sits back, picks up his bourbon again. “Care to elaborate?”

The waiter comes by with another glass of rosé. Normally I stick to two glasses for an entire meal. But tonight seems like the perfect night to throw those rules out the window. I drain the last of my first glass and hand it to the waiter, deciding how much I want to share.

A shudder passes through me as I remember how involved my mother was with my care. Involved doesn’t begin to scratch the surface of what I’ve come to realize was an unhealthy obsession, a role she poured herself into until there was nothing else. Caring for me was her entire identity. One I didn’t fight for the longest time because I wanted to keep the peace, even if it meant sitting off to the side and watching life pass me by.

---