Page 148 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

Eventually you’ll end up being trouble. You always do.

I shove that thought out of my head since it has no business being there. Ulysses martyred himself to his own guilt and I won’t do the same with mine. I just won’t. It’s there, I know it is. Guilt that my brother’s life ended up revolving around me. Guilt that I caused him so much pain, even though I know it wasn’t my fault. But I can’t dwell on that and I won’t let it stop me from doing what I want with Rafael. And right now, what I want is him.

I move, sliding my body on top of his, straddling his lean hips and putting my palms on his hard chest to push myself up, so he’s the one looking up at me for a change. His black eyes glitter as his gaze lowers to my bare breasts. My nipples are tight and hard, and I can feel him get even harder, his cock pressing between my thighs, making my breath catch.

‘Is there something else you want?’ He raises his gaze to meet mine and his beautiful mouth curves in a smug, arrogant smile.

‘Maybe.’ I shift on him, moving my hips, sliding against him, and have the satisfaction of seeing fire blaze high in his dark eyes.

‘Ask for it,’ he says, his gaze unflinching. ‘Ask me nicely.’

My God, the things he can do to me just by looking at me. ‘Fuck me, Rafael,’ I breathe. ‘Please.’

He smiles and pulls me down.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rafael

Getting deliveries onChristmas Day is difficult, but nothing is too much trouble when you have money and today I spend mine like water.

After another few incredible hours in bed, I leave Olympia sleeping. I can’t lie there when there’s work to be done and certainly not after that conversation. I’m strangely energised at the thought of preparing things for her, especially when it comes to making things legal between us. I want that to happen as soon as possible, especially with her brother knowing where she is. He might decide to come after her immediately, regardless of how she told him not to, and if so, I want us to be married before he arrives. Again, getting a priest and a witness is difficult on Christmas Day, but I have favours I can call in—Sicily is a small place in many ways and plenty of people owe me. Tomorrow will be the day we tie the knot.

It takes only a couple of hours to organise the things that I need for the marriage to take place, then I go into my office at the back of the house, grab a blank sheet of paper and a pencil and sit at my desk to start sketching the bare bones of the little studio she wants.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done any drawing. I used to when I was a boy, finding a simple pleasure in sketching. I like the tactile feel of a pencil and paper rather than a tablet, and buildings are a favourite of mine to draw. Before my father died, I wanted to be an architect, but he didn’t approve. He wanted me to work in the family business and all I wanted was to make him happy, make him proud, so I did what I was told. Afterwards…well, there was no time for drawing. I had to earn money and fast, and being an enforcer for one of the localCosa Nostrafamilies was the only way to do it.

Now, though, it feels good to hold a pencil in my hand. To draw straight, bold lines across a crisp, clean sheet of paper, and curved lines too, because my dragonfly is not only bold, but she has curves and arcs too. Her little studio needs to encapsulate the iron of her spirit, yet not only the iron. There’s a softness to her, too, an essential femininity that makes my breath catch and sends all the blood to my groin, and that needs to be there as well.

I lose myself in the pleasure of sketching and I’m not sure how long I sit there, but suddenly there’s a touch on my shoulder and a soft, sweet scent, the brush of silky hair over my arm, and I realise that Olympia has come up behind me and is leaning over me, staring at the sketch.

I have a strange urge to cover the drawing, to hide it from her until I’m ready for her to see it, because it’s not done. But I resist the urge. It’s childish and, besides, does it matter what she thinks? I can always change it anyway.

‘What’s this?’ she asks, her voice close to my ear.

Even after the hours spent in bed, her physical presence distracts me, so it takes me a minute to answer. ‘Your studio,’ I say. ‘I had an idea for it so I thought I’d do a quick sketch to see what you think.’

I push my chair to the side to give her room, glancing at her face as she leans down to get a closer look. She must have gone through one of my drawers because she’s wearing one of my T-shirts and seeing her in it makes me suddenly ravenous. Before I can think, I reach for her, pulling her down into my lap, her warmth and gentle weight soothing for reasons I can’t explain.

She doesn’t resist, settling back against me as if she’s been sitting in my lap for years and it’s as natural for her as breathing. ‘This is wonderful, Rafael,’ she murmurs, staring at my sketch. There’s wonder in her voice and I can’t stop the boyish pride that rushes through me. ‘You can really draw.’

I don’t want to give away how much her pleasure means to me, so all I say is, ‘I used to when I was a child.’

It comes out much gruffer than I intended and she turns her head, glancing up at me. ‘You don’t any more?’

‘No. I’m a CEO. Not much time for drawing when you’re managing a huge company.’

‘Well, it’s amazing.’ She glances back at the drawing. ‘I love all the windows and the little porch out the front.’ She touches the roofline where I’ve drawn in some skylights. ‘Will it face the sea?’

‘Yes. There’s a place on the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean where this would be perfect.’ I pause, looking at her face. She’s still staring at the sketch, but all I can see are the elegant lines of her cheekbone and nose, the soft curves of her lips. My chest tightens for reasons I can’t explain. ‘If the sea reminds you too much of Athens, we can build it somewhere else.’

‘No,’ she says, still looking at the building I’ve drawn for her. ‘No, this is absolutely perfect.’

I shouldn’t care what she thinks of this sketch. It shouldn’t matter at all, yet I’m savagely pleased with the wonder in her voice. With the way she’s tracing the lines of the drawing as if she’s never seen such an amazing thing in all her life.

Perfect, she said. It’s perfect.

She’s perfect.