Page 163 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

‘It’s you, Rafael. I told myself it would be okay, that time would help. That time might even be the cure or the antidote or…or something. But…it just hasn’t helped.’

I still don’t understand. ‘What are you talking about?’

She is silent a moment, then says, ‘I’m in love with you.’

And I blink, another wave of shock sliding like ice down my back.

‘I tried to tell myself that being here with you was enough,’ she goes on, her voice cracking. ‘I tried to tell myself that perhaps with time I’d either stop loving you or that…that maybe you’d change your mind about me. But that hasn’t happened and now…’ She takes a breath. ‘Now, my brother is marrying the woman he loves and. I… I lied to him. I told him I was happy and I’m not.’

The shock is slowly dissipating and yet it still feels as if I’ve been struck by something heavy and my head is ringing.

Of course you can’t make her happy. You’re denying her what you know she needs. What you know she deserves.

Love. The one thing I didn’t want. The one thing I told her wouldn’t be a part of our marriage. I knew what I was denying her, I knew it. But I told myself that if I gave her whatever she wanted, a life of her own and all the pleasure she needed to fill it, she’d never need anything more. That I could make her happy with that alone.

But I can see the tears streaming down her cheeks and I can feel the distance between us widening even further. And I can’t follow her. I can’t.

Didn’t you think this might be a problem? Didn’t it ever enter your head?

No. I didn’t want to think about it so I didn’t.

‘What can I do?’ I hear myself say. ‘What can I do to make you happy?’

‘I don’t know.’ She swipes at her tears again and I try to do it for her, but she pulls away, putting some physical distance between us. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’ She takes a breath, then another, and looks at me again. ‘It’s fine. Forget I ever said anything.’

CHAPTER TWENTY

Olympia

Rafael is lookingat me, a stunned expression on his face. And of course he’s stunned. I’ve never told him that I’m in love with him. I’ve kept that secret to myself for months now, hoarding it as a dragon hoards gold. And they’ve been wonderful months, too, the best of my life. I probably could have gone on without telling him, gone on with yet more wonderful months, but when Ulysses called me to tell me that he was marrying Katla, all I could think about was the lie I told him. The lie that I’ve been telling him for months now.

He asks me every so often, on our frequent calls, if I’m happy and is Rafael treating me well, and I tell him that I am and that Rafael couldn’t be more attentive. That, at least, wasn’t a lie. Rafael has been amazing. Taking me travelling and showing me some of his favourite places. They’re all buildings, of course. The Great Wall in China. The Empire State in New York. The temples in Japan. He’s passionate about them and while we’ve been away, he’s been drawing more. Not only buildings either, but people, too. Me in particular.

Lying there watching him draw me is one of my life’s pleasures, and one I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to give up any of it. I don’t want to give up him, not for even a minute. Ulysses has asked me to visit him a number of times, but I’ve always refused. Some part of it is not wanting to be away from Rafael, but mostly it’s because my brother will know that I’ve been lying to him. And he’ll want to know why, and if I tell him, he’ll probably fly straight to Sicily and wring Rafael’s neck.

Perhaps I would have gone on that way if Ulysses hadn’t mentioned the wedding. Making me think about my own marriage and the man I married. The man I’m desperately in love with, but I didn’t want to tell him. Because I know he doesn’t want it and I was terrified of what he’d do if I let him know.

But fear is what I’m trying to leave behind me, along with the pretence that everything’s okay when it’s not.

He is standing in front of the studio he built me, the building looking amazing and yet somehow also eclipsed by the man in front of it. A man in jeans and a black T-shirt, both stained with sweat and dust. His hands are dirty and there’s blood on his fingers from a cut, and his hair has been shoved back from his head, and he’s the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen. And I couldn’t stop the words, they just came tumbling out.

Our child will be born very soon and I had to tell him before that happened. I had to be honest and I had to be strong. But while it was cathartic to say it, I regret it now, and I know that no matter how many times I tell him to forget it, he’s not going to.

His eyes are very dark, his expression slowly hardening. ‘It’s not fine,’ he says harshly. ‘And no, I can’t forget it.’

I swallow, because now it’s here, what I dreaded would happen if I told him, and I can’t run away from the consequences. I’ve been running from them for six months and I can’t do it any longer.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Well, now you know.’

He’s staring at me as if I’m a stranger. ‘Why would you tell me that?’

I straighten and lift my chin, drawing the shreds of my dignity around me and ignoring the pain threatening to crack me apart. ‘Because I’m tired of hiding it,’ I say baldly. ‘And I’m not ashamed of it.’

‘Olympia—’

‘I’m not asking anything of you,’ I interrupt, because now my secret’s out, I won’t let him stop me from speaking. ‘I don’t want anything. I’m not going to leave you just because you don’t love me back or anything, and I don’t want you to feel as if I’m pressuring you to give me something. I… I just needed to say it. And I needed you to hear it.’

He blinks as if I’ve shocked him again. ‘What do you mean you don’t want anything?’