Page 68 of Modern Romance December 2025 1-4

Despite all her preparation, Rosamund had been overwhelmed at the sight of her mother’s image, while standing in the place where her mother should have been, accepting her accolades. For a second all she could think of was how much her mother had missed out on. And how much Rosamund still missedher.

The sight of Fotis blocking out the photo, and the crowd, leaning towards her with concern in his voice and sympathy in his eyes, had stunned her.

She’d known an all-consuming impulse to lean her head against his broad shoulder, breathe in his strength, and step off the merry-go-round of public expectation and royal duty.

For the tiniest instant it had felt like hesawher as no one else did. Saw deep inside to the turmoil, doubt and isolation. And understood.

There was something about that flash of solicitousness that told her he knew grief too. Knew the toll it took to keep pretending everything was okay.

Of course it wasn’t true. Fotis Mavridis knew nothing about her, except, she guessed, the lurid headlines. He didn’t knowher, any more than she knew him. It had been wishful thinking. And, she admitted as she sipped her cold coffee, loneliness.

She put the cup down with a clunk and turned to the paragraph she was writing. She hadn’t felt inspired all morning. But she was a professional and knew she couldn’t wait for inspiration. Sometimes she had to coax it into appearing. Her editor, not to mention her readers, were waiting for the next book.

Frowning at the scrawl on the page she knew she’d be better spending her time doing something else. She slapped shut the notebook, secured the elastic band around it to stop any loose pages slipping out, and shoved back her chair.

She’d been here since dawn, trying to get ahead with her story but all she had to show for it were ramblings she knew she couldn’t use and a page full of doodles, cartoonish images of a severe-featured man whose eyes she couldn’t capture. As if she could usethoseto illustrate the book!

Rosamund was at the coffee machine when a change in the atmosphere made her still. She looked towards the open French doors, expecting to see the daylight darkened by storm clouds, but it was still bright and sunny.

Yet the fine hairs at her nape and along her arms stood up. Slowly she turned.

Fotis Mavridis stood in the doorway, feet wide, arms folded, wearing faded jeans and an olive-green shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, sinewy forearms.

A weight plummeted from her chest to her abdomen, sending ripples of awareness radiating to every part of her body. Suddenly the peaceful room felt unnervingly different and out of kilter.

She lifted her gaze and met eyes that today glowed more green than blue. Heat fired her blood, warming her skin.

She turned back to the machine, grateful for something to do. ‘Coffee?’

‘I’ve had mine.’

His tone was brusque, telling her they were back to being enemies. That suited her. Disapproval and dislike she could deal with. That strange…yearning she’d felt around him was an aberration.

Her lips twisted as she frothed hot milk. ‘Is there a car I can use, apart from the limousine?’

‘Why?’

Rosamund bit her lip rather than blurt out an angry answer. For some reason he was trying to provoke her. She was tempted to wonder why he disliked her so much, but refused to waste mental effort on it. ‘I have an appointment.’

When the silence extended she picked up her cup and turned. Only then did he say, ‘There’s no appointment in your diary until this evening.’

She refrained from rolling her eyes. ‘I’m visiting a friend and I’d rather not take the limo. Is there a car I can use or shall I get a taxi?’

‘I’ll take you.’

‘I’ll be quite safe there. As I said, I’m visiting a friend.’

Yet her assurance only provoked a frown. ‘How well do you know thisfriend?’

Rosamund blinked. If she didn’t know better she’d think that sounded like pique or even… No, impossible to think it was jealousy.

‘Well enough to know I’ll be safe.’ She refused to explain. She was entitled to privacy.

Strolling across the kitchen, she scooped up her notebook and stopped only because he blocked her exit. When he didn’t move she sipped her coffee and let the familiar taste soothe her ruffled edges.

‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get ready to leave.’

For a second she thought he’d refuse to move. Her pulse quickened and something like excitement jagged through her.