Page 100 of Modern Romance July 2025 #4-8

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I didn’t mean to make you talk about something so painful.”

“I don’t mind. Really.” His eyes were squinting in the light so she couldn’t read his thoughts, but his mouth was tense, his body bunched.

His voice was steady and cool, though. “You’re one of the few people I’ve ever talked to about her.

I thought you should have closure, too. Cliff hangers are cruel. ”

“They are,” she murmured as she began walking alongside him.

She desperately wanted to take his hand, but her fingers were sticky and she had the sense that he was so far inside himself, he wouldn’t feel the contact anyway.

Over dinner, Zoia urged them to go on a proper date. “Ice cream in the village doesn’t count.”

“I thought that was your first date with Pappous?”

“Because we were the children of farmers. You can afford to take Carmel to Italy for gelato. What about your award? When is that? Tell Carmel what it is.”

“It’s nothing,” Damian replied. “My company is being recognized for innovation and engineering in the green energy sector. I had planned to attend the ceremony in Berlin before coming here for the summer. Things changed.”

“When is it?” Carmel asked.

“This Saturday. But I don’t want to be away from Zoia,” he said firmly.

“It sounds prestigious.” Carmel was impressed. “You should go. I can stay with Zoia.”

Damian narrowed his eyes in a “what are you up to” look.

Nothing. It hurt to see his suspicion when she was trying to be a help to him in whatever small way she could.

She repeated in Greek to Zoia that she would stay with her so Damian could go.

“Nonsense,” Zoia said. “All of this visiting is too much for me anyway. You must want to do something fun, don’t you?” she asked Carmel.

“This is fun.” Carmel pointed to the table. “I don’t think many say ‘no’ to Damian and get away with it.”

“I’m telling him to say ‘yes,’” Zoia argued. “Will you really refuse to give me what I want when these could be my last days?” she demanded of him, then turned to Carmel. “Do you have a pretty dress?”

“I have this.” She plucked at her cheap sundress. “I don’t think it will work.”

“You’ll buy her something, won’t you, Damian?” Zoia urged him. “I don’t want you to miss out on something you deserve. You work so hard. Go have fun. Please.”

He sighed. “You won’t run any marathons while I’m gone?”

“I will keep my feet up and wait patiently for you to come back with your stories,” Zoia promised.

“Damian.” Carmel touched his arm to hit pause. “What sort of press are you expecting? You know what they can be like toward me.”

“It’s an industry award. There won’t be any gossip rags lurking around, but it’s an important networking event. I’d like to make an appearance. Will it be hard for you, though? To be around people who are drinking?”

“Not really.” She was used to it.

“And what about a dress. I can cover it.”

“Oh, please. I have a stylist on retainer in every major city around the globe.” She flicked her fingers, blasé.

“It’s settled then.” He relayed the news to Zoia.

She was thrilled, especially when Carmel promised to bring her laptop across the next morning so Zoia could help her choose a gown.

Despite setting them up on the weekend, Zoia wasn’t satisfied.

When Carmel offered to eat lunch with her, she urged her to take lunch to Damian instead.

Her grandson liked to be hands-on when he was home and often spent the day with the workmen, ensuring things were running well, but Zoia didn’t like that Damian was neglecting his wife.

He was suspicious when Carmel turned up with a beach bag and a picnic blanket.

“Are you that bored?” he asked.

“Zoia is worried you’re skipping meals. And I felt like a walk.” She wafted the blanket across a shady patch of grass and knelt to smooth it.

“What happened here?” He crouched beside her and his hand touched her shoulder, frowning as he ran his touch over the tender bump on her shoulder blade.

“I had the bright idea to do yoga in Zoia’s garden this morning. I didn’t notice a wasp had landed on my mat. It’s fine. I’m not allergic. It’s just itchy.” And his light caress sent tendrils of sensuality into her stomach. She hitched her shoulder to dislodge his disturbing touch.

“Check the bathroom off the kitchen when you get back to the villa. There’s a first aid kit that will have some ointment to numb it.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

It was the most benign sign of caring, but she was deeply affected by it.

They sat to eat the food Lethe had prepared.

“Do you think Zoia used to bring your grandfather lunch?”

“I know she did.”

“Really? That’s cute. They were in love?”

“I guess. He was a difficult man to read.”

“I wonder what it was like, being married to a man like that.”

He slid her a side-eye.

She chomped into one of the stuffed pitas that Lethe had prepared for them.

“He thought the world of her. I know that,” Damian said. “She was devastated when he was gone. I wanted her to come live with me in Athens. She could have gone anywhere. Done anything. Traveled. She wanted to be here. This is the home he gave her, she said. So this is where she belongs.”

“Do you feel that way about this place?”

“I do.” His restless gaze scanned the nearby trees. “Probably for the same reason. It’s the home they gave me.”

“That makes me jealous. Envious,” she corrected.

“I’ve never felt that way about any of the places I’ve lived.

The house I grew up in holds as many bad memories as good.

Everywhere else was transitory or belonged to someone else.

My flat in London is the closest thing I have to my own home and I would be disappointed to lose it, but I wouldn’t be crushed. ”

She caught him studying her.

“Don’t worry,” she said wryly. “I’m not vying for an invitation to stay. But I might have tried harder on our marriage if I’d seen this place.”

She was being glib, but he was somber as he reminded her, “I hadn’t bought it yet. I was going to use your money to do it, so it would have been yours.”

“Ours,” she corrected, accosted by thousands of what-ifs. What if she had placed her trust in him? What if they had been together all this time? “That was something that attracted me to you, though. The fact you knew who you were and where you belonged. I always felt so lost.”

“I liked that you seemed to be on board with my ambitions. Coming from a little farm on a tiny island, raised by my grandparents… There was a generation gap. They were already baffled by my mother’s desire for more.

They didn’t hold me back, but they didn’t understand why I wasn’t satisfied with working the land every day.

You had an attitude that not only accepted that I wanted greater things, you seemed to want to help me get there.

I thought we were going to be partners, creating that bigger world together. ”

“That’s why you were so angry when I pulled the rug,” she acknowledged with a pang. “I had no business marrying anyone, Damian. I hope you see that. Our marriage would have blown up eventually because of my drinking.”

They heard some of the workmen returning from their own lunch so they finished eating, and she gathered everything up to carry it back to the villa.

It became a thing for her to walk his lunch out to him, though. It allowed her to see more of the estate and was a nice midday break.

“I’m avoiding Atlas,” she said when he told her these picnics weren’t necessary. “He saw I was online and tried to catch me. I said I had a lunch date, which isn’t a lie if I actually have lunch with you.” She shook out their blanket.

“What happens if you tell him where you are? Does the sky actually fall?”

“No. He probably wouldn’t even be that surprised to learn I’d been married all this time. No one would. But I don’t want to do that to you.” She sat down and took the water bottle from her bag, handing it to him. “I’m a little worried about drawing attention in Berlin.”

“I’m not. I’d rather keep our marriage private because it’s no one’s business but ours, but if it came out, we’d make a statement and move on.”

“You said you were ashamed to be married to me,” she reminded him with a pang in her chest.

“I also admitted that was a cheap shot.”

“There was truth in it, though.” Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been such a heavy hit that landed so squarely. She concentrated on setting the food between them.

He took several gulps of water, then lowered the bottle with a hiss.

“If I was ashamed to be seen with you, you wouldn’t be here. I sure as hell would never introduce you to my grandmother. Are you that conditioned to think of yourself as a liability?”

“It’s sort of been my vocation,” she joked.

“Don’t do that,” he said sternly. “You think your father and brother are the only reason Davenwear became a global brand?”

“I was drunk or hungover at nearly every photo shoot. I can’t take credit for its success. Not in those days. Atlas was the bona fide athlete, giving it legitimacy.”

“Your looks and reputation didn’t hurt, Carmel. I’m not saying sex appeal is the right way to sell a product, but Davenwear didn’t succeed in spite of those things. Didn’t you say your father liked to enable you? He had to see that any publicity was good publicity.”

“Oh, God,” she breathed as the extent of her father’s manipulations struck her anew. She brought up her knees and hugged them, hiding her burning eyes against her kneecaps. She felt sick.

“You never saw that?” His hand rubbed across her bowed back.

“No,” she said miserably, then fought back the tears and picked up her head.

“He always acted as though everything I did had negative value. I married you knowing he wouldn’t approve, but who cares?

Nothing I did ever pleased him. At least I would gain some autonomy—money,” she said on a guilty croak.

“But he did that thing where he made it seem like he was saving me. You were an opportunist and I was the dummy and he was the reluctant hero. Again. ”

“Are you crying?” He found a napkin and offered it.

“No. I hate crying.” She dabbed it to her damp lashes. “And he’s not worth it. I’m just mad. I should be able to trust my own father, but I can’t .”

“True,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him. “Have you ever looked for your father?”

“No,” he said flatly, then he completely changed the subject. “I spoke to Zoia’s specialist. The surgery is scheduled for the seventh. That’s Monday, week after next.”

“Oh. That’s good, I guess?”

“I guess.”