Page 38 of Modern Romance July 2025 #4-8

CHAPTER SEVEN

W HEN R EBECCA WOKE up this time, she felt much better.

Sturdier and hungry without the nausea settling at the bottom of the hunger.

She could admit to herself now, in the aftermath, that in the days leading up to coming to Greece, she had been too stressed to take care of herself and baby properly.

It had caught up with her. One more good night’s sleep tonight, and she’d no doubt feel more like herself. And food. She definitely needed food. She didn’t think she’d slept that long, but there were no trays waiting for her now, which was a shame.

She once again reached for her phone to find out what time it was but couldn’t find it at all now. Not in her pocket, not twisted up in the covers.

She pushed out of bed, found no sign of any of her things, then figured she’d have to hunt down Theo. She left the room, not sure she remembered which way they’d entered, but she could wander. If Theo had a problem with that, he should have left her some instructions or her damn phone.

The entire house was like the room. No doubt incredibly expensive but all a bland kind of white with no personality.

There didn’t seem to be any personal touches here—photographs, collections.

If she didn’t know it was Theo’s, she might think it some rental property.

It was nothing like the Desmond Estate—full of history and luxury and ancient personality.

Certainly nothing like the tiny home she’d grown up full to the brim with knickknacks, family heirlooms, ribbons and awards from both her and her father’s equestrian pursuits.

Before she could determine what that said about Theo, if anything, she was met with a slight man dressed all in black, blocking her forward progress deeper into the house.

“Ms. Murphy. Mr. Nikolaou is waiting for you just outside.” He gestured behind her toward a hallway that she thought led out to the front. “Follow me,” he said. Firmly.

But Rebecca didn’t move. She looked down at her feet, covered in nothing but fuzzy socks that had been better suited to the Ireland weather. “I don’t even have shoes on.”

“It is of no matter. The things you came with are with Mr. Nikolaou.” He moved briskly past her, and she felt no choice but to follow. Theo had all of her things? Where? Had he decided she was too much trouble and he was sending her home?

She wanted that to be relief winding through her. She could go home and handle this on her own, without having to make compromises or worry about an enigmatic stranger who claimed he wanted to marry her. She should be thinking: hallelujah!

But Rebecca had a bad feeling the sensation coursing through her was a lot closer to regret for not trying harder to find some sort of middle ground with him. For their baby .

“Does he have my phone?” she asked, scurrying after the man.

“Likely.” He led her outside, to where a large vehicle sat in the drive, Theo standing outside it. When he saw her, he opened the backseat door and gestured her inside.

“I imagine you are starving. Come. We have an assortment of sandwiches for you to choose from,” he offered by way of greeting.

“Theo. Where are we going? Where are my things? I need my phone.”

He gestured inside the opened door. “Everything you need is inside.”

She couldn’t say she trusted him, but she wanted her things. So she moved forward, peered into the back seat. There was a basket full of food, the bag she’d brought with her on the airplane. And her phone peeked out of the outside pocket.

Before she could decide exactly what to do, Theo slid into the driver’s seat. Which had Rebecca blinking. “You’re driving?”

“Indeed. Relax. Eat. The drive will take some time. But I think you’ll enjoy the scenery. Let me know if you’re feeling unwell and we’ll stop and pull over.”

“Theo, you can’t put off this discussion. Or the fact I have to go back to Ireland. After a few days,” she amended, because she could give him a few days to really have a conversation about their future.

But that was it.

He made an agreeable sort of noise, though she didn’t actually take it for agreement.

But her stomach and wanting her phone and to contact her parents got the better of her.

She slid into the back seat, the man who’d lead her out of here closing the door behind her before she had a chance to do it herself.

Rebecca grabbed her phone—fully charged now—and noted that her morning nap hadn’t been more than thirty minutes, and still Theo had put all this together. Well, no doubt he had a team of people who had.

She texted her parents that she had decided to stay a few days while Theo began to drive.

With her parents contacted, she looked at the basket of food.

There was an assortment of sandwiches, and she appreciated there were a few offerings that were fairly bland.

Some more containers held fruits—some apricots, some peaches, already cut up.

Some sort of watermelon salad that was completely and utterly refreshing.

Rebecca ate her fill, enjoying the fizzy ginger drink, ice cold. The rich did have a way with food.

She knew she should be concerned about where they were going, especially as she watched Athens pass by outside her window, as they took a road that wound along the coast of glittering blue water.

But it was too beautiful, too relaxing. This area of Greece was as green and blue as Ireland, but the hues were different. Ireland was lush, a deep kind of vibrancy. Greece had the sun to brighten everything and make it sparkle like a jewel.

It nearly made her wish she had some kind of artistic talent so she could find a way to recreate the differences.

The food settling nicely in her stomach for once, the lull of the quiet and the drive, had her dozing off once again. She wouldn’t have called herself tired, but it seemed like if she sat still for any period of time in a moving vehicle she just couldn’t stay awake.

When she woke, she had no idea how much later it was. Frustration that she’d dozed at all quickly turned to concern as she recognized the strangest sensation. The car wasn’t moving, or at least it wasn’t driving . The engine was clearly off, but everything seemed to sway.

She pushed up from her slouched position and looked out the window. Nothing but bright blue water and the sun most definitely lower in the horizon. She jerked her head to look in the front, but no one was there.

Heart slamming against her breastbone, she flung the door open, and there he was.

At the bow of some kind of…boat. A ferryboat.

The car was parked on a kind of plank part of the boat, and Theo captained this vessel easily as the wind ruffled his dark hair, and the sun shined down on him like a spotlight on a perfectly bronze statue.

Even having no idea what the hell was going on, his beauty took her breath away. Which was not fair .

“What is going on?” she demanded.

He looked back at her, unperturbed. “We are nearly there.”

“We are nearly where ?”

He pointed ahead, and she saw a shore coming up. There were some buildings on a little…island amid all the blinding blue.

“This is my island,” he announced, like that was a normal thing to have ownership over. “We will stay here to work out an arrangement. You will like it.”

“It’s…an island. Your island.”

“That is what I said.”

“I didn’t agree to come to some…remote island owned only by you!” Panic and something else thudded inside her. She didn’t like panic, but it sounded a lot more sane than excited . She had never even dreamed of being on a private island before.

But it was wrong. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t even told . He’d tricked her.

“I didn’t ask you to agree,” Theo said easily, in that way that had her wondering if she’d suffered some kind of head injury and was now living in an alternate reality.

Or he was.

“Turn this boat around. Take me back. I… I… This is kidnapping this time, Theo.”

“If you wish to consider it such, I suppose you can, though it does nothing to serve our purposes. We will come to an agreement, Becca.” His expression was hard now. Fierce. “And neither of us will leave until we do.”

Theo took care of landing the ferry on the shore. Two of his men who lived and worked on the island were waiting, and helped take care of the practicalities of his and Rebecca’s things and handling the boat.

Or they would, if Rebecca would get off . But she stubbornly refused to get in the car, or even leave the boat. He told her she was being childish. She didn’t seem to care.

“At some point, you will need to eat, sleep,” he pointed out to her, standing with his driver’s side door open.

She stood in the far corner of the ferry, leaning against the rail, her arms crossed over her chest—she still had no shoes on, only socks.

The sun glinted against her hair, shooting off little strands of fire amid the rich browns.

Her chin tilted higher, like some diminutive goddess warrior. “I refuse.”

“Your hunger strike will only punish you. Eventually, you will throw up again, and then you will require something . Unless you plan on standing on the boat in your own filth.”

Her hands fisted on her hips. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“ I plan on driving off this ferry and to my home, if you’d care to be reasonable and join me. You could also put on some shoes, agapi?tós .”

Her expression remained stubborn, but he noted a weakening.

So, he pressed. “It is a beautiful estate. Peaceful. Calming. You will have the run of the entire house. You can request whatever meals you like. You will be taken care of, waited on hand and foot. What more could you possibly want?”

“Personal autonomy?”

“Come. You are exaggerating. I haven’t locked you up.” Perhaps if situations were reversed, he would be furiously raving, but he didn’t want to think about putting himself in her shoes. He wanted to think about ensuring he got what he wanted.

Needed.