Page 43 of Modern Romance July 2025 #4-8

CHAPTER TEN

R EBECCA WAS MOSTLY satisfied with their conversation on the beach.

Maybe he hadn’t been particularly forthcoming about his mother, but it was no doubt a sore subject.

Besides, he hadn’t avoided it entirely, and he’d told her something she didn’t know about him.

That no one, except him and his father, knew.

Perhaps that shouldn’t mean so much to her, but it required some level of trust, didn’t it? She mulled that over as she went about the rest of her day.

After the walk, he’d excused himself, citing business he needed to take care of. He would see her again at dinner. He gave her carte blanch to explore both the house and the island as a whole.

Not that she needed his permission, she’d told herself. If he was going to be high-handed and plant her places she hadn’t agreed to go, she was hardly going to wait around for his permission to poke around.

So, that’s just what she did. She went through every inch of the house—except his bedroom, because it was locked. And his office, because he was in it.

In one lavish room that she might have considered a living room or sitting room or whatever rich people called the excess of rooms they had, she found a large curio cabinet filled with what she could only call artifacts.

It brought to mind a museum. But not in a stuffy way.

The antiques were arranged like art—little bowls and silverware, small machines she didn’t have a clue as to what they did.

In the same room, there was a bookcase full of books about history and architecture—most with a local bent to Greece or this area of it.

She found another room—a complete library—full of more books. They covered a wide variety of topics and had a large fiction section, as well. In here the walls were dominated by beautiful paintings of what she recognized as depictions of Greek gods and goddesses.

She wouldn’t say every room had a theme , but every room above the basement level was filled with art, books or antiques. It was the complete antithesis to his place in Athens, and she could only draw the conclusion that this place was personal to him. The place in the city was not.

She couldn’t fathom why , though. Theo did not strike her as a man worried about what anyone else thought of him. What he liked or what he did. So why hide away his true self on this completely private island?

There were keys to knowing this man all over, but she still had to find the hidden doors to unlock for any of it to fully come together and make sense. For her to truly be able to move forward thinking about any kind of partnership. Parenting or otherwise.

After she was satisfied with her perusal on the upstairs and main floor, she returned to the basement. There’d been more than just his home gym down there.

Or so she’d thought. Downstairs, she found a second gym in the other room—which seemed overkill to her—but this one held an array of pads, mats and bags she recognized as used for boxing.

For a moment, before she got ahold of herself, she weaved quite the fantasy about Theo boxing.

Then she remembered what she was doing. Figuring the man out.

She had facts, and she had him . The way he spoke and acted and reacted to things.

No, she wasn’t about to say they knew each other well enough to decide how to move forward, but she was getting a picture of the man.

And more time would continue to fill that in.

How much time did she give it, though? Especially when he thought marriage was still on the table. Especially when the baby would be born in a few months. That still felt light-years away, but it would come eventually. And she could hardly just be…living on a private island. No job. No control.

But the island was beautiful. After Acacia made her a delicious and filling lunch, Rebecca took another walk along the beach. She loved the way the air felt here, warm and soft. The sound of the waves everywhere she walked. The screech of a bird. The impossible blue, blue, blue of everything .

It settled in her, warm and happy. It was just a vacation. She reminded herself of this time and time again. A vacation with a purpose. She certainly couldn’t get used to it. Soon enough she’d be back in Ireland.

And she loved Ireland. The horses. Her parents.

She did. She just…couldn’t seem to get her life there to look the way she wanted.

Not with the ghost of Patrick and Bridget hanging over her.

Not in her childhood bedroom. Not in a job that only served to remind her everything she’d worked for was gone in one bad snap of luck.

But that was reality, and this was just…a blip. While they dealt with the very real prospect of bringing a child into this world. And she had to remember that all her choices had to reflect not just what she wanted and cared about, but what would be best for her— their —child.

She took a little nap after her walk, a bath. When she went to get dressed for dinner, she opened her closet to find an array of clothes. Not her own. She’d only brought a handful of pieces.

She hesitated. They were for her, but where had they come from? Were they new? Or did he keep an array of women’s clothes in his home to provide for whatever woman he kind of kidnapped to stay out here?

She scowled at herself. It hardly mattered. They weren’t and had never been in a relationship, so whatever women he’d concerned himself with, or would, was none of her business.

Even if she did foolish things like let him touch her. They were not in a relationship.

She settled her hand over her stomach. Well, she supposed they had to develop a kind of relationship.

And it wasn’t like she could ask him to steer clear of all women, especially since she didn’t want to marry him, but wasn’t it fair to ask him to abstain until they decided how to co-parent?

Wasn’t it perfectly reasonable to suggest he stay away from anyone else while she was here?

No, it isn’t, and you know it isn’t.

That practical, no-nonsense voice in her head sounded an awful lot like her mother. Who was pretty much always right. No matter how little Rebecca liked it.

Frustrated with herself, she found the softest and most casual pair of cotton pants, and the loosest T-shirt to go along with it. She didn’t bother with shoes, just pulled on her own fuzzy socks that had been laundered at some point.

Then she went to the dining room, her stomach already growling. After her afternoon, she was pretty confident she’d learned where everything in the house was, so it was easy enough to walk down to the dining room, but when she entered through the archway, she came to a sudden stop.

For a moment, she stood frozen in place. The long, elegant table was piled with trays and bowls of food. There were two place settings—on opposite sides of the table. Candles flickered invitingly, and the smells were absolutely heavenly.

But it reminded her of dinners the Desmonds had served. She’d only ever been invited to one—on the eve of her trip to the Olympic qualifiers. She and her parents had dressed up and eaten in the Desmond home like guests, instead of employees.

And Patrick had smiled at her across the table, happy and proud, and she’d felt like she belonged.

But she hadn’t. “Should I have worn a ball gown?” she asked Theo, trying to forget about all that had come before.

He eyed her, but she couldn’t tell what he thought of her casual outfit. “You may wear whatever you please. I am in the habit of having a nice dinner when I am here on the island.”

“By yourself?”

His smile was slow, and it drew a liquid pull of want from the pit of her stomach throughout her whole body.

“That depends,” he replied.

She didn’t scowl, though she wanted to. But jealousy was a stupid emotion, as stupid as wanting to jump him every time he smiled.

Even if the thought of him having another woman here, touching another woman the way he touched her, felt sharp and ugly. It didn’t matter , because they weren’t in a relationship.

“Are you going to sit and eat?” he asked, and there was some amusement to his expression, like he could read her thoughts.

Which had a little wriggle of embarrassment creeping through her and into her cheeks. So she lifted her chin, hoping to affect a haughty kind of disdain for him and his suggestions even as she moved forward and took a seat across the table from him.

The very long table.

She looked at the food, down the length of the table to him. He was far away and remote and this was just…

“This is ridiculous,” she said out loud, pushing back into a standing position.

He did what he pleased so why shouldn’t she?

“I’m not shouting down a table over piles of food,” she muttered.

She grabbed her plate, her glass and walked down the length of the table.

She settled them both in the place next to him, then sat.

“ This is how normal people eat together.”

He looked at her like she was an alien. “Perhaps I don’t want to hear the sounds of you chewing , omorfiá mou .”

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose I was raised in a barn, after a fashion, but I do have some table manners, no matter how rustic.”

The corner of his mouth curved ever so slightly. And there was something about that, about amusing him, genuinely in this way, rather than in any sort of sexual way, that had her chest warming.

Which made her half wish she’d stayed down at the end of the table. Because the sexual pull was there, under everything, always, and she was determined to resist it.

At least until they came to some decisions. Together.

You should be resisting it always, Rebecca.

Should? Yes. Would? Well, that remained to be seen. She’d try anyway.

“Perhaps I am the problem, then,” he said, lifting his glass to his lips. She noted like her, his glass was filled with ice water—not wine or something alcoholic. “ Normal was not in my upbringing.”