Page 48 of Modern Romance July 2025 #4-8

Yes, she had no doubt his father had done a number on him, and she wondered if that was what had caused his reaction with the doctor. Had he suddenly been faced with the idea of his own relationship with his father and worried?

She didn’t know. He would no doubt avoid the question if she asked. But she knew one thing for certain.

He didn’t want his father here.

“Prepare drinks,” Theo ordered the butler in clipped tones. “God knows we’ll all need them. Bump dinner up to five. Perhaps I can get him out of here before nightfall.” He paused for a brief moment. “Stay here,” he said before striding out the door.

It took her a full minute to realize that last order had been for her . And perhaps she’d shamefully taken her fair share of orders these past few weeks, but she was hardly going to lie down and accept this one.

She marched right after him. Down the hall, the staircase and toward the grand entrance of the house.

Two people stood there. Atlas Nikolaou—whom she had seen in pictures and would have recognized easily anywhere.

The pictures did not quite do him justice.

He wasn’t quite as tall as Theo, and he was thicker around the middle, but his shoulders were just as broad, his jet-black hair swept back in a dramatic style, his smile wide and very, very white.

There was a dazzling quality in his dark eyes.

Like an older Theo with a sheen of sparkle.

The woman next to Atlas was tall and slender.

Her dark blond hair was slicked back into a bun that managed to look stylish over severe.

Gold winked at her ears, all over her fingers that clutched a bag tightly and her wrists.

She was dressed in an effortlessly chic way that had Rebecca feeling slightly foolish for being in sweats.

Theo must not have realized she was behind him, because he went right up to greet the pair without a backward look at her.

Rebecca watched the exchange with a grim kind of fascination. Atlas greeted his son with exuberance and love, but it was not met with such. No, if anything Theo looked a bit shell-shocked. Even as he murmured a greeting to his father and the woman behind him.

“I don’t recall inviting you, Father.” This wasn’t said in the cutting tone Rebecca expected. No, there was a tired resignation to this sentence.

Atlas let out a big booming laugh. “Of course you didn’t. You never do.” He brushed past Theo and immediately set his gaze on her. “And this must be our Irish lass.” He laughed, as if he’d made a grand joke. Theo’s head whipped back to glare at her.

But Atlas was moving and talking over any reaction Theo might have had.

“And my grandchild.” He moved forward, reaching out. Rebecca was half-afraid this man she’d never met was about to grab her belly, but he dropped his outstretched arms as he approached.

He took her hand instead, pumped it exuberantly.

Even gave a little bow. “Atlas Nikolaou, a pleasure to meet the woman carrying my grandchild.” He squeezed her hand, leaned close and lowered his voice.

“And the woman who has kept my son wholly and utterly occupied.” Then he let out that booming laugh again.

It seemed to echo through the house, rattle the chandeliers.

She could see how in certain situations it might be entertaining, but it felt loud and out of place in this one. And still, she found herself smiling in spite of herself. He was loud and a little forceful, but it was in such a jovial way there seemed nothing to do but get swept away in his charm.

“Uh…well.” Rebecca didn’t know what to say. So she only managed, as if by rote, “It’s nice to meet you, as well.”

He dropped her arm, turned back to Theo and the woman, who stood next to each other, both frowning at Atlas.

“Introductions, my boy. You know better,” Atlas ordered.

Theo was so still she wasn’t sure he breathed. “It seems you are doing a well enough job. Rebecca, my father, and this is…” He trailed off, looked at the woman next to him.

She stepped toward Rebecca, held out her hand. She was tall, sophistication dripping off her. Rebecca didn’t think she looked a day over twenty-five.

“Ariana,” the woman supplied. “So good to meet you.” The words held no warmth, only a polite kind of ice.

Perhaps because Theo hadn’t even known her name. Rebecca looked from Theo—blank and icy, to Atlas—smiling and warm, back to Ariana—polite if a little icy herself. It was the strangest moment she could remember finding herself in.

“We’ll only stay for the weekend,” Atlas said, sighing dramatically and giving Rebecca a look as if they were somehow co-conspirators for the weekend. “But you must give us some time to get to know one another. It’s not as if you are busy with work, and you won’t let me be.”

“Very well,” Theo said. “Let us retire to the patio. Rebecca, I know you said you were tired.” Theo looked at her pointedly. “Why don’t you go rest?”

Maybe she should. She didn’t need to get involved in his family drama. But she remembered how he’d snapped out she’d never go to Ireland again, which made her feel like rebelling for once.

She also remembered the tired, curt way he refused to go deeper into his childhood in regard to his stepmothers or his own mother. She remembered the detached, almost tired way he discussed Atlas as a father to a young man.

He did not know it or want it, but no doubt Theo needed an ally.

So instead, she smiled brightly at him. “I’m feeling much refreshed. Besides, how could I miss finally getting to meet your family?”

Because she might want to be his ally, but she also kind of wanted to get under his controlling skin.