Page 92 of Modern Romance July 2025 #4-8

The doctor left, and Damian reentered the bungalow that his grandfather had brought Zoia to when they’d married.

They’d struggled for most of their lives to eke a living from their small pasture and olive grove.

Zoia had supplemented their income with chickens and a vegetable garden, selling off what she didn’t preserve for their own pantry.

Zoia and Eurus were Damian’s mother’s parents. When their only child had come home from her first year of university in Athens to announce she was pregnant, with no sign of the father, Eurus had been furious. How dare she throw away her future on an Australian tourist?

After a terrific argument, Hestia had left, swearing to make her way on her own. She had. Damian’s memories of her were dim, but warm. They hadn’t had much, but he had never gone hungry. He had believed she loved him.

Until she dropped him here one day when he was six years old and never came back.

“Something has happened,” Zoia had said a thousand times in those early days. They had called hospitals and police to no avail.

Hestia had died. Damian knew that now, but for most of his life he had believed his mother had deliberately left him behind.

She hadn’t wanted him and neither had his grandfather.

That’s how he’d seen it, anyway. Life had been hard.

His grandparents had already been aging.

They hadn’t needed the burden of a young child.

Damian had learned to earn his keep from Day One, lest he be rejected again.

He had been ambitious, though. He had wanted more than a small farm and a lifetime of working it. He had quit school when he got on with a roofing company and, when a client asked about solar panels, he began to specialize in installing them.

Eventually, his fledgling company had grown enough that he was able to put a down payment on the run-down estate next to theirs. Over time, he’d renovated the villa, ensuring a comfortable apartment for Zoia.

Of course she refused to move into it with him. This was her home, she insisted.

As he returned to the living room, Zoia pointed to the window.

“Who is that?” The lines in her face deepened with curiosity. “Why did you leave her sitting in the heat? Go get her.”

Damian followed her gaze to see Carmel sitting in the shade of a tree, jacket off and draped over her bag on the bench beside her. Her white, sleeveless blouse exposed her pale arms. She sat with her legs crossed and was looking at her phone.

Typical. Of course she was still here despite his telling her to leave. Although, it was more her style to have changed into a bikini and jumped into the pool while ordering someone to bring her a daiquiri rather than sit on a bench as though waiting for a bus.

“That’s Carmel,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Your wife? You’re reconciling? Oh, Damian.” She set her hand over her fragile heart. “If there’s one thing I’ve longed to see before I died, it was you settled down and starting your family.”

“You’re not dying,” he reminded her. “You only felt faint.”

The oppressive weight of the doctor’s words hung over his head, though.

“She’s here to ask for a divorce,” he told her.

“You’ve agreed?”

“No.”

“Good. You’re right to give her a second chance.” A misty-eyed smile lifted the corners of her thin lips. “I know how you felt about her.”

An eely sensation squirmed in his chest, one that reminded him how trusting he’d been. Infatuated. That was the part that grated the most. Spending most of his life believing his mother had abandoned him, he’d been very careful about lowering his defenses.

Carmel had slithered around them, though.

Before her, most of his hookups had been with tourists or older women who didn’t want anything serious.

Carmel had immediately become a sexual fixation.

He’d thought they had a connection of sorts and had begun to believe he could trust in someone besides himself.

That’s why it had been such a devastating kick when he’d found her with someone else. The nascent things he’d begun to feel for her proved to be unrequited and the height of foolishness.

And now?

“I don’t feel anything for her.” Except hatred. And a persistent sexual pull that wasn’t something a man discussed with his grandmother. Especially when he intended to ignore it. “Our marriage is over.”

“Then why aren’t you divorcing her?”

To punish her. It was such a childish statement, he couldn’t admit to it aloud.

“You would have found someone else by now if you didn’t feel something for her.” Zoia’s body might be ailing her, but her eyes were still bright and penetrating.

He had painted himself into a corner, but he suddenly saw an opportunity. He wanted Zoia to agree to the surgery that would prolong her life. Zoia wanted to see him “settle down.” Carmel wanted a divorce.

“If I make an effort to reconcile with her, will you agree to the surgery?” he asked. “At least have the tests and speak with the specialist?”

Her thin lips pursed with amused exasperation.

“You’re coercing an old woman who only wants to see her grandson happy?

Shame,” she chided. “I would feel comforted, though, if you at least tried to make this marriage work. I don’t expect to live long enough for you to divorce this wife and find a new one.

Very well. If you make an honest effort with her, I will see the specialist. Now bring her in before she’s fully cooked. ”

Carmel was browsing the hotel options when she looked up to see Damian striding toward her with the energy of a knight on a charger, jousting stick aimed at her heart.

“I know you told me to leave.” She scrambled to her feet and collected her things. “I was worried about your grandmother. Is she okay?”

He halted, seeming taken aback by her question. His gaze struck where the lace of her bra was visible through the sheer fabric of her sleeveless blouse before rising to crash into hers again.

She’d been melting in the heat and removed her jacket. Now she hugged her things to her middle, defensive.

“She’s not. She has heart trouble and nearly fainted. She needs surgery or she won’t last the year, but she’s been refusing it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He looked very remote and contained, but she could tell he was deeply concerned. She thought about reaching out a hand to him, wanting to squeeze his arm in comfort, but hesitated, then lost the moment as he curled his lip in cynicism.

“How badly do you want a divorce?”

“What?” Her heart spun out and fell. All the oxygen seemed to evaporate from her lungs, making it impossible to speak. The sense of loss, of a light of hope winking out and leaving her in a sea of darkness, was profound.

“Zoia wants to see me happily married. If we attempt reconciliation, she’ll agree to the surgery.”

“I—” She swayed under the impact of that statement, trying to make sense of what felt like a one-eighty spin. Despite everything she knew about his hatred for her, a continent’s worth of butterflies filled her chest. “That’s not likely to happen, is it?”

“Absolutely not. But it’s two weeks out of your life, Carmel. If you want a divorce, that’s what it will cost you.”

She was still in free fall, trying to gain her bearings.

“You want me to pretend to reconcile with you?” She shook her head. “I can’t lie to her.”

He released a disparaging noise. “Not if it benefits someone besides yourself?”

A vise pinched her heart, cutting into her air. “Lying was as much an addiction for me as alcohol—”

“Oh, you’re sober from lying . I didn’t know that was a thing,” he scoffed.

“Don’t.” She held up a finger. “You can throw insults at me for the stupid, hurtful things I did to you, but do not mock my sobriety. Or my desire to be honest.”

He narrowed his eyes, his gaze delving into hers so deeply her heart swerved in an effort to avoid being seen.

It was hard to give up the shield of alcohol and subterfuge and stand in the truth of her past. It was even harder to admit she wanted something she had failed at more times than she could count.

She fought back the press of heat behind her eyes. Change was hard . It meant making difficult choices that the old Carmel would have refused out of selfishness. It meant evaluating every relationship in her life and deciding whether it was worth keeping. Worth fighting for.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you.” She felt her way forward as though inching onto thin ice. In the dark. While it creaked and cracked. “I said I wouldn’t lie to her.” That was no way to start a relationship with anyone. She knew that from experience.

She wanted to help him, though.

If she had a chance to make up to Damian for the way she’d treated him, if she could help him in a way that truly mattered to him, if she could give him more time with his grandmother, she wanted to do that.

Even if it would be hard for her.

“It sounds like your grandmother wants to see us resolve our differences. I would like to end our marriage on a better note, so I’m willing to make a genuine effort toward that kind of reconciliation.”

His expression remained flinty enough to cause her confidence to falter, but she persevered.

“One that is civil and…” She cleared her throat. “Less angry. Spell out what you would need from me.”

His expression hardened at the word “need.” His jaw worked while he debated something, then, “She would expect you to stay in the villa with me. I mean that, Carmel. No flitting away for shopping and parties. If you step one foot off this property, keep going because the deal is off.”

“Sounds like rehab,” she said pleasantly.

“I thought your sobriety was not to be mocked?”

“Oh, I’m allowed to do it. It’s the only way I can cope.

But on that note, ask your staff to put all your alcohol in storage.

Have a drink if you want one, but I’d rather not be confronted with temptation everywhere I look.

This will be stressful enough. What about work? Can I set up a remote office here?”

“For the five minutes a day that you’ll be calling in your career? Use mine.” His mouth tilted downward with derision.

“See? I fully accept that insult.” Because she would make him eat it. She cared deeply about Davenwear. He would soon see that. “What about…”

She lost her nerve.

His brows went up.

She cleared her throat. She toyed with a button on the jacket draped over her arm. Her chest began to burn. Heat rose to bloom in her cheeks. But she had to ask.

“What about sex?”

“I’m not going to touch you.” His voice turned gritty, and his gaze lashed across her once before he looked away again.

“What a relief.” Sarcasm wasn’t a lie, was it?

“I’m doing what I have to, to persuade Zoia to get the treatment she needs. That’s all this is. If you upset her, you’re gone.”

“I won’t.”

He snorted. “I’ll be shocked if you’re still here by morning.”

Oh, she would be here. Every one of his little digs only hardened her resolve.