Page 98 of Modern Romance July 2025 #4-8

And he had pushed her away with scathing anger, sounding repulsed.

Oh, that hurt. She had to breathe through the anguish and clench her eyes against tears because what would soaking her pillow do? Nothing.

Twice she rose, thinking to start walking to the ferry in the dark only to fall back into bed with a whimper. You made a promise. Keep it.

But how would she even face him?

At some point, she fell asleep, then slept in so late she was freshly embarrassed when she rose. Now he would think she hadn’t changed a bit, lolling in bed half the day, recovering from a hangover.

This morning seemed cooler than yesterday, so she put on her pants and blouse and jacket rather than the sundress. She put on armor, really. And she used the little makeup in her purse to mask up with a game face.

When she felt presentable and in control, she went downstairs only to learn Damian was long gone, having left the villa before breakfast, out to view various worksites on the estate with Pirro.

She ate alone and walked across to visit Zoia where she spent a pleasant hour in the garden with her.

They talked about innocuous topics since Carmel didn’t have the vocabulary to bemoan kissing Damian last night and complaining that he’d rejected her—not that she wanted to confess that, but it sat on her chest like a heavy, jagged boulder.

The garden with its flowers and sundial and buzzing insects was very soothing, though.

It grounded her, reminding her that life moved at its own pace.

The things that she thought were monumental enough to destroy her rarely were.

She was still alive, still sober, merely feeling the feels of being human.

“May I ask you something?” she asked Zoia as she was walking the woman back into the house. “Did you ever look for Damian’s father after he came to live with you?”

“No,” Zoia said with a small, pained frown.

“Our daughter didn’t tell us his name, only that he left for Australia before he knew she was carrying Damian.

We learned it eventually, when she didn’t return and we had to put him in school.

We were able to get his birth certificate.

By then…” Zoia shook her head, her gaze far away and filled with melancholy.

“I didn’t know where my daughter had gone.

I didn’t want some stranger taking my grandson. I didn’t let Eurus look for him.”

“Damian has never tried to find him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s sad to think there’s a man out there who doesn’t know he made such a good man.”

Zoia smiled up at her and patted the arm she clutched. “He is good, isn’t he? I’m glad you see that. I’ve been so worried about him. What if I have this surgery and I don’t pull through? That would leave him with no one. Knowing he has you is a great comfort.”

The way the older woman looked at her made Carmel’s heart pinch with contrition.

“I promised him I would stay until your surgery and I promise you that I’ll be in his life anytime he needs me, but I think you should know that we don’t plan to stay married.

I came here to tell Damian I’m sorry and ask for a divorce.

We were never in love. We married too fast. It was never a real marriage. There’s nothing to save.”

“Then why be here at all?” she challenged lightly. “You wouldn’t bother to give an old woman hope unless you felt some yourself.”

Carmel smiled weakly, unwilling to argue and not quite able to deny it. She did have hopes where Damian was concerned. Foolish hopes she avoided acknowledging. She told herself she wanted him to forgive her when, really, she wanted him to like her. She wanted him to want her the way she wanted him.

Uncomfortable with those thoughts, she left Zoia in her chair and she went back to the villa to change. It was definitely not cooler today, but at least her things from Athens had arrived. She pulled on shorts and a tank top, then settled into Damian’s office with her laptop.

Since she’d never been book smart, she tended to make her decisions with her gut—something that drove people like Atlas mad. He was all about reports and statistics and whatever else could be charted on a spreadsheet.

His “show your work” mentality was the nightmare of school all over again, but Carmel had assembled a crack team of nerds to help her.

It made for a tedious process of reverse engineering the decisions she had already made in her head and instinctively knew were sound, but it was always nice to prove she was right so she plugged in her earbuds and dug into the materials they had sent her.

With his blood ignited by their kiss on the stairs, Damian had barely slept. He’d been far too aware of Carmel in the room next to him, ears pricked for the sound of her leaving.

Or coming to him.

He had eased the worst of his libido’s ferocity in a hot shower, but sexual hunger sat in his groin like a toothache.

One that hadn’t found proper relief in five drought-laden years.

He’d dated. Kissed a few women. He wanted to have sex, but after Carmel, there’d always been something bland and mechanical in the process that wasn’t any different than using his fist.

He’d always blamed Carmel for that, thinking she had put a stake through the heart of his sex drive. His mistrust of women had made it impossible for him to feel truly aroused by them anymore.

But no. His trust in Carmel was in the proverbial basement, but his response to her last night had been so strong, he’d nearly nailed her in the stairwell without a thought to the consequences.

Had she been trying to manipulate him by offering herself that way? He hadn’t stuck around to find out. He’d used the last shred of self-control he possessed and walked away.

Then he woke at dawn and threw himself into the kind of backbreaking labor he’d done alongside his grandfather while growing up: cleaning up fallen branches and digging post holes to repair a fence.

Pirro interrupted him midday. “Lethe asked if you’d like her to take your grandmother to her appointment? She has to run into the village anyway.”

Damn, he’d nearly forgotten about that.

“No, I want to do it.” He needed a shower, though. “Thanks.”

He wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans and walked back to the villa.

As he climbed the stairs, Carmel’s voice grew in volume, singing a pop tune about everyone in a bar getting tipsy.

He paused in the doorway to listen, unable to help himself.

She was engrossed in something on her laptop, brow pulled with concentration as she used the top of a pen to follow a line across the screen, voice clear as a bell as she sang about her history with a certain kind of whiskey.

Her gaze strayed upward and she jolted with fright when she saw him.

“Oh, my God!” She dropped the pen and pulled an earbud from her ear. “How long have you been there?”

“Since you ordered a double shot of whiskey,” he said, referencing the lyrics. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Was I singing?” She winced. “I don’t realize I’m doing it. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Her voice was beautiful. “I do have to question your choice of song, though.”

“I know.” She grinned cheekily. “But it’s so catchy.

” She flicked her gaze to the damp patch in the middle of his shirt.

Her expression sobered as though she suddenly remembered how they’d left things last night.

Pink stole into her cheeks. “Do you need the office? I can move to my room.” She started to close her laptop.

“No, I’m showering then taking Zoia to the doctor for some tests.”

“Okay. Um, before you go…” She cast a wary look past him, but he’d already told Lethe to leave on her errands. Her gaze dropped to the laptop she had closed, and she ran her thumb along the seam. “About last night…”

This ought to be good. He crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder into the doorjamb.

She lifted her lashes to peek at him, chin still tucked. “Do we need to talk about it?”

“I thought I said all that needed to be said.” “No” was a complete sentence, wasn’t it?

“You did.” The red in her cheeks deepened. “I only wanted to say that I agree with you.”

Really. That was annoying. Some perverse part of him wanted her to whittle away at his control so they could have explosive sex and he could blame her for it. His gaze kept sliding down to the neckline of her green top while he remembered the feel of her nipple against his palm.

“I’ll see you later, then.” She opened her laptop and started to pick up her earbud. “Will we eat in the gazebo again? What time?”

He remembered what Zoia had said last night before dinner.

“Can your work wait? Zoia will be tied up for an hour or so, but you could wander through the shops if you come with us. Pick up anything you need.”

“Thanks, but now that my stuff is here, I don’t need anything.” She glanced over the desktop as though taking inventory.

Damn it, he was going to have to spell it out.

“Zoia suggested we spend more time together. She told me I should woo you.”

“ Woo me?” Her cheeks went a bright red again. “That’s sounds like a performance neither of us is prepared to give. Especially after you shut down yesterday’s improv. I think the trick is to say, ‘Yes, and.’”

She looked him dead in the eye, smirking at her own joke.

“I cannot believe the things that come out of your mouth,” he said truthfully.

“So you’ve said.” She opened the laptop again. “Explain to her that it’s against our rules for me to leave the property.”

“I’m willing to make an exception. Call it supervised parole.”

“Is this you starting the wooing already? Be still my heart.”

“Get in the car and let me buy you an ice cream,” he said, abandoning patience.

She closed the laptop again. “Next time, lead with the ice cream. I’m ready when you are.”