Page 22 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

Too hot and bothered to stay in bed, she yanked on her bikini, went to the studio and lost herself in playing in the treasure trove of the supplies. A couple of hours drifted by, but then she heard splashing. Glancing out once was too much. Ares was a vision with the sun beating down on his perfect frame as he swam from one end to the other over and over. For the next hour she tried not to watch. Tired, cranky and conflicted, she wanted to dive in too except he was still in the pool and every few minutes she caught another glimpse. The last thing she needed was to get close to him almost naked. Again. She was having a hard enough time concentrating as it was.

Yesterday he’d walked away from her the instant she’d refused him, but he’d not been entirely wrong. He wasn’t alone in wanting; she yearned for the intensely fulfilling physicality he could deliver. But that encounter in his office had been emotionally fraught. She couldn’t endure his rejection if he stopped again. So she would remain wise and in control and away from him. But knowing more now—not seeing him through the rose-coloured glasses of naïve youth—had her questioning everything. She felt jittery, as if she’d had too much coffee when she’d actually had none. She needed a break.

She bypassed the pool to walk through the villa. Memories followed her like wraiths, demanding attention she refused to give. She went to the storeroom just off the kitchen, knowing it was stocked with extra supplies. She would load a box to keep in the studio so she didn’t have to come back into the main villa too often.

There were bottles oflemonadain massive supply and she fossicked about for salty snacks to nibble on and match her mood. That was when she caught a glimpse of blue. She paused. Stared. Pushed to the back of a shelf, it was mostly hidden by a stack of boxes. With a jerky shove she toppled the box tower so she could reach it quickly. If she’d been angry before, she was furious now. She totally forgot about drinks and snacks. It took two hands to lift. She remembered the weight of it. Her thumb slipped into the perfect indentation she’d made near the base. Carrying it out, she passed a small cubby stocked with a few hardware tools. One wasexactlywhat she needed. She tucked it under her arm and with ice-cold determination carried both the sculpture and the hammer out to the pool where Ares was still swimming lap after infuriating lap.

She set the piece on a table in the shade. It was the table where their post-wedding champagne and canapés had been placed that picturesque day. She stepped back and studied it with frigid clarity. The multi-media work, with its fine glazed clay imprinted by snippets of hand-pulled lace, shells, sea glass and rope she’d knotted, was a mirror for the blues of the pool and sea and sky. She’d puthoursinto it. But in the end she’d not been able to keep it because too much of her soul had been poured into it. It had been a cathartic expression of her love for this place and the experiences she’d had here. She’d released just some of that emotion into the combination of lace and clay and light. Before making this piece she’d not considered herself an artist—

Raw fury energised her. She hefted the hammer, tested the weight, working out how to get maximum impact. Holding it in both hands, she swung it back. Just as it arced over her head, harsh hands gripped her—locking her painfully in place. Next second the hammer was ripped from her grip.

‘What thehellare you doing?’ Ares yelled, releasing one arm and wrenching the other down, spinning her to face him.

She heard a thud. He’d tossed the hammer into the garden.

‘Why would you want to do that?’ Applying more pressure on her wrist, he drew her back from the table and closer to him.

Water dripped from him, splashing droplets on her. Muscles gleaming. Eyes ablaze. His black trunks clung, moulding to his strong thighs. But she wasn’t looking at his body. She was enraged by histreachery.

‘Why do you have it?’ Because she still couldn’t believe what was right in front of her. ‘You bought it from that art auction, right?’

Still looking shocked, he pressed a hand to her forehead then tugged her further out of the sun. ‘You’re hot. Are you not well?’

‘Why?’she yelled.

His hold gentled but he still didn’t release her. ‘Why does my having it bother you?’

Because she’d thought someone—some randomstranger—had appreciated her work. Someone she didn’t know and who didn’t know her. Someone who had simply seen her piece and been moved by it enough towantit. That happening had allowed her to believe she might have a future, not just in her props design, but inart. But that wasn’t what had happened at all. Ares Vasiliadis had made a mockery of her dreams. Again.

‘Why did you buy it?’ she repeated, struggling to regain some kind of control.

How had he even known it was for sale? So much for only knowing where she lived and worked. He’d known more. And now it hit her—he hadn’t come for her but he’d wanted to give her money. This had been acharitypurchase. The independence that she’d thought she was building was a facade. She felt so stupid all over again. Because of him.

‘I thought I made it clear I didn’t want anything from you,’ she railed. ‘Certainly not your money.’

‘I didn’t buy it as a way of getting money to you.’ He wiped water from his forehead with his free hand. ‘I honestly didn’t think that deeply about it.’

‘So it was an impulse purchase?’ she tossed at him, even more hurt. ‘Much like our marriage in the first place.’

‘Why is this such a big deal?’ He glared at her. ‘What does it matter?’

‘Because I thought it went into the atrium of some business. That people might actually see it. Might appreciate it. Instead it’s shut away in some poky cupboard on an island no one comes to. It might as well not exist, for all the joy it brings.’ Barely seen, barely appreciated and not fulfilling its purpose at all. ‘Which is what you wanted to do with me too, right? Shove me here—’

‘Because I thought you loved it here!’ he exploded. ‘I thought this was the place of your dreams. Isn’t that what you said? Youtoldme there was nowhere else youeverwanted to be!’

Becausehewas here too—thatwas what she’d meant. She’d never wanted her husband to live apart from her more than half the time. She’d wanted to be with him—would have followed him wherever he’d wanted to go. Instead she would have been like this—an unvalued trophy gathering dust.

‘Why would you break it?’ he asked. ‘It’s mine. I’m not going to let you destroy it.’

‘What do you like about it, then?’ she challenged. She’d told him why it mattered to her, now it was his turn. But he was silent.

‘What was it that spoke to you?’ she prompted. ‘Why did you have to have it so badly that you paid far more than it ever cost to make?’

Asking what something meant to him had been a question he’d not been able to answer before, but that wasn’t good enough—he had to answer her this time.

He stared at her. Hard. But his voice was soft. ‘It was worth it to me.’

‘Why?’She knew he could feel her shaking.