Page 28 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8

His self-mocking smile hurt her heart.

‘Which would have been an impossibility,’ she said softly.

Maybe he’d not been ashamed of her. Maybe his avoidance of Athens—of mentioning his family—hadn’t been about her at all, but hisownissue—shame or pain or something that she still didn’t know about.

‘No onecould live up to my naïve relationship ideals back then,’ she murmured sadly. ‘Certainly not someone...’

‘Like me?’ He frowned.

‘Hurt,’ she breathed. ‘Hurt, like you.’

His expression went more mask-like than ever. She’d not meant to put this on him. She’d meant to ownherpart in it, not air her new assumptions about him. But here she was, talking too much.

‘I don’t mean by me,’ she muttered with a self-mocking smile of her own. ‘You don’t have to tell me why, but I know there’s a wall you retreat behind. I think it’s been there since before we met and I’m sure you had good reasons to build it.’

She paused again, heart thundering. This was a risk but she wanted to clear the air properly. Then maybe they could put this behind them. And she’d meant it. He didn’t have to explain if he didn’t want to...

And clearly he didn’t. Because he was silent for too many beats for her stressed brain to count.

‘You never would have been a burden,’ he rasped. ‘Not to me.’

His eventual raw reply smote her heart. She waited but he didn’t say anything more. Didn’t deny what she’d said nor explain. He was definitely hurt and his defences—barriers—were back up. Masking pain and not allowing more. And wasn’t that fair enough? Becausethatwas the mistake they’d made—thinking they shared more than a physical connection. There hadn’t been a truly emotional one and there still wasn’t. His silencenowreinforced that. And that had to be okay, because she wasn’t naïve any more. Life was never a fairy tale. She could survive this.

‘I’m going to grab a tonne of the food that’s in the fridge.’ She stood, hiding her shattered insides. Sometimes comfort eating was the only way. ‘I’m going to eat it while watching a movie.’ She cocked her head and tried to be rational and adult and mature. ‘You want to join me?’

Chapter Eight

Ares grazed onthe popcorn with a continuous, smooth movement of his hand—bowl to mouth to bowl to mouth—stuffing the gaping wound she’d ripped the scab from, stopping himself from speaking. But it didn’t stop him fromthinking. He hated that she’d felt the need to apologise for being sweet and young and romantic. For having dreams. And he hated that she was right. He’d been hurt. Before her. Yes, he had some walls. And he was keeping them. And because of that, he couldn’t touch her again. It wouldn’t be fair.

She’d chosen the first of a street-racing movie franchise with ten instalments. Muscle cars, muscle men, explosions, high-speed chases. Bethan’s wide eyes made him chuckle. She was knitting—her nimble hands never, ever still. The new piece was quickly taking shape. Soft pastels in a pretty pattern. He realised it was a baby’s jumper. Was it a gift? Had to be. But his brain tortured him with the vision of Bethan cradlingherbaby. Then teaching her toddler all her skills. She would have been a nymph here, spending her time swimming and sailing with a cherub or two in tow. Idyllic, no? The few magical days he’d had as a child with his mother on the beach could have been aneverydayjoy for his child—with Bethan. Not him. She was the loving one.

But he would have provided for them. He would have given her everything he could. Nanny. Chef. Housekeeper. The space to unleash her creativity and craft. But she wantedmore.

‘Who is it for?’ he asked huskily when she glanced up and caught him staring.

‘My friend Phoebe is pregnant,’ she said.

‘It’s beautiful.’ He kept his popcorn fingers far away from the fine wool.

She blushed and bent her head, her face an open book again. He just knew that for a second there she’d thought about having a child too. When he’d met her he’d thought she’d been sweet and guileless and inexperienced but she’d not been entirely so—not in one fundamental way. She’d known love but she’d known suchlosstoo. Both her parents. A sibling mere weeks from being born—she’d lost that relationship before it had even begun. He knew the ache of that—the loss of all thepossibility, the banter and fun to be had with your brother or sister. And then she’d lost her grandmother of course—in a long, slow sickness. There was so much grief in her, he didn’t know how she still smiled so readily.

And she’d been bullied by snobby classmates. That anyone could be cruel to someone gentle and creative and kind enraged him. That they’d made her feel inferior. But his actions, his family, had echoed that hurt in her—she’d thought she was not good enough for them? She was fartoogood. She wanted a full, happy family and sheshouldhave that in her future.

But back then she’d been wounded and wary—actually as careful of her heart as he. He’d known loss too. And rejection. From family, not from school friends. His father. His mother. He’d known failure. So their reasons differed, but they’d each chosen not to reveal too much. He’d hidden parts of himself. Like her, he’d been too busy having fun—too busy seducing her. Why would he ever revisit his own personal hell? Why ever share that with her?

Now he thought about all the things she’d said and the things he’d leftunsaid. He would leave them unspoken. There was no need, no point, to talk. She’d built a life in London. Made her friends. Found her career. Started dating. She was flourishing and happywithouthim. They just had the one thing left. The one thing it had always come down to. One kernel of pure chemistry. But he’d ignored it for more than two years. He could ignore it for a few days more. Because this afternoon—that frantic, physical encounter—had been wild and devastating and in no way had destroyed the magnetism that drew them together. But it wasn’t fair to do that again when he had no intention—ability, even—of opening up to her in the way she had with him. The honesty he owed her was an impossible ask.

The second film in the franchise started and he sank lower into the sofa. By the time the credits began for the third he realised her hands were still. She’d fallen asleep. He carefully extracted the soft wool from her lap and placed it safely on the table. Then he lifted her into his arms. She stirred. He shushed.

‘Go back to sleep,’ he whispered.

For once she didn’t argue with him. Those beautiful eyes remained closed. He carried her to the bed they’d shared for those first magical nights, tucked her in, turned away before temptation could control him.

They wanteddifferentthings. The love she wanted from him wasn’t a kind he could offer. He didn’t feel it, didn’t believe in it. He wasn’t just ‘hurt’, he was irreparably damaged. The broken bastard, the unwanted son of Loukas Vasiliadis. Shame and anger bubbled within because he knew—to his bones—that he was unwanted still. It was only his skill, only the power he’d fought so long to attain, that kept him in that damned company. If he’d failed there they would have cast him out.

The next morning he worked in the study for as long as he could—which wasn’t nearly long enough. When he walked out she was in the pool. He watched briefly then turned. The memories here were too strong—blurring past and present and confusing him. While his anger with her had eased, the lust hadn’t. If he were a better man he would take her back to Athens now, organise the notary and get the divorce settled. But there were only a few more days until the foundation gala and he wanted her there. He wasn’t great at talking and he couldn’t help wondering weakly if she might even want to attend of her own volition. Maybe he couldshowher what he was doing—why it mattered. She’d been brave enough to be honest with him, surely he could manage the same to a degree. Because that truth was coming out anyway—it was a huge part of his goal. So why not tell her now?

But he still wouldn’t touch her again. Wouldn’t mess this up when they’d made progress towards a peaceable closure. He went back to the study, made a couple of calls, then went down to the beach to prepare. Two hours later he hunted her down in the studio that had lain dormant for so long and now was vibrant.