Page 45 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4

‘How did you fail her?’ I ask. He’s a powerful, dangerous man who gets whatever he wants, whenever he wants it, and I can’t imagine him failing to do whatever he set his mind to.

‘After our mother died, Olympia was taken into state care and I was too young to stop it from happening,’ he says tightly, then curses again as he tugs his phone out once more, looking down at the screen.

‘If Rafael Santangelo thinks he’s safe from me, he’s wrong,’ he growls, before raising his phone to his ear and issuing a series of what sounds like orders in rapid Greek, his tone hard and cold.

Part of me thinks I should leave him to his fury.

I’m not good at dealing with my own excess emotions, let alone anyone else’s, and I’m sure I’m an irritant he doesn’t need.

But… I can’t just walk away, not yet. The threat to his sister is upsetting him and, now I have an inkling as to why, it upsets me a little too.

I don’t like him thinking he’s failed, which is ridiculous, given I barely know him.

Yet he was kind to me in the jet, he was careful and patient, so I want to be kind to him in return.

In fact, I can’t shake the feeling that he needs me somehow, so instead of walking out of the door as he continues his conversation I move over to the shelf where the shell is, skirting round the broken glass sparkling on the floor.

I gently pick up the shell, contemplating the spiral: the golden ratio, perfectly expressed, and exquisitely rendered in nature.

The shell has that sense of rightness I require from all the items I have in my collection, and part of me wonders if Ulysses would mind if I took this shell to add to them.

Beside the shell is a small photograph of a young woman who looks about my age. His sister, surely? She has the same black hair and amber eyes as Ulysses, the same straight, proud nose, and she’s smiling.

‘That’s her,’ Ulysses says from behind me, his tone brusque. ‘That’s Olympia.’

The sound of his voice so close makes an electric shock jolt through me.

I can feel his heat too, smell his intoxicating scent, and it makes me shiver.

The memory of what we did in the plane is still so new and incredible.

Now I’m thinking about it again, and I can’t stop.

The pressure between my thighs is an ache, and I can’t concentrate.

But I can’t ask him for sex again, not now.

It would be incredibly inappropriate when he’s so angry and upset about his sister.

‘I thought so,’ I say, hoping the heat won’t show in my voice. ‘She has the same eyes as you.’

‘She was ten years old when our mother died,’ he says.

I turn round and look up at him, wanting to see his face. He’s still blazing with fury, the build of it like a bonfire in his eyes, the air around us crackling with the electricity he’s throwing out.

‘What happened?’ I ask.

He smiles but there’s nothing in it but threat. ‘She was passed around a number of different foster carers, some of whom physically assaulted her. I wasn’t able to get her back until years later.’

I study his face, thinking about his fury and fear. He must love her so very much, which makes me think about what it would be like to be loved by him. It would be too intense and overwhelming, I think, yet part of my soul aches to be loved so completely.

Mothers are supposed to love their daughters, but my mother never said anything about loving me, because there was too much about me she didn’t like.

Too much that didn’t fit with her idea of what a good daughter should be.

My social awkwardness, my resistance to change, my blunt way of speaking. It embarrassed her, I think.

It was the same with John. As my husband, he was supposed to love me, and he even said it, but…he lied. And he had expectations of me as a wife, expectations that I failed to meet.

Ulysses is such an intense man, so his expectations of himself must be very high. And, given he’s so furious now, it seems the consequences when those expectations aren’t met must be very painful for him.

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him, wanting to offer him something, as little as it is. ‘That must have been very difficult.’

‘You cannot imagine how difficult.’ The fire in his eyes leaps and flickers, but I can see shadows between the flames, and my chest clenches tight.

It hurt to lose her when he was young, that much I can see.

It tortured him. ‘I fought for years to finally get her back into my care and, when I did, I swore that no one would ever take her from me again.’

The tautness in my chest tightens further and I’m not sure why. Since when did Ulysses’s emotions matter to me? I shouldn’t want them to matter, especially not when John’s emotions were so fragile and delicate that I had to be careful with them in case they broke.

But, no matter how mysterious my own emotional reaction to Ulysses is, it doesn’t change the fact that I have one.

Perhaps it’s because, once again, he’s being honest. He’s furious and he’s telling me why, instead of saying nothing and making me guess, which was always John’s favourite tactic.

He’s not demanding that I be sympathetic to him either, which was what my mother used to do, because she thought I was selfish.

‘Do you know where she is?’ I ask, trying to think of something useful to say but coming up with nothing.

‘No. But she’s with Rafael Santangelo, which doesn’t bode well.’

The name rings no bells, so I ask, ‘Who is he?’

‘I took over his company years ago, and it wasn’t amicable from what I can remember.’ A muscle in the side of his jaw leaps. ‘I’ve just ordered some of my people to find out everything they can about him, and where he might have taken her.’

I wish I could say more, do something for him, but there’s nothing I can give him that will ease his anger or his worry. Once again, I feel things might be easier if I wasn’t here so he doesn’t have to manage me as well as his own emotions.

‘Shall I leave you alone?’ I offer, belatedly.

His gaze focuses on me, his attention acute. ‘Why did you stay?’

The question is unexpected and for a moment I don’t know how to reply. I’m not sure I want to tell him the truth, since I’m not sure I can articulate it, yet he’s compelled honesty from me so many times now there seems little point in holding back.

‘Because you’re angry,’ I say slowly. ‘And I wanted to know why, and I… I want to help you.’

His gaze is relentless. ‘So why do you want to leave now?’

‘I don’t want to leave,’ I correct him. ‘But I’m not sure how I can help you, and maybe it’s easier if I’m not around.’

This time it’s his turn to study me, scanning my face with the same intensity he seemingly brings to everything he does. ‘I won’t get replies for some time,’ he says, his tone brusque. ‘So what I need now is distraction. That’s what you can offer me. Can you do that for me, Katla mine?’