Page 110 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

CHAPTER TWELVE

On the morning of their final day together, Zeus woke early, despite the fact they’d barely slept.

Urgency had overtaken them both, so they’d made love hard and fast and then long and slow, reaching for each other, memorising every inch of one another’s bodies, remembering everything about this connection they shared.

But the morning broke and with it the reality that Jane would leave him today.

He’d known it was coming.

They’d faced that reality together a week ago, and here they now were, staring down the barrel of the End. He refused to let that hurt him. Or to admit how much it was hurting him?

He wanted to stay with her, in bed, but at the same time, he was possessed by a strange energy.

An adrenaline that was pumping through his veins, making him jumpy and unsettled, so he stepped out of the bed with one last look at her sleeping frame, her hair over one shoulder, her lips parted in sleep, and his heart seemed to splinter into a thousand pieces.

Lips a grim line, he strode from the room towards the galley, where he began to brew a coffee, staring out at Prásino Lófo with a heavy heart.

Jane had belonged here; he wasn’t imagining that.

When she’d stepped onto the island the day before, he’d felt as though something in his chest had locked into place, and that feeling had only built and built until he couldn’t help but imagine her there forever. His wife, his other half, his love.

He dropped his head and stared at the benchtop, his heart racing now, a fine bead of perspiration forming at the nape of his neck, because he could no longer pretend that he didn’t love her.

That he didn’t trust her. That he didn’t want her—not just out of a sense of transient limerence, but in a lasting, vital way.

It terrified him, because nothing was lasting. Nothing was certain.

He’d learned that lesson at a very, very young age. He’d lived alongside a permanent fear of waking up, every day, and having it be the last day in which he saw his mother. That uncertainty had damned near eaten him alive, and he’d seen it all but destroy his father.

How could Zeus possibly be stupid enough to have allowed himself to fall in love?

He had to let Jane go. He had to say goodbye, watch her walk away and never, ever think of her again. He had to employ every ounce of strength at his disposal. Only then would he be safe from those exact same feelings.

Waking up, not knowing if she would be safe, if she would be well. He couldn’t do it again, not ever. Loving Jane would mean forever putting his heart on the line, making himself vulnerable and weak. He couldn’t do it.

Except…

Would Jane’s leaving solve anything? Whether or not he loved her was not an academic concept, but rather, he now accepted, reality. He did love her. She was a part of him, body and soul. So that vulnerability was there, whether she was in his life or not.

The foolish part of what he’d done was inviting her on the boat. He should have run a mile in the opposite direction from her that very first night, when he’d kissed her and felt as if the world’s rotation had dramatically picked up speed.

That was when he’d seen the warning signs, heard the siren, had known she’d be trouble.

Had known she’d threaten the parameters of his existence.

He hadn’t run, though, at least, not away from her.

If anything, he’d barrelled headlong into this regardless, and now, a little more than a week later, he was in love with her.

He was in love with her.

He lifted his head, focusing once more on the island, his heart hammering into his ribcage as realisation began to unfurl through him.

He loved her. And if she loved him, maybe he could have his cake and eat it, too?

He needed to get married, and he’d been thinking of his female friends who might be open to a businesslike marriage arrangement, but somehow, he’d found an option that was so much better.

He could propose to Jane.

Marry her.

Bring her here, to this island, where his wife belonged.

Where she belonged. He could kiss her every day, for all the days of her life, so that she would never again feel unsafe or afraid.

He could love her with every fibre of his being, accepting that risks were inherent to that, but that the alternative was so, so much worse.

Losing her by choice was an action he would never forgive himself for—if he let her walk away without telling her how he felt, he’d always regret it.

His heart burst with lightness and joy , an emotion he couldn’t remember feeling much of before meeting Jane. It was as though she’d woken him up from a terrible and protracted nightmare, and he was remembering who he was again.

He spun around, intending to stride back to his cabin and wake her up with the realisation he’d just had, but he stopped, because she’d been up almost all night as well, and he didn’t want to break her sleep. Yet.

He could wait.

He could wait, to deliver the most important words of his life.

Adrenaline continued to pump through his veins, making him jumpy. Coffee probably wasn’t necessary, but he poured a cup anyway and idly picked up his phone, opening his emails—a habit he’d been neglecting since being boat-bound with Jane.

He couldn’t help but grin as he flicked through them. Not because of the content, but because he had the woman of his dreams on the boat, a woman he trusted and loved in equal measure, and this was going to be the beginning of the rest of their lives together.

Near the top of his emails, he recognised one had finally come through from the UK-based detective he’d hired. Amazingly, Jane had even managed to push almost all thoughts of his sister from his mind.

He clicked into the email, and read the text:

Dear Mr Papandreo,

An extensive background check of Charlotte Shaw has now been conducted. Please find the following information:

Up until then, he hadn’t even known her last name. It went on to list her date of birth, residential address, educational qualifications, the fact that she worked in the not-for-profit sector, and was not currently in a relationship.

Also, please find attached some photographs of the subject.

Should you require any further information, do not hesitate to reach out.

Zeus scrolled down to where the photos had loaded into the email.

His finger was shaking slightly; he had no idea what she’d look like.

She was his half-sister; his father’s blood ran in her veins as surely as it ran through his, so he suspected she might look something like him, but the first image that came up on his phone showed a slender redhead with green eyes and alabaster skin.

Only her expression was somehow familiar to him.

It was a yearbook photo, probably taken sometime earlier, and she was staring directly at the camera in a ‘don’t mess with me’ kind of way that he felt in his bones.

He scrolled to the next photo. This was taken more recently, by a telephoto lens, he’d guess, courtesy of the detective. Charlotte Shaw was stepping out of a grocery store, carrying a paper bag. He could just see the top of a baguette and a bottle of wine.

He flicked down to the next photo and froze.

Or perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps it was the whole world that froze?

It didn’t make sense. Nothing about it computed.

What was his half-sister doing in a photograph with Jane Fisher?

What was Jane— his Jane—doing with her arm around Charlotte Shaw’s shoulders?

The picture was taken from a newspaper, and the detective had cropped enough to show the headline, ‘Breaking Barriers for a Cause.’

Perhaps they’d met through work. Met once. Didn’t know each other.

But they didn’t look like two people who didn’t know each other.

They looked…like friends. His heart thudded and acid burned the back of his throat as he began to look at Jane, and their relationship, through a wholly different prism.

From their first meeting, at a bar he had been photographed leaving many, many times.

If one did an internet search for his name and clicked into the images, he knew there were pictures there, clearly showing him and the name of the establishment.

How easy it would be to find him—and how easy to tempt him, with someone like Jane.

His blood thundered and roared through his body, deafeningly loud.

He loaded up a search browser and typed in Jane’s name, as well as his half-sister’s, and the full article was one of the first to appear. It had only been written six months earlier.

Childhood best friends making waves in the not-for-profit sector , was the subtitle.

Childhood best friends.

Charlotte Shaw, his half-sister, was Lottie. Jane’s Lottie. The best friend he’d praised and been inwardly glad Jane had in his corner!

Nausea rolled through him. Disbelief was quickly followed by shock, then acceptance. And then, finally, fury.

Fury because he’d been played. But to what end?

A part of him wanted to cling to the fanciful notion that this was all some big, silly coincidence.

Something they could laugh about together.

After all, Jane was the woman he loved. A part of him wanted to hold fast to the dreams he’d started to walk towards, to the future he’d envisaged only minutes ago.

But Zeus was not one to run and hide.

Jane had lied to him, and he had to know why.

Boxing away the love he felt for her, telling himself it was based on falsity and pretence, he sat at the table and stared straight ahead, ordering his thoughts, making a plan and waiting.

For when Jane woke up, they’d have this conversation, and he wouldn’t rest until he knew everything.