Page 205 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

‘In what way?’

Something twisted in her abdomen. She stood up, pacing, a strange energy making it impossible to sit still. ‘He’s every bit the practiced flirt, just like we thought.’

‘No kidding. You saw the same photos I did, right? A different woman every week?’

‘At least,’ Jane snorted. ‘Maybe even every night. He seemed pretty well known at the bar.’

‘I’ll just bet he did.’ The condemnation in Lottie’s voice was pronounced. ‘What else?’

‘What do you want to know?’ Jane asked, ignoring the sense of guilt and focusing on her best friend.

‘Nothing,’ Lottie responded then with a sigh. ‘And everything. He’s my half-brother. Does he look like me?’

‘No. You know that—you’ve seen as many pictures as I have. You’re the spitting image of your mother. Apart from your love of coffee and history, I can’t imagine you as being half Greek.’

‘I like ouzo, too,’ Lottie said with a laugh, reminding Jane of the first night they’d gotten properly drunk. That time, they’d broken into the groundskeepers’ hut and swiped what they thought was vodka and turned out to be the aniseed Greek spirit. After the first awful taste, they had been undeterred.

‘How’s your Operation Find a Husband going?’ Jane changed the subject with relief and settled back on the couch to listen as Lottie recounted what could only be described as the first date from hell, all the while her naughty imagination kept trying to draw her back to the bar, to Zeus Papandreo and the magic of his touch…

At first, she didn’t hear the ringing of her phone, because she was in the middle of a huge crowd of summer tourists, all marvelling at the ancient beauty that was the Acropolis. Beside her, an American family had been debating the architectural merits. Their teenage son had seemed to have a lot to say on the subject, and his parents had been content to let him drone on, and on and on, while their youngest child, a little girl of about seven or eight, devoured a huge ice lolly.

Hot and a little sweaty, Jane was looking at the nearly finished treat with undisguised jealousy when the girl reached out and pointed towards Jane’s bag. ‘You’re ringing,’ she said in a broad accent.

Jane blinked, tearing her gaze from the little girl’s ice lolly to her face, which was smiling sweetly.

‘Oh, right.’ She looked across to find that even the teenager had stopped talking, and the parents were looking at her expectantly, too. She realised she was standing very close to their group, almost as if she wanted to be adopted in by them.

She stepped back quickly, smiled curtly then turned away, diving into her bag to remove the phone. In a fit of irritation—self-directed, because she’d been thinking about Zeus and acting like a twit—she answered the phone. Only to hear his voice, coming down the line, dark and somehow every bit as hot as the summer day.

‘Jane,’ he drawled, the simple word almost indecent. She quickly pulled away from the thrum of people, as much as she could, trying to find somewhere quiet to have this conversation.

‘I’m sorry, who’s this?’ She couldn’t resist teasing.

She could practically hear him smirk down the phone. ‘We met last night, at the bar.’

‘Right. Zoro?’

Now he laughed and she smiled, secure in the knowledge that he couldn’t see her, so he wouldn’t see how she sort of liked sparring with him.

‘Are you free tonight?’ he asked, barely a moment later.

She bit into her lower lip. For the sake of self-preservation, she should run a mile. She should tell him ‘no,’ that she was busy. That was exactly what Jane Fisher would have done, if left up to her own devices. But this was for Lottie. They had a plan, and it was up to Jane to play her part.

‘I might be able to move some things in my busy holidaymaker schedule around, depending on what you’re suggesting.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said, then softly, ‘How does dinner sound?’

She expelled a breath of relief. Dinner was fine. Dinner wasout.In public. No chance of him getting the wrong idea if they were seated across from one another in a busy restaurant.

‘Great,’ she rushed, trying to remember she should sound delighted and not as though she were heading to the gallows.

‘Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at eight.’

She bit into her lip. ‘I’m at a hotel. I’ll get a car to the restaurant.’

Silence. He didn’t like being contradicted, she could tell. Well, tough. Jane intended to stay firmly in control of this situation, no matter what. Control was her defence against the dark ravages of her past; control was her salvation.

‘What’s the matter, Jane?’ he asked, but his voice was teasing now, as though he was making fun of her. ‘Are you afraid that if I come to your hotel we might decidenotto go out, after all?’