Page 92 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

CHAPTER THREE

Right up until an hour ago, Zeus had decided that Philomena was the perfect contender to be his bride.

She was smart, incredibly ambitious, and they’d known one another for more than ten years, so he knew he could trust her.

She had dated a couple of men, for around a year each, but as far as he knew, had never been seriously involved with anyone, which made him wonder if she was as averse to commitment as he was.

Most importantly, she was available and, going by her dress, interested enough to want to impress him. Which made it impossibly frustrating that he couldn’t get Jane out of his mind.

Even here, sitting across from Philomena, listening to her talk about her work at a law firm a few blocks away, he could barely focus on what she was saying—and a lack of focus was not something Zeus generally experienced any issues with.

On the contrary, he had a laser-like intensity when he turned his mind to something.

And what he’d decided to turn his mind to was the imperative to marry, and fast.

Jane was a tourist. Someone he didn’t know the last thing about—including her surname.

So what if one look at her made his whole body aflame with desire?

He’d had great sex before. Surely, he wasn’t going to be led around by a certain part of his anatomy that should have known better. Not now, when the stakes were so high.

He couldn’t afford to get distracted. He couldn’t afford to be seen around town with Jane, if he wanted someone like Philomena to take him seriously.

Which meant he should do the smart thing and delete her number off his phone.

As in, an hour ago. He should have deleted it as soon as he walked out of the bar, not stared at it the entire car ride over here, as if willing her to call him.

And what if she had? Would he have ditched Philomena and the carefully laid plans for his future, all to spend one night with Jane?

He was at a juncture in his life, a turning point. Everything he had grown up to believe was his by rights was now in jeopardy. The business wasn’t just a business to him, but rather, a home.

When he was nine years old and his mother received her first cancer diagnosis, he’d gone to the office with his grandfather, sat opposite him while he worked.

When he was thirteen and the cancer came back, it was his father he shadowed in the holidays, learning, focusing on the business, understanding every aspect of it because it was better than thinking about his pale, slim mother and the light that was fading from her.

When he was eighteen, and his mother had been in a brief period of remission, it was Zeus who took over the company for six months, while his parents went on holiday together.

At twenty-one, when a new diagnosis had come, he did the same thing, allowing his father to support her through the frequent hospitalisations.

The business was his sanctuary; it was his.

Watching his mother’s illness return time and time again had left him with an unshakable sense that human relationships were frail and untrustworthy, that the greatest love of all could be taken away at any point.

And yet, in the midst of that, he had known he would always have the company. He would always be the sole Papandreo heir. Ensuring that remained the case was what he should have been focused on, and only that. Not Jane.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and he saw her as she’d been at the bar.

He’d been drawn to her almost the moment he’d stepped across the threshold.

And who could blame him? She had the kind of beauty men went to war for, with that tumbling, lustrous blond hair and wide, curved mouth, full lips that had been painted a seductive red, wide, pretty blue eyes, high cheekbones and deep dimples when she smiled. As for her figure—

‘Zeus?’ Philomena reached over and put a hand on his. ‘Are you well?’

He stared down at Philomena’s hand and forced himself to concentrate. Too much was riding on him getting married quickly to be distracted now.

‘I’m fine,’ he responded, a little sharply. ‘Go on.’

She frowned, but did continue speaking, much to his relief. Now, if only he could control the direction of his thoughts, because without his consent they were obsessing over Jane, so that, as the night wore on, he found his nerves were stretched well beyond breaking point.

Jane had just stepped out of the shower and was pulling on one of the fluffy hotel robes when her phone began to buzz and her pulse immediately leapt into her throat as she imagined that it might be Zeus.

It was almost midnight, though. Surely, he wouldn’t call this late?

Only…after what had happened in the bar, could she blame him if he thought she might be up for a literal one-night stand?

Heat flushed her cheeks when she recalled the way she’d responded to his touch. No, the way she’d practically begged him to touch her.

And it hadn’t even been about Lottie, but rather Jane’s needs.

How had that happened? That night with Steven had terrified her.

Up until then, they’d messed around, and she’d fallen in love with him—or thought she had.

She trusted him, and she thought he’d been happy to wait, just like she’d asked.

Instead, he’d plied her with alcohol and slept with her—her first and only time with a man—when she was too out of it to know what she was doing.

She only remembered some of it, because of the fog of alcohol.

But she knew that it had hurt, and that it had been fast and that he’d laughed off her upset afterwards.

It had been a betrayal from which she could never return.

Afterwards, any man’s touch had left her cold at first. It had taken years before she was willing to date anyone, and she’d kissed some men, perfunctorily, and hadn’t hated it, but she’d always been terrified of anything more intimate because…

what if? What if they promised her something and then broke that promise?

She reached for her phone, snatching it out of her bag, face pale now, and flicked it over to see the screen.

Lottie’s smiling face looked back at her, the photo taken about a year earlier when they were on holiday together in Scotland.

Lottie was wearing one of the telltale scarves from the Harry Potter movies—a firm favourite of both of theirs for as long as Jane could remember.

She expelled a calming breath, glad to see it was Lottie and no one else.

‘Hi,’ she answered.

‘Oh! You’re there. I was about to hang up.’

‘I was in the shower. Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘It’s just…late,’ Jane finished with a shrug.

‘Oh, shoot. I forgot the time difference. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. I’m up.’

‘I just wanted to check in.’

‘See if I’ve made any progress?’

‘Well, I mean, not to put too fine a point on it, but our future plans for global domination are kind of riding on it…’

Jane smiled, collapsing down onto the sofa, wondering at the strange sense of disloyalty that was filling her mouth with acid. ‘I met him,’ she answered, fingers pulling at some fluff on her robe.

Lottie let out a low whistle. ‘You only flew in today. That was fast.’

‘I went to that bar.’

‘And he was there?’

‘Yep.’

‘Let me guess… He fell at your feet and begged to kiss them?’

Jane rolled her eyes, but the gesture lacked acerbity, because her pulse was throbbing, and her insides were squirming. One touch had ignited her, body and soul. ‘No, sadly,’ she said, the words sounding foreign to her own ears.

But Lottie didn’t appear to notice. ‘So, what’s the plan?’

‘Plan?’

‘I presume you have one?’

‘Well, he has my number,’ she said, and then, sitting a little straighter, ‘and I have his.’

‘Excellent. You’re a genius.’

‘Well, we’ll see. I get the feeling I’m biting off way more than I can chew.’

‘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.