Page 26 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
He was lounging on a sofa, a tablet balanced on one knee, the cognac he favoured in one hand.
‘What you did before was cruel,’ she shot out, the turbulent feelings she’d bottled up for hours spilling free.
She searched his face, desperate for a sign that it was all a terrible hoax. He stared back, his gaze flat and unresponsive.
‘I’m certain you don’t have the first clue what true cruelty looks like,’ he drawled, before returning to his tablet.
Her insides shook at the absolute conviction in his voice but she pressed on. She couldn’t afford not to. ‘It’s not true. It can’t be,’ she murmured.
‘You think I would lie about something like that?’ His accent had thickened, the soft, deadly reply almost melodic.
‘I don’t know! But I need more.’
A flash of bleakness was quickly replaced by implacable censure. ‘You’re under the misapprehension that I’m the one who owes you an explanation.’
‘But I’m stuck here—’
‘Through no one’s fault but your own.’
‘I’m aware. Trust me if I could get off this boat, I would.’
‘Are things not going your way, then, Willow? Tell me, what would you do if you were at home right now? Confront the father who hasn’t had the guts to own up to his actions in decades?’
Her belly flipped over. ‘Is that how long you’ve planned this?’ Her voice was a ravaged echo.
He stared back for an age, then his gaze swept away to the side. It was clear as day that he hadn’t meant to reveal that.
‘When?’ she asked shakily.
The eyes that snapped to hers were even bleaker, cold and unfeeling, the silent confirmation sending chills through her.
‘I’m not going to stop.’ She felt like it needed stressing again, both for herself and for him.
In the time between his shocking announcement and now, she’d contemplated retreat, salvaging her sanity and heart because if what he’d said was true, then she feared for her already fragile relationship with her father.
But more and more, those instincts insisted there was another, less soul-destroying explanation. That the father he’d lost—and from everything she’d observed about Jario, from the very name of his yacht to the man plagued with demons, she knew at least that was true—had perished in some other way than the stark one he’d stated.
Please...let that be so.
Moments turned into minutes, each one constricting her chest until she couldn’t breathe.
‘It happened when I was fifteen years old. And before you think to assign some reasonable doubt explanation to ease your mind, know that I was present. That I saw the whole thing unfold before my eyes. And that I’m entirely justified in blaming your father for what he did.’
Dread surged through her. She yearned to label him a liar, but the raw, undisguised anguish—and the fact that she was sadly well versed in reading liars—knocked any intention sideways.
Which meant...
Her thought stalled, the alternative too awful to bear. ‘There must be—’
Livid eyes dared her to speak her doubts aloud. She clamped her lips shut, letting the words shrivel and die.
Several heartbeats later, his gaze flicked past her. She turned to see the bodyguard mounting the steps, his eyes fixed on her. Her dismissal couldn’t have been clearer.
‘You seem to think you can have unfettered access to me whenever you please. You can leave of your own accord, or I can have you escorted to your quarters.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ She may not have the full picture still, but what she’d learned required desperate, much-needed regroup mode.
‘Good,’ he murmured, as if she’d finished discussing the wine list.