Page 54 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
She laid a hand on his arm. ‘I know. I may be overstepping but just loosen the reins for a little bit. Tell me your happiest memory of him.’
His whole body was one giant mass of tension, ready to snap. She would be caught in that ballistic fallout but for the life of her, Willow couldn’t remove herself. Safety was a weak position to take in the face of something so monumental. So vital.
So she waited.
Slowly, the tension seeped out like wisps of fog dissipating in strengthening sunlight, leaving behind a landscape bearing less desolation and more promises of new beginnings.She hoped.
Staring deep into his drink, his voice was a low rumble. ‘He could make me believe anything. If I woke up one morning and he told me I could fly without wings, I’d have believed him. He had a powerful charisma.’ A clench of anguish shredded her heart. ‘Which was why I always believed we’d escape that hellhole alive.’
‘He may not have, but you did. He made sure of that. So maybe you should honour him with happy memories. A life lived to the fullest?’
He inhaled sharply, and his lips parted, but whatever response he’d intended to give was cut short by the whine of an approaching tender.
The sleek vessel passed by the bow of the yacht, a handful of elegantly dressed men and women gazing excitedly at the lit boat.
His guests had arrived.
For the first hour, Jario ignored her. Well...not entirely.
He escorted her from small group to group long enough to introduce her, then proceeded to conduct his conversation around her as if she didn’t exist, while perversely caring for her by questioning every server who approached with appetisers, almost absent-mindedly offering her tiny platters and bowls ofperkadel kentang,lumpiaand spicy tom yum soup.
The chef was clearly outdoing himself at the rate of knots, and Jario’s determination to feed her would’ve been touching and amusing if she didn’t feel the undercurrent of his mood.
He was upset with her, she got it. She’d dared to suggest his father might not entirely be on board with his plans for retribution and she’d raked his wound raw. But wasn’t that better than letting it fester the way it’d been? Wasn’t that a way to make him confront it and heal faster?
Faster...because her time was running out?
Willow shook her head and contemplated leaving the deck. Her roiling emotions would probably be better examined in the solitude of her cabin.
As the thought solidified and she turned to put it into action, a man appeared next to her. Nick...something. A Bali-based British entrepreneur.
Around the same age as Jario, he wore a deep, slightly oily tan that suggested he’d been in this part of the world for a while. ‘Not thinking of leaving us already, are you?’ he said with a mini pout she suspected was meant to charm women.
He was handsome in a surface-only way, unlike the brooding man who stood a dozen feet away, staring into his drink while another guest gesticulated frantically to make a point. That man with unfathomable layers she feared she might never get the chance to explore.
‘Only, I need someone to keep me sane until it’s my turn to sing for my supper. Past experience and my place as a lowly millionaire mean that might take a while.’
Willow looked from him to where he nudged his chin at Jario and back again. ‘You do this often?’
‘Chase an eccentric billionaire around the world in hopes of capital funding? Yes, unfortunately,’ he said, mouth quirking with amusement.
‘No, I meant disparage your host to other guests?’ she asked with saccharine sweetness, taking entirely too much pleasure in watching him turn puce and blink in alarm.
‘Well, no, I didn’t mean...’ He gestured at the yacht, then back at her. ‘Then what do you call this, then?’
‘A unique life decision,’ she said with conviction fuelled by burning loyalty. ‘I’ll leave you to train that singing voice.’
She walked away, aware that she’d drawn stares, including Jario’s, which narrowed as she passed him.
Setting down her barely touched champagne, she took the steps farthest away from Jario off the deck. Minutes later she was in her cabin, her heart climbing into her throat when she spotted a missed call from her father.
Hitting redial, she listened to the call ring. And ring. Then click into voice mail.
An unladylike growl tore from her sternum as she tossed the phone away and dragged her fingers through her hair, dislodging a few pins holding up the swept-back style. Her pulse throbbed, the feeling that time was running out escalating. Her phone rang. She snatched it up, absently noting her hand was shaking.
‘Dad?’
A beat of silence. Then, ‘Willow.’