Page 62 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
He stiffened. ‘This isn’t about me.’
‘Sure, it is. There you are, convincing me to not lose sight of what makes me happy, while you’re actively blocking your own. You realise you have no choice but to accept my advice now, right?’
One brow arched. ‘How do you intend to enforce that?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. All I know is it’ll be tough as hell. So...finish telling me why you’re on a yacht?’ she urged softly.
He sat back, his deep voice tingling right down to her toes as he continued. ‘It didn’t happen immediately after I returned home, which felt even worse. For a while everything felt...numb but normal. Enclosed spaces triggering unwanted memories I could understand. At first, I didn’t understand why the scent of trees and soil, exhaust smoke, riled me. But then, walking on solid ground, knowing my father was buried somewhere beneath my feet became...impossible. I thought it was just being in the house I grew up in. Knowing he would never walk through the doors again. I couldn’t live there, not with my father not being there.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But I didn’t need to worry about that for long. Foster care dealt with that problem.’
She inhaled sharply. ‘You went into foster care?’
‘Sí.’The word was hard-edged with rough memories.
She frowned, then realised she didn’t have definitive knowledge about his mother. ‘You mentioned your mother before. Is she...?’
‘Alive? Yes.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Are you sure you want to know?’
Swallowing, she nodded, the hand gripping her phone shaking. With every sinew in her body, she wished she were back on the yacht, within touching distance while he relived these memories. But she also suspected that the distance helped this closed-off, tormented man, whom she suspected she had deep feelings for, in opening up. For that, she would endure the wrench of being separated from him.
‘In the weeks of our captivity, she slowly lost her mind. She never fully recovered. Now she’s in a full-time mental health facility that moonlights as a fancy resort. She takes six different medications just to keep her balanced. She’s allowed to visit me occasionally under supervision.’
The words, chiselled from ice and mired in deep bitterness sent waves of desolation through her.
‘The kidnappers...were they ever brought to justice?’
His eyes grew colder, bleaker. Until she felt as if she was looking into an unforgiving abyss. ‘Trust me, those responsible have paid the price.’
‘What does that mean?’
He tilted his head. ‘What do you think it means?’ he returned almost conversationally, except for the deadly blade of retribution very much present in his voice.
‘That you have closure there, at least?’
The whites of his teeth flashed in a smile so devastatingly gorgeous and deadly, she didn’t know which her body was reacting to as it swung from hot to cold and back again. But then the smile slowly disappeared, his eyes turning sombre and introspective. ‘I’ve kept my word. I haven’t instigated anything against your father in almost two weeks.’
‘But let me guess, that all changes if I say something wrong, right?’
‘You’ve said and done many wrong things,cara,’ he rasped. ‘You challenge and infuriate me more often than should be allowed.’
Her heart gave a wild leap. ‘But you allow it because...?’
‘My first full night of peaceful sleep was found with you,’ he admitted gruffly. And while she was gasping at the raw admission, he added, ‘I’m interested in testing a few more of your theories.’
She had drifted towards the entrance of the museum as they spoke, a part of her mourning not giving the breathtaking art the attention they deserved. But this was more important. Far more profound. ‘Jario...’
‘When will you be back?’ he asked gruffly. ‘I’ll have lunch waiting for you.’
‘My driver assures me Ubud’s street pancakes are an experience not to miss.’
His jaw clenched. ‘You have no idea what’s in them. Do not risk another allergic reaction. The chef will have pancakes ready for you if that’s what you crave.’
What she craved was the impossible. What she craved was for his occasional droplets of possessive care and attention to turn into a torrent that drenched her. For his patent desire to turn into explosive need that would embrace every longing for fulfilment for both of them.
‘Willow.’ Her name was another rumble, a deeper one this time.