Page 70 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
There was no satisfaction in that admission. Not when Willow’s voice flowed softly, firmly in his head.
What would your father think?
‘I’m sorry,’ Chatterton repeated.
Jario watched the husk of a man before him, and slowly felt the last embers of vengeance wither and die.
Enough was enough.
The peace that settled on him when he nodded acceptance was the kind he’d only felt with her. He opened his mouth to dismiss Chatterton. Instead... ‘Is she well?’ The words were ripped from a deep, desperate place inside him.
He knew what pain felt like, wouldn’t diminish the agony of losing his father in light of this new brand of torture. But that had been a full-body, constantshroudof pain while with this one...every breath felt like an ice pick stabbing him in the chest, screaming at him todo something.
Her father’s eyes dimmed further. ‘I don’t know. She’s...left home. I have a lot to make up for with her, too, but I’m hoping it’s not too late.’
Jario wanted to insist that her home was the one she’d created on his yacht with him. But again, what right did he have to that claim? When he’d championed and evangelised his pain against her every effort to help him through it? When he’d reduced her importance to wants instead of the well of fulfilling need she’d offered so freely.
Understanding lit the older man’s eyes, so perceptive, Jario wanted to fold his arms, hide his flagrant, desperate yearning.
‘You probably don’t want my blessing but let me offer some advice when it comes to my daughter. She won’t accept half measures. Without a full commitment, you’ll never have her trust and love. I had that and I squandered it.’
The kick in Jario’s chest felt awfully like...hope. He didn’t offer Chatterton a handshake—he wasn’t quite there yet—but a nod for the show of remorse, and the advice curiously eased his debilitating despair as he watched the other man walk away.
He inhaled sharply at the thrust of missing the woman he loved.
Do something.
He strode purposefully backstage, gratified when the security guard took one look at him and stepped aside.
Immersive therapy sucked, especially when it stopped working.
Willow hid in her dressing room, willing the all-encompassing pain of desperately missing Jario to pass.
She could take some consolation that tonight’s performance had gone well. The audience had appreciated her small solo.
Especially that last one who’d clapped longest.
The dim lights had prevented her from seeing them but for a moment she’d hoped...wishedit was Jario. Before harsh common sense mocked her.
He was on his yacht, probably throwing axes or wandering the decks.
The hollow in her heart made her regret her period’s arrival that’d shattered her hope of being pregnant. Of retaining one final connection to the man she loved.
The force of her despair had made her reject his calls, terrified of his indifference or worse, relief that she wasn’t pregnant after all. But in her weak moments, she kicked herself for not gifting herself the chance to hear his voice one last time.
A sob caught in her throat, and she was thankful she was alone in the dressing room she shared with three other performers. They were out there, mingling with VIP guests and receiving deserved accolades. She hadn’t been in the mood, escaping into the dressing room now filled with two dozen vases of exquisite yellow roses. She didn’t read the card, didn’t want to deepen her heartache—
‘Willow.’
She froze. Then her head snapped up, her gaze zeroing in on the man standing in the doorway, staring at her with his beautiful blue eyes.
Jario...was...here.
Her fractured heart leapt to her throat as she shook her head.
‘Jario?’ He’d left his yacht. To find her? ‘Wh-why are you here?’
He took a hesitant step forward, his brows clamping as if he was concentrating on walking. On land. Which he’d done...why?