Page 11 of Modern Romance June 2025 1-4

‘Where have you been?’ demanded Vincenzo Contarini. ‘Why didn’t you answer the door earlier?’

‘I’m sorry…’ she stumbled. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t hear the bell and I—’

‘The shutters! The shutters!’ interrupted the old man impatiently, waving his hand towards one of the vast windows.

But Odysseus noticed a certain watchfulness creep over Vincenzo’s demeanour, his faded eyes suddenly studying the woman in grey intently, his curiosity clearly aroused. The wily old fox had missed nothing, he realised.

‘Yes, of course,’ answered Grace quickly.

Odysseus watched as she moved across the room and began to fiddle around with the shutters until an obelisk-shaped shadow fell over her petite body, making her outfit look even greyer than before. He gave a faint shake of his head, still trying to get his head around her dramatic change of appearance—a bright bird of paradise transformed into a dull sparrow.

‘Is that sufficient, Signor Contarini?’ she questioned quietly.

‘Yes! Fill up my water glass and then leave us,’ he demanded querulously. ‘And then wait outside the door until I summon you.’

‘Yes,signor.’

Praying she wouldn’t slop water and the all-important squeeze of lime all over the priceless desk, Grace managed to accomplish the simple task without mishap and handed the drink to her employer, wondering if he had noticed the slight trembling of her hand. And then she made her way back across the room, trying not to hurry, terrified she would stumble and draw attention to herself. Painfully aware of two sets of eyes watching her self-conscious progress, the short journey seemed to take for ever. Her breath was coming in shallow bursts as she closed the heavy door behind her and she had to fight very hard to resist the urge to sink onto one of the spindly antique chairs which adorned the reception hall—because imagine if they came out and found her, sitting there as if she had a right to. From inside the room she could hear the muffled sound of voices, her thoughts splintering into bewildered fragments as she wondered what the two men were saying.

This was like her worst nightmare. Actually, it was worse than that—because at least you could wake up from a nightmare. But didn’t it go some way towards explaining why her boss had been even crankier than usual these past few weeks? There had been whispers from other staff members about the identity of the mystery guest who had been due to arrive this morning, but nobody had a clue who he was. Excitements were rare in the Contarini household and in an effort to distract herself from the distracting memory of losing her virginity last night, Grace had been peeping from an upstairs window when she’d heard the doorbell ring. Her heart had frozen in her chest as she’d seen the man standing on the doorstep, before her mind had gone into a complete flap of denial.

It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t.

But it was. Even if she hadn’t known him quite so intimately, there was no mistaking that powerful physique, or the blue-black gleam of his hair. Who else was built like that, with shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world? Last night he had looked swashbuckling and sexy, but he didn’t need the tricorn hat or close-fitting breeches to achieve the same effect in the cold light of day. Even the immaculately cut designer suit couldn’t disguise the honed muscle of his hard body, or detract from those incredibly long legs.

Rooted to the spot, she felt her mind begin to race. What on earth was her Greek lover doing here? Surely it couldn’t be to do withher? And yet, why else would he be here? Signor Contarini never received visitors—he had become an increasingly difficult recluse. She’d become so twitchy when she’d seen him that she had let the maid answer the door even though, strictly speaking, that was her job—and there would probably be hell to pay later. But she couldn’t run away now. Odysseus had seen her. That icy blue gaze had registered her presence with impassive scrutiny. And she dared not risk angering Vincenzo further by beating a retreat to some quiet corner of the palazzo.

Her heart started hammering as she heard the loud summons of the bell and, pinning a wobbly smile to her lips, Grace returned to the reception room, trying to look anywhere but at Odysseus. But ignoring him took a monumental amount of willpower and not just because of the powerful magnetism he exuded, or the fact that the last time she’d seen him he had been stark naked in bed, his groin growing hard beneath the bedsheet.

The problem was more to do with her and her reaction. Beneath her grey uniform, her breasts felt like twice their normal size and that now familiar ache was beginning to melt, low in her belly. And there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it. It was as if her body was determined to taunt her with memories of how sweet her induction to sex had been, leaving her feeling dizzy and breathless in the wake of the powerful storm he had invoked. Sucking in a huge breath, she extended her smile.

Just a few more minutes and he’ll be out of here, and everything can go back to normal.

But wasn’t it funny how you could try to convince yourself of something you knew just wasn’t true?

‘Show Diamides out, will you, Grace?’ barked Vincenzo.

‘Yes,signor,’ she answered quietly, acutely conscious of her boss’s probing stare.

As she walked beside the powerful Greek towards the grand entrance hall, Grace thought how much taller he seemed than yesterday—but that was because he was. In her carnival shoes she’d been a far more respectable height, but today, in her working flats, she felt positively diminutive in comparison.

She pulled open the front door and then shehadto look at him because it would have been impossible not to. Or maybe it was just temptation winning out as she succumbed to the desire to feast her eyes on his beautiful features at last. As she lifted her gaze, Grace met an unknown expression glittering from his sapphire eyes and tried to communicate with one of her own. Please don’t say anything, she prayed silently. Don’t accuse me, or question me, or mention what happened last night, not now—not with Vincenzo now standing just a few steps away, watching us like a hawk.

‘Thank you,’ he said formally, holding out his hand to her and, although it was highly inappropriate for a visitor to shake the hand of a humble housekeeper, surely it would have been the height of rudeness not to take it.

But Grace couldn’t prevent the shiver which rippled over her skin as their flesh made contact, her instinctive response belying the apparent innocence of the gesture. She was just about to snatch her hand away when she felt a small rectangle of cardboard being nudged into her palm. She closed her clammy fingers around it, grateful for the fact that he had turned away to speak to Vincenzo, the brief distraction allowing her to conceal the business card in the roomy pocket of her grey dress.

‘It was aninterestingmeeting, Signor Contarini,’ Odysseus bit out coldly. ‘But we will never see each other again.’

‘And a good job!’ snapped the old man.

But Odysseus simply inclined his head with imperious dignity and Grace wondered who he was, that he could get off with speaking like that to one of the most powerful men in the city. He stepped outside and she watched him heading off towards the Academia Bridge, with the pale sunlight gilding his blue-black hair. A couple of young women stopped in their tracks to stare at him, though he didn’t pay them the slightest attention. And her heart twisted with pain at the thought that she would never see him again.

But as she shut the door she remembered the business card he’d handed her and surreptitiously patted her pocket.

‘Grace?’

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