Page 16 of Modern Romance June 2025 1-4

‘Oh!’ From somewhere, Grace manufactured a wonky smile. ‘That’s disappointing.’

She could tell from the answering curve of his lips that her feeble attempt at flirting was exactly what he wanted and she was doing her level best to fulfil that particular criterion, which she’d managed with such aplomb in Venice. But back then she’d been on familiar territory. This time it wasn’t easy to slot into her brand-new reality and she still couldn’t quite believe she was here.

In Paris, with a billionaire lover she barely knew.

The getting here had been disorientating enough, even though she’d known the travel plans in advance and had nursed them to herself like a particularly delicious secret. But nothing could have prepared her for the journey. The private jet which had whisked her from Venice and the limousine waiting in Paris, with the driver carefully explaining that Kyrios Diamides was busy and would meet her at the hotel. Grace had smiled politely and pretended it didn’t matter.

But it did.

She hadwantedhim to be there. She hadn’t been anticipating him clutching a bunch of flowers, or standing there with a soppy smile of expectation on his face—she wasn’tthatnaïve. She just didn’t want to be left feeling like an inconsequential package which was being delivered to the powerful billionaire by his driver. Wasn’t she important enough for him to juggle his schedule so he could meet her in person? Clearly not. She’d started wondering if she had been naïve in agreeing to his suggestion that she join him in Paris and during the drive through the early spring sunshine, her doubts had multiplied. By the time she had arrived at the swanky hotel, with its bright boxes of flowers adorning every wrought-iron balcony, she’d been sorely tempted to tap the driver on the shoulder and ask him to take her straight back to the airfield.

But to her surprise, Odysseus had been waiting to greet the car. He had even managed to dwarf the presence of the famous actor who was being ushered into a nearby blacked-out SUV. He had carried her small suitcase as if he were a valet—though she’d seen his faint look of surprise when he had observed its modest dimensions.

‘This all you’ve got?’ he verified.

‘I hope it’s enough.’ She had been aware of the note of defensiveness in her voice. ‘I’m only here for two and a half days, aren’t I?’

But his question had been enough to stoke a growing sense of insecurity which was never far from the surface. In the elevator, she’d been stung into self-conscious silence—mostly by a beautiful blonde who kept stealing hungry glances at the Greek billionaire. And now Grace was standing alone with him in this lavish suite, stricken by that same dumbness, scarcely able to believe that someone like him had chosen someone like her.

Because…

She was acutely aware of how much she was punching above her weight. She’d looked him up online, deciding that forewarned was forearmed, although there was regrettably little to get her teeth into. It seemed he was a crazily successful fund manager, which apparently meant investing money for rich people so they became even richer. He had a reputation for tact and silence, which was why he had landed so many high-profile clients. And although he had been photographed with lots of beautiful women, he seemed resolutely single—the latter fact giving rise to much conjecture. But that was all it was—conjecture. Any interviews he’d given were focussed solely on his successful business empire—and information about his background was sketchy. He’d grown up near the docks in Athens, but there was no mention of his mother—or indeed of Vincenzo Contarini.

As she feasted her eyes on his magnificent physique her sense of disbelief kept growing, because just how gorgeous did any man have a right to be? His eyes glittered like sapphires against the burnished gold of his skin and although he was wearing pared-down jeans and a silk shirt, you could justtellhow wealthy he was. He lookedvital, she thought, while she was feeling increasingly invisible—terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing.

His narrowed gaze lingered on her face assessingly. ‘Good journey?’ he enquired conventionally.

‘Oh, you know,’ she said. ‘It was a bit weird getting used to being waited on hand and foot by all your various members of staff. And the plane was…well, it was much bigger than I was expecting and…’

He reached out his hand as her babbled words tailed off and for one breathless moment she prayed he was going to kiss her, but he simply pushed a heavy lock of hair away from her cheek.

‘You look…tired,’ he observed softly.

Was that a criticism? Grace touched her fingertips to the shadowed area beneath her eyes, which no amount of foundation had been able to erase. ‘Yeah. I suppose I do.’

Blue eyes lasered into her. ‘Any particular reason?’

Now was not the time to inform him that Vincenzo Contarini had been making her life a misery ever since she’d told him she was going away. Grace had been vague about the upcoming weekend, batting off her boss’s barrage of suspicious questions with an air of assumed innocence she was terrified he would see through. She hated the idea of deceiving him, but what else could she do? He’d been in a foul mood ever since his estranged grandson’s visit, finding fault in everything she did and even making her stay up past midnight to sew a mother-of-pearl button onto a shirt she was certain he would never wear. Imagine his reaction if she told him she was spending the next two days with Odysseus—a man he clearly loathed, though she still didn’t understand why. Would he have tried to stop her?

Of course he would.

‘Oh, just running around before my trip,’ she admitted carefully. ‘Making sure that everything gets done.’

‘You don’t get away much?’

Now was also not the time to tell him that her only trips abroad were long train journeys back to England, because that would involve telling him about Nana. And it would inevitably be a downer on what was supposed to be a romantic weekend if you started telling your lover about your beloved grandmother who had been suffering from dementia for the last two years. ‘Not really,’ she told him honestly.

‘I think I’m going to run you a bath,’ he said softly. ‘Let you chill for a while.’

Grace stared at him, because although the thought of somebody doing something forherfor a change was making her feel stupidly emotional, this wasn’t what she had been expecting. He hadn’t kissed her. Hadn’t even touched her. Did that mean he’d gone off her? Keeping her expression bland, she nodded. ‘That sounds great.’

‘So why don’t you go and unpack your clothes next door and come and find me when you’re ready?’

‘Sure,’ she said. Glad to get away from that piercing gaze, she picked up her minuscule suitcase and went into the room he’d indicated, which was dominated by a huge four-poster bed. Removing her trainers and dropping her denim jacket onto a dusky pink sofa, she slid the remainder of her clothes onto the fancy padded velvet hangers and hung them in the wardrobe, aware that her fingers were trembling with nerves. She felt like an actor who had been parachuted into a play at the last minute without being given any lines or stage directions and she didn’t have a clue what to do next. She wanted to behave like that woman she’d been on the night they’d met, or the woman who had let him turn her on in the café the next day. But she couldn’t seem to access all that sassiness and brio, and Odysseus wasn’t making it very easy for her.

She’d thought…

What?

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