Page 221 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
His jaw tightened a little. ‘Not as much as you’d think.’
‘Really?’
‘My mother wasn’t well. It took a lot of my focus.’
‘Oh, gosh. I’m sorry.’
He nodded once, dismissively. She felt his pain, though, and moved a little closer to him. He was so warm, so strong, being this close did something to her insides. Somehow, just his proximity flooded her with those qualities, too—warmth and strength—as though they were completely contagious.
‘Anyway,’ she continued. ‘I met him and liked him. He was funny and handsome, smart, and I guess he gave me the one thing I’d been missing.’
Zeus waited quietly.
‘Attention. He made me feel as though I was the centre of his world.’ She shook her head with frustration at how stupid and trusting she’d been. ‘I took everything at face value. I really thought he loved me.’
‘He didn’t?’
She shook her head. ‘I doubt it.’
‘Why?’
‘After…that night,’ she said on a soft exhalation, ‘he was so…’
‘What happened that night?’ Zeus asked, and now his voice had a gruff urgency to it that pulled at her and made her whole body seem as though it were flying.
‘It was another party. We’d all been drinking. A lot. And I didn’t really drink much at all, so you can imagine how a few glasses of champagne would have gone to my head, let alone the bottle or so I had. He kept bringing me drinks,’ she muttered, back in time now, in that awful night. But somehow, the sting of it had faded, and talking to Zeus seemed to be taking away the last vestiges of power of that night to wound her. She marvelled at that, revelled in the sensation of freedom, even as she continued speaking. ‘I’d told him I wasn’t ready for—sex. I wasn’t. I liked him. I thought I even loved him, but I didn’t want to just have sex with him. I wasn’t ready,’ she repeated, as though Zeus understanding that was fundamentally important.
‘Which was always your decision and right,’ he said. Like he had a hotwire into her brain and knewjustwhat to say.
‘I started to feel a little sick. So much champagne,’ she muttered. ‘He said he’d find somewhere quiet for me to lie down.’
Zeus swore, darkness crossing his handsome features. ‘Go on.’ But the words were muted, as if uttered through gritted teeth, and she realised that this was hurting him, more than it was her.
‘I’m okay, Zeus. It was a long time ago,’ she assured him, softly.
‘Go on,’ he repeated as if he had braced himself for the rest and now needed to hear it.
She expelled a shaking breath. ‘I don’t remember a lot of it. The room was dark,’ she said, voice trembling. ‘His hands were rough.’ She swallowed past a lump in her throat. ‘I told him “no.” I’m sure of it, though he disagreed the next day.’
Zeus nodded once, his lips held so tightly they were white rimmed. But his touch was gentle, his eyes sympathetic.
‘I didn’t want it to happen. I know that much. He was heavy on top of me. He smelt of beer and sweat. And it hurt. I think I passed out. I don’t know.’ And even though she felt somehow liberated from the memory, tears sparkled on her lashes now. She blinked away. ‘So that was my first—and only—time.’
He was quiet and still for what seemed an age. The hum of the boat formed a background noise; the splashing of the waves against the sides of the craft occasionally flicked them with tiny droplets of salted water, but really, it was just the two of them, in the sort of bubble that was formed by the sharing of one’s deepest secrets.
Then Zeus lifted his hands to her cheeks, cupped her face gently, holding her steady, his own body so powerful and large but not at all scary or intimidating. ‘You were raped, Jane,’ he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb. ‘You were raped by someone you cared for, someone you trusted. It’s the most natural thing in the world that you have carried that wound with you all these years.’
She opened her mouth to dispute what he’d said.Rapesounded so jarring, so violent, but of course, that was exactly what had happened to her. She hadn’t consented to sleeping with Steven; she hadn’t even beenableto consent, given how drunk she’d been. He took what he wanted, regardless of how that impacted her.
A tear slid down her cheek. Not a tear of sadness, but rather relief, because she felt not only seen by Zeus, but also accepted. Understood. Valued.
‘Have you spoken to someone?’
‘Other than you?’ she asked, the attempt at humour falling flat. Neither of them was in a humorous mood.
‘A therapist. Someone qualified to help you.’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘It took me a long time to accept what had happened. Longer still to tell anyone—my best friend—about that night. I just couldn’t… I felt…’
