Page 78 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4
The hope that I actually am the man that she sees.
Hope is deceiving, though, hope can cut deeper than any knife, break more bones than a baseball bat, and hope can be the death of all you hold dear. And I should know by now that hope is always a risk I can’t afford to take.
I don’t know how this woman sees in me what no one else can, or why I matter to her so much, but I do know one thing: I don’t want to hurt her. I can’t bear the thought of causing her pain, especially when she’s gone through so much already, with a mother who didn’t love her and a husband who only loved himself and didn’t care about her.
She too has hope—I saw it in her eyes as we made love under the Christmas tree. No, it wasn’t a quick screw or anything as crass as a fuck. It was more than that. Her eyes glowed in the light, a blue so deep I could drown there.
Afterwards, I got us mugs of the egg nog my housekeeper had left in the fridge, spiked them both liberally with rum then sat down under the tree with her in my lap and a blanket wrapped around us. We’d had a long conversation about Icelandic Christmas traditions, which then led to her asking me all sorts of questions about my life, and I didn’t stop her. I answered all of them.
That hope was in her eyes the whole time. I don’t know what she was hoping for, but I know I can’t let her hope for anything involving me. Because the facts remain that, while I might have saved her from her husband, it wasn’t because my dead conscience had suddenly woken up. I did so for my own selfish needs, because I wanted her in my bed and I wouldn’t take no for an answer. Which makes me no better than the bastard who tried to kidnap her.
The man I was, even the day before, wouldn’t have cared. That man wouldn’t have been concerned with her feelings. I know this because, if he had, he would have taken her first refusal on board and never called her again. But I didn’t do that. I persisted and I pushed, and now she’s looking at me as if I can give her something—as if I’m special to her somehow, and I don’t want that for her.
I don’t want her hoping that she can fix me, or heal me, or any one of a number of things some women think they can achieve. Even Olympia couldn’t manage that, because if she had I’d never have gone after Katla the way I did.
Six months I wanted from her and insisted on, even last night. But now I know that six months will only make everything worse for her. Six months will ingrain that hope and when I kill it—and Iwillkill it—that will hurt her. The man I used to be wouldn’t have cared about hurting her, but I’m not quite that same man now. I’m different, once again changed by a woman I don’t deserve. And I don’t deserve her—that much I do know.
Somehow the air in the room alters, as if pressure has shifted, and when I look up Katla is standing in the doorway. She’s wearing one of my T-shirts, a white one, and I can see the outline of her pale body beneath the thin cotton, the pink tips of her nipples and the shadow of golden hair between her thighs.
Instantly I’m hard, no matter that we spent most of last night exploring each other yet again, but this time I ignore my recalcitrant cock and meet her steady, blue gaze.
‘Good morning,’ she says and smiles, and my heart catches in my chest. Her smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and the fact that it’s for me only makes it better. But then a needle of ice slides into me, because I know what I have to say.
She wanted me to remember the boy that I was, and I have. Just enough to remember to do the right thing, and the right thing is to let her go.
So I don’t smile back, because that won’t make this any easier, and neither will putting it off. Instead I push myself away from the counter and straighten. ‘Katla,’ I say, allowing myself to relish her name for a moment longer. ‘I need to talk to you.’
She leans against the door frame, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a brow. ‘Oh? What is it?’
She has no idea what I’m about to say, and I don’t want to say it. This will hurt her but, if I leave it any longer, it will only hurt more, so I need to do this quickly. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I say. ‘I don’t think I want that six months after all.’
Her pale lashes flutter as she blinks in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I’m going to let you go. I’ll order the jet to take you back to LA today. You don’t need to stay with me and I won’t ask for any more of your time.’
Her forehead creases, as if she has difficulty understanding me. ‘But you were very insistent on six months. You told me that—’
‘I know what I told you,’ I interrupt, the ice-cold needle slipping deeper inside me. I’ve hurt people before—broken bones, shattered limbs—and I never felt a single thing. But doing this to Katla feels like the worst kind of torture and part of me hates myself for doing it. Yet I know this is the only way. The right way. So I ignore her pain, just like I always do. ‘But I think it’s better for you if you leave.’
‘Better for me,’ she echoes, still frowning. ‘How is leaving better for me?’
‘Do I really need to explain that to you?’ I ask her impatiently. ‘You know who I am. You know what I’ve done. Apart from anything else, being seen with me isn’t going to be good for your business reputation.’
‘I don’t care,’ she says without any hesitation. ‘Or at least, I don’t care about who you are and what you’ve done. In fact, I already know who you are, Ulysses. And, as far as my reputation is concerned, I’m not sure I care much about that either.’
‘You may not,’ I say. ‘But I do. I don’t want to see you hurt or disadvantaged by my ill-timed kidnapping on Christmas Eve.’
Her eyes glitter, sudden anger flaring in them. ‘Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it?’ Her voice is sharp. ‘I’m here now and you were so insistent on six months. Why are you changing your mind now?’
I didn’t expect her to argue, though why I didn’t expect it I’m not sure, especially when all she’s done since I met her is challenge me.
‘You want the truth?’ I say, even though I know she always does. ‘Because last night, under the Christmas tree, you looked at me as if you hoped for more.’
She flushes so beautifully. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
Pain catches me in the chest. I thought this would be easier, that I’d end this quickly and without a fuss because I’ve done it before so many times in the past. I didn’t expect to be the one who would find this painful. I can’t care, though. I can’t.
‘It’s wrong because I can’t give you more,’ I tell her, brutally honest now. ‘I told you, I’m not looking for redemption. I’m not looking to be saved. And I’m certainly not looking for a woman to be anything other than a sex object.’
