Page 67 of Modern Romance September 2025 1-4
I turn round and look up at him, wanting to see his face. He’s still blazing with fury, the build of it like a bonfire in his eyes, the air around us crackling with the electricity he’s throwing out.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
He smiles but there’s nothing in it but threat. ‘She was passed around a number of different foster carers, some of whom physically assaulted her. I wasn’t able to get her back until years later.’
I study his face, thinking about his fury and fear. He must love her so very much, which makes me think about what it would be like to be loved by him. It would be too intense and overwhelming, I think, yet part of my soul aches to be loved so completely.
Mothers are supposed to love their daughters, but my mother never said anything about loving me, because there was too much about me she didn’t like. Too much that didn’t fit with her idea of what a good daughter should be. My social awkwardness, my resistance to change, my blunt way of speaking. It embarrassed her, I think.
It was the same with John. As my husband, he was supposed to love me, and he even said it, but…he lied. And he had expectations of me as a wife, expectations that I failed to meet.
Ulysses is such an intense man, so his expectations of himself must be very high. And, given he’s so furious now, it seems the consequences when those expectations aren’t met must be very painful for him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him, wanting to offer him something, as little as it is. ‘That must have been very difficult.’
‘You cannot imagine how difficult.’ The fire in his eyes leaps and flickers, but I can see shadows between the flames, and my chest clenches tight. It hurt to lose her when he was young, that much I can see. It tortured him. ‘I fought for years to finally get her back into my care and, when I did, I swore that no one would ever take her from me again.’
The tautness in my chest tightens further and I’m not sure why. Since when did Ulysses’s emotions matter to me? I shouldn’t want them to matter, especially not when John’s emotions were so fragile and delicate that I had to be careful with them in case they broke.
But, no matter how mysterious my own emotional reaction to Ulysses is, it doesn’t change the fact that I have one. Perhaps it’s because, once again, he’s being honest. He’s furious and he’s telling me why, instead of saying nothing and making me guess, which was always John’s favourite tactic. He’s not demanding that I be sympathetic to him either, which was what my mother used to do, because she thought I was selfish.
‘Do you know where she is?’ I ask, trying to think of something useful to say but coming up with nothing.
‘No. But she’s with Rafael Santangelo, which doesn’t bode well.’
The name rings no bells, so I ask, ‘Who is he?’
‘I took over his company years ago, and it wasn’t amicable from what I can remember.’ A muscle in the side of his jaw leaps. ‘I’ve just ordered some of my people to find out everything they can about him, and where he might have taken her.’
I wish I could say more, do something for him, but there’s nothing I can give him that will ease his anger or his worry. Once again, I feel things might be easier if I wasn’t here so he doesn’t have to manage me as well as his own emotions.
‘Shall I leave you alone?’ I offer, belatedly.
His gaze focuses on me, his attention acute. ‘Why did you stay?’
The question is unexpected and for a moment I don’t know how to reply. I’m not sure I want to tell him the truth, since I’m not sure I can articulate it, yet he’s compelled honesty from me so many times now there seems little point in holding back.
‘Because you’re angry,’ I say slowly. ‘And I wanted to know why, and I… I want to help you.’
His gaze is relentless. ‘So why do you want to leave now?’
‘I don’t want to leave,’ I correct him. ‘But I’m not sure how I can help you, and maybe it’s easier if I’m not around.’
This time it’s his turn to study me, scanning my face with the same intensity he seemingly brings to everything he does. ‘I won’t get replies for some time,’ he says, his tone brusque. ‘So what I need now is distraction. That’s what you can offer me. Can you do that for me, Katla mine?’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ulysses
Her cheeks flushand her eyes glow, and she’s so lovely that for a moment I forget my fury. Forget that my sister has been taken by someone who was never on my radar, so I never thought to guard her from him.
I vaguely recall him, and some unpleasantness to do with his company, but I don’t remember what it was—a mistake, clearly, since I never saw him coming. He must have put himself in Olympia’s way, since I can’t think a meeting between them would have been coincidental, but what I want to know is did he seduce her or did he force her?
The rage in response to that thought is like acid inside me, eating away at my insides. Either way, he targeted her in order to hurt me, and unfortunately the bastard’s aim is true.
Then again, if he forced her, she wouldn’t have told me to stay away, surely? She also said that she was safe, and if she hadn’t been she’d have sounded much more frightened tha she did. Still, I have no reason to find that reassuring. Perhaps Rafael Santangelo is holding a gun to her head and is even now preparing to issue a list of demands.
I’ve had my people do some searching, but of course it’s Christmas, so everything will take much longer than it normally would, and now I’m going out of my mind. I want to call some associates of mine and give them his name—take him out. I have the means. I have the contacts.
