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One of their own—powerful and influential, the shining epitome of rags to riches—had snagged himself a beautiful bride. A woman he’d apparently grown up with, they breathlessly reported. Perhaps even a childhood sweetheart?
Ares held her hand, kissed her knuckles and brushed his lips over her temple. His eyes locked hungrily on hers. And he ignored the shouted questions.
Beside them, Sergios beamed, his approval clear despite the sometimes circumspect looks he levelled at Odessa.
For her part, she kept her mouth shut, for fear she’d blurt something untoward or reveal that, contrary to the paparazzi’s view, it wasn’t a fairy tale marriage. Hell, they hadn’t even discussed when or where they’d be getting married.
‘First things first,’ Ares drawled when they were ensconced in another sleek limo, his fingers flying over his phone screen.
‘What?’
‘You need a new wardrobe. Would you prefer to go shopping or shall I have a selection brought to you?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t need new clothes.’
‘You intend to wear those jeans on every occasion until they fall off you?’
She opened her mouth to argue, then pursed them again when she accepted that he had a point. ‘Fine, but I can buy my own clothes.’
As Ares Zanelis’ wife, and soon-to-be mother of his children, she clearly had an image to project. The full scope of his existence had only just come into focus for her in the last day.
There would be no enforced seclusion on a cliff-front estate the way her father had hidden her away. The thought was at once freeing and mildly panic-inducing.
The hand that reached for hers and patted it gently was surprisingly not Ares’s. She glanced up at Sergios’s benign smile.
‘My son can be overbearing at times. He can’t help himself. But you deserve to be spoilt, mikros. And besides, all women enjoy shopping, ne?’ Leaning forward, he stage-whispered, ‘Or you can get your own back by dragging him along with you while you spend his money. I’m told it’s a fate worse than death.’
Aware of Ares’s sharp gaze—and with the reminder that they were pretending at the very least to be wildly attracted to each other with a view to starting a family—she summoned a smile in return. Then her gaze caught on the landscape whizzing by, in the very first country she’d ever visited outside Italy.
‘I’ll choose my clothes, thanks,’ she answered.
‘Kalos. I’ve cleared my calendar for the afternoon,’ Ares said.
Surprise widened her eyes. ‘You have?’
‘Ne. And while we’re out we can discuss wedding plans.’
That combination of panic and excitement fizzled harder. ‘Already?’
His eyes gleamed, sweeping over her face in a blatant appraisal that made heat pummel her. ‘I don’t see any point in waiting. I want us to start our lives together. Don’t you?’
The pointed question was a veiled reminder of their agreement.
Exhaling for composure, she replied, ‘Yes, I do.’
Satisfaction darkened the gleam.
Across from her, Sergios’s smile widened.
Her heart thumping wildly in her chest, Odessa gazed out of the window, where the vibrant streets of Athens impressed upon her the fact that her life was well on course to change irreparably.
Ares finished the next call on his list, tuning out the sales assistants’ excited chattering as they flitted around Odessa. He sat in the waiting room of a luxury boutique, an untouched glass of Dom Perignon ignored at his elbow, as he continued to make plans as if the devil himself were snapping at his heels.
His father had been right. This was torture. But not in the way Sergios had meant. It was torture because Ares couldn’t seem to find the willpower to get up and walk out. Leave Odessa to her own devices.
He’d thought he’d be satisfied once she’d agreed to his demands. Instead, that peculiar sense of urgency had only escalated. He wasn’t sure whether it was a good or a bad trait he possessed that meant once he set his mind to a thing he tended not to rest until his goal was achieved.
Pausing on his next phone call, he examined his true feelings for a minute, in the wild hope that it would clear his mind of this idiotic urgency.
