A Perfect Wife: International Billionaires V: The Greeks (22 page)

“Uncle Aetos.” She twirled around, her soft lisp slipping over his name. “This one is for you.”

“Really?” His gold-flecked brows rose in disbelief. “For me?”

During the last week, he’d mellowed. Whether it was the nights in her arms or the constant company of his loving family or perhaps it was a mix of everything: the food, the season, the lust, the laughter. Whatever the reason, Aetos had visibly relaxed. He’d eaten with his relatives, laughed at their jokes. The flashes of fear she’d seen in his eyes when they were in bed had slowly disappeared to be replaced with sparks of lust and need.

Still, the man could not seem to grasp the understanding that his family had so much to give him that he could not purchase for himself. He didn’t understand what she had to give him, either.

This present wasn’t merely a set of cufflinks.

It was a declaration of her desire.

It was an admission of her love.

It was a plea for the future.

Maybe he wouldn’t realize any of this. Abruptly, Nat hoped he wouldn’t understand—where before, when she’d bought the present, she’d intended on it sending a clear message. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing, though, and this present would be a mere blip in their relationship. She tried to yank herself out of her instincts and fear, and think. They were just cufflinks. All right, they were a bit different than his usual pair, yet what could be so awful about a set of cufflinks?

The memory of his
giagiá
looking at the cufflinks with pain in her eyes came to her along with the memory of the women’s reactions as the gift was passed around. The memories screamed at her to run across the room and pluck the simple present from his hands.

But it was too late. Far too late.

His eyes widened as the young girl put the small gift into his hands and hugged him. He looked down at the mop of curls cuddled under his chin, and haltingly, his hand smoothed across them and patted the child’s back.

Natalie fought back tears. The man had so much love inside him. So much to give a woman. Perhaps there was still hope. Would he understand what she was giving him? Would he accept what could be between them?

Two eagles flying together. Not alone anymore.

“Open it.” The girl giggled into his neck and pushed herself away to see.

See the sword of fate swing down.

Aetos gingerly handled the gift as if he too felt the potential fallout. Flipping the tag open, he read and the edge of his mouth tipped up. He immediately glanced across at Nat, his chestnut eyes glimmered with—with what? A hint of amusement. Along with something cooler—wariness. The touch of fear she’d thought dispelled in the nights they’d spent together in the small bedroom down the hall.

“From you,
Natalie?”

“
Nai
.” She forced a smile. Yet his wariness, his fear rolled around inside her, telling her everything she needed to know.

“Open it, Aetos.” His
giagiá’s
voice was firm and clear like a clarion call. A sudden hush fell over the entire family as if they, too, felt the import.

The little girl stepped back.

He ripped the silver paper off the gift. His fingers stalled when he opened the velvet box.

The hush turned to pure silence as if the family, the mountains, her world held its breath. The only sound she heard was not in her ears. Her heart heard her blood freeze and her soul wail as it expired deep within the center of her.

Because he told her everything. She knew him well now, every inch of his body and every flicker of his emotions. She read him, read his thoughts in the way his skin tightened around his eyes. Read his anger in the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw.

Her heart slid down and down.

“What is it?” The little girl was braver than any of her other relatives.

The silence turned cold and cutting. A pure slash of ice slicing through her hopes and dreams. Stabbing her right through the heart as she’d known instinctively it would.

Aetos looked into his niece’s piquant face. And smiled.

The little girl stuck her finger in her mouth and stepped back.

“What it is,” he said softly. “Is a reminder.”

T
he acid smell
of coffee burned in his nostrils.

Which was appropriate as the time in New York City was approaching seven a.m. Impatient, Aetos checked his watch once more. They should be landing within the next half hour and he couldn’t wait.

Wait to escape.

Her.

She hadn’t slept. He knew her so well now. Knew by her breath, the hushed, delicate sighs instead of contented hums. Knew by the way her long, lithe body lay rigid on the seat across from him instead of languid and supple beside him.

He knew her so well.

The shock of this recognition rattled through him. Exactly as the knowledge she knew him, too, had shaken his entire foundation the moment he’d opened her gift. The sight of his father’s crest, the two eagles imprinted in gold, flying and swooping together, the sight had cut his breath from his throat and his heart from his chest.

How had she known?

How had she found a gift that would crash through his years of containment, years of control, years of contentment at being alone—how had she managed to shred this with one gift?

How had he allowed her so close she could hurt him?

There had only been a few seconds of looking at her gift. But the seconds had been enough to bring the old memories back to life. He’d stared at the same image for all of his childhood years. The two eagles were burned in his brain like a brand. Though the alignment of the two eagles was slightly different on the towering glass statue that had stood proudly in the crumbling foyer of his father’s villa, the effect had been the same. The message had been the same.

Patrída
.
Oikogéneia
.

Homeland. Family.

The words had been carved on the oak base of the statue beneath each of the eagles. One eagle’s head had arched, the glass eyes staring into his boyhood gaze with a challenge. The other’s head had dipped and the hooded eyes staring at him always told him the same thing.

You aren’t worthy of any of this
.

Patrída
.
Oikogéneia
.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind, the two words an endless chant of responsibility and honor. Of inclusion and acceptance. None of which he’d ever been able to achieve with his father. Or the rest of the Zenos family. Or even, God help him, the Kourkoulos clan.

“Would you like some coffee before we land, Mr. Zenos?” His personal steward smiled as he walked toward him, past the leather couches and glass side tables he and Natalie had ignored. They’d both chosen the formal airline seats lining the front of the private plane instead.

“
Nai
.” He waved his assent.

The
mágissa
moved restlessly under the cashmere blanket she’d wrapped herself into the moment they’d boarded the plane. She hadn’t uttered a word the entire trip. She hadn’t said anything to him from the moment he’d looked at her with hate. With despair.

Which he was glad of. He had no words for her. No words for anyone.

He’d endured the rest of the New Year’s evening with his crestfallen family. They’d known, he could tell. All of them knew of the Zenos crest. All of them knew he hated his father. Why hadn’t they told her how horribly wrong her choice was? Or had she known and done it deliberately to prove something to him? What could that something be?

The questions had buzzed in his head as he’d walked the mountaintop throughout the long last night.

He’d found no answers; only more questions. Finally, he’d capitulated, coming back to the only answer he’d ever found on the cursed mountain.

Go to America. Stay apart.

His
giagiá
had cried as she hugged him goodbye, a flash of guilt in her eyes making him want to shake her. One of his questions had been answered in that moment. His grandmother had hoped the gift would remind him of his other family and perhaps push him to heal the breach again—just as she’d hoped when she’d summoned his cousins. However, with the one question answered, another popped forward. Had she told Natalie? Had the two of them decided together to force him to confront what he would never confront?

The questions circled inside his head as the rest of his family had circled around, trying to smile, patting his back and hugging Natalie.

His
pappoús
had not wept, nor smiled.

He’d stared.

Aetos could not have handled one more minute of that stare.

Restlessly, he glanced at his watch again. Old men’s stares and old memories of his father didn’t matter. He was going back to his true home, the place he’d carved out for himself. He was going back to being the lone eagle, flying alone. Flying free.

He tugged on his cuffs and forced himself to look at his cufflinks. The lone eagle stared back at him. The stare eerily echoed his grandfather’s.

“We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes, Mr. Zenos.”

Thankful for the distraction, he glanced at the steward and gave him a grim smile. “
Ef̱charistíes
.”

The witch across from him turned and stared at him.

Ignoring her, he flipped open his laptop and focused on the long line of numbers flowing past him on the spreadsheet. Focused on business. Focused on Tuckermarkets. Focused on success.

“What was wrong with my gift?”

Her murmured question slid across the aisle and cut right through his defenses. If only she’d behaved like a regular female and did as he said without question. If only she’d realized she had it good on this gravy train and made sure not to rock the boat. Then perhaps he wouldn’t have to cut her off from him, wouldn’t have to put an end to this relationship, wouldn’t have to confront the reality of how much she’d come to mean to him.

“Gifts aren’t required.” He kept his gaze on the scrolling numbers.

He’d made two decisions on the mountaintop. One, he was going back to where he belonged. Two, it was time to get rid of her. A clutch of twisted heat churned in his belly as he’d glared at the full silver moon. But he’d held to both decisions.

It was a matter of his survival.

Silence answered him. Yet he felt her stare. The violet-blue indictment. Washing over him like the kind of giant waves he’d rode as a surfer when he’d been desperately staving off the sense of apathy, the sense of being lost.

He wasn’t lost. He had Tuckermarkets.

Finally, she gave a quiet sigh before rolling away to gaze out at the blazing pink and orange of the sunrise piercing the darkness of the lingering night.

Maybe his family had warned her.

Maybe she’d done it on purpose.

Maybe she was trying to tell him something.

Something that wasn’t about his father or his past or the Zenos crest. Something he had no interest in hearing.

His competent pilot landed the plane with a soft swoosh and within minutes, the stairs had been lowered. Aetos stood and shrugged on his leather coat. He tried to ignore her as she rustled in her seat, stowing her book in her purse, tying her tousled, curly hair back into a ponytail.

The scent of her, wild and free and sweet, wafted in the air.

His nostrils flared. For a moment, a teetering moment, he almost fell under her spell once more.

The steward barely managed to jump into the galley as Aetos marched by him.

The early New York morning was stiff with an icy breeze and a chilly frost gilded the limo waiting at the base of the plane. He pinned his focus on the black of his leather shoes contrasting with the bright red of the carpet on the stairs rather than staring at her.

Yet she still took him, caught him. Even from behind. Even without snagging his gaze. He sensed her following, pursuing, haunting him. Was he capable of running fast and far enough to escape her?

The answer, the sure answer, didn’t come.

Instead, the inside of him, the hollow inside, billowed with an unnamed emotion.

“Mr. Zenos!” A burst of bright light splashed across the tarmac, followed by several others.

Aetos glanced over to the fenced area about ten feet away. The press. In Greece, he’d forgotten the pursuing hoard, the ravenous beast always on the hunt for a new story.

The beast the
mágissa
behind him belonged to.

That spike of knowledge blasted through the hollowness inside him. Had she called them? Had she played another game with him?

Swinging around, he glared at her. “You…”

His accusation trailed off at the expression on her face. Her skin paled, her eyes widened with horror, her mouth opened in a gasp of pure panic. No one, not even the witch, could fake this reaction. She had nothing to do with this press horde.

“Come on.” He grabbed her arm and tugged her towards the limo. “Ignore them.”

The white-hot flashes of the cameras chased them into the dark pit of the limo. She shuffled across to the far side of the seat, pulling the edge of her wool coat up her neck and cheeks.

“The windows are tinted. They can’t see anything.”

She chuckled, a hoarse sound. “They’ve seen enough.”

“This is nothing. Only Zenos coming back with his wife.”

“His pretend wife.” She glanced over, her amethyst eyes dark with weariness and defeat.

No. Never. Never this woman. She had never been defeated by anything. Not this woman who had challenged him at every turn. Who’d defied him, who’d blackmailed him, who’d cut him to the bone. Who’d made love to him instead of merely letting him do what he wanted with her body.

He swung around stared sightlessly through the window. The limo moved, edging past the press and onto the main road leading to the city.

“What’s going to happen next?” Her voice held only blank compliance. No lilt of teasing or lick of laughter. None of the soft words she’d given him as her arms had slid over his shoulders and her legs had wrapped around him in complete acceptance.

What’s going to happen next
?

Suddenly, he was very grateful he’d dictated the order when his heart had been hard and determined. If he’d waited, waited and waited...

Only to see her moonlight hair glisten in the darkness of the plane. Only to feel her warm heat from across the aisle. Only to hear her soft breath whispering its enchantment around and around him.

If he’d waited, he’d have been doomed.

But he hadn’t waited.
Dóxa to̱ Theó̱
.

Slipping his hand into his coat pocket, he glanced down at the white envelope. It struck him as odd and hilarious and crushing that such a simple container could hold the key to getting rid of her. To setting him free.

“Here.” He thrust it at her, wanting it out of his hands. The envelope seemed to turn to fire on his fingertips, scorching and searing.

She took it, with a quick yank. “What is it?”

Was there a thread of hope weaving through those simple words? Hope for more from him than he could give? Or perhaps, she would be delighted with what was in the envelope.

If she reacted in that way, it would gut him.

Aetos managed to stifle a curse. He cut his painful, needy curiosity off by turning back to the window. The New York skyline rose like the arches of a cathedral in the distance.

Home, right? Home.

No
. An answer, deep inside.
No
.

The rustle of the envelope tugged him away from the dark answer coming from the depths of his soul. The rustle stopped. And then, there was nothing but silence. Around him. Inside him. Finally, her harsh laugh came, short and cutting. A cackle reminding him of how hard she’d been when they first met. How demanding and conniving, like every woman.

Turning, he forced himself to look at who she genuinely was. Only another woman. Nothing to him.

Her eyes were black inside her white face. Her lush, wide mouth held no color and somehow, this highlighted her grotesque smile. “Right,” she said. “That’s what’s going to happen next.”

N
atalie watched
as the black limo inched into the early morning traffic and drove off. Leaving her alone on an icy sidewalk in lower Manhattan.

She’d asked to be let out. Dropped off. Left. She couldn’t stand to be with him for one more moment. The words had from her mouth before she’d even realized it was what she desperately wanted and needed.

He hadn’t even blinked.

A tight knot of grief filled her throat. Was this what her mother felt when she’d finally confronted the reality of her husband? No, not really. Her mother had never done what Nat just did. Her mother had ignored all the signs around her showing what her husband really was. Her mother had never had the courage to cut her father off completely. She’d wheedled and stuck like glue to her husband instead of demanding her freedom.

This was good what she’d just done. Unlike Elena Globenko, Natalie Globenko had done the right thing.

Terrible, impossible grief welled in her throat.

Her hand tightened around the envelope. The thick wad of cash felt like a lead weight pulling at her fingers, her palm, her arm. Dragging her down and down. Down into the hellhole her mother had escaped into for the last years of her life.

Fifty thousand dollars.

She hadn’t had to count the bills. She already knew. She’d known as soon as he’d looked into her eyes after he’d opened her gift. She’d known for an entire day her dreams and hopes and love were impossible. Merely with one of his looks.

The money was just the perfect way to get rid of a pretend wife.

She glanced down. The white of the envelope, the last thing he’d touched that she would ever hold, the white contrasted like a blinding light with the dirty crust of snow on the sidewalk curb. Her payoff. A way in which he could salve his conscience and get her out of his life without any silly emotion and sad goodbyes and sullen looks.

A way he could subtly put her in her place.

A tight gasp escaped her.

Along with it went the grief. In its place surged an angry determination.

She would not do this. She would not be like her mother in this instance either. She would not pretend everything was okay. She would not take a man’s money even if it were the easier way. She would not slink away with the cash and use it to pay off the thugs—the thugs who surely would see the photos taken a mere hour ago. Zenos coming home with his reclusive bride would warrant at least a bit of attention in the tabloids. Within a day, she’d be hunted. But she wouldn’t take the easy way. Not like her mother. If that meant facing the possibility of being killed, then she’d face death when it came.