Chapter Five #2
Unable to resist, she followed him, taking in the endless blue shades of pool, ocean, sky—thankful because it gave her something to stare at instead of Ares’s tanned, muscular frame and the lithe grace with which he moved.
In truth that brilliant blue vista had been seared on her memory and was a constant inspiration.
She’d made several sculptures using those colours as an ode to this place—trying to exorcise the heart-aching beauty of it from her soul.
One of those pieces had been the one she’d sold.
‘Here.’ Ares opened a door.
She’d thought this building on the further side of the pool was a guest house or staff quarters.
Indeed perhaps this large, cool room had once been a lounge but now it was undeniably an artist’s studio.
She stared at the floor-to-ceiling shelves running along the back wall—many filled with a shocking array of unopened packages.
The labels identified them—not just paints and pencils, but tools.
A sewing machine on the table. Assorted scissors in a block.
There was even a pottery wheel. Bethan worked with multi-media and this enormous workroom was.
..almost complete. There was a large worktable with a lamp.
Another desk. A low, obviously comfortable armchair.
He’d made this paradise of an island home even more perfect—this was the sort of place she could spend hours in, like the shed at her grandmother’s cottage.
‘You liked crafts, I built you a studio. I’m not sure if there’s everything you need for your project but, as I said, we can pick up anything else you need from London.’
She hardly heard him, too busy being astounded. She moved deeper into the absolute arcadia, angling her head to read a smaller label. ‘When did you have this done?’
‘It was to be your wedding present but you never came back here to see it.’
Bethan turned, her lungs tight. He’d leaned back, gripping the edge of the counter, a vision of bronzed skin and tense, rippling muscles. Why hadn’t he gotten rid of it?
‘I haven’t been back here much either,’ he added in a low mutter.
‘Busy with work.’
‘Yes.’
How could he be so thoughtful and yet so remote?
‘You confuse me,’ she murmured.
‘Don’t read anything into it,’ he said gruffly. ‘I wanted you to be happy here.’
Happy. Here. Not in Athens. Not actually with him through the week.
That old bitter, bereft ache rose. And this room was separate from the main house—again, away from him.
He mightn’t like those dinner parties, but he’d still wanted distance from her.
While part of him was so generous, this place would have suited him too. Suited him best.
‘This will be a perfect refuge this week,’ she said stiffly, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. ‘Thank you.’
Refuge. Ares gripped the edge of the workbench more tightly to lock himself in place. He wasn’t about to leave even when that was obviously what she wanted. Nor was he about to grab her and make her swallow her falsely polite-as-hell thanks. Since when was Bethan either sarcastic or cynical?
Since walking out on him.
She bent her head so all he could see was her glossy hair and all he could do was keep staring.
He should be pleased by this situation. He’d exerted the smallest amount of control, exacting the slightest hint of revenge by requiring her to remain here in the place she’d rejected, meaning she wouldn’t have her own way for just a little bit longer, and it meant that their goodbye would be on his terms at a time he wasn’t just prepared for but was relishing.
He should be delighted that soon she would leave his life for ever, no?
More than that, he should be triumphant because he knew she still wanted him.
There should be no risk here, only reward. Yet he felt coarsely uncomfortable.
Why had he left this studio stocked and ready for all this time?
When he’d known she wouldn’t be back. When he’d known she wasn’t into material things or great displays of expense.
Why had he shown her now? Had he thought he’d get pleasure from showing her what she’d walked out on?
Because he didn’t. Instead he felt...weak.
Because he’d just left it. Unable to look at it.
Unable to move her clothes as well, he now remembered. What kind of pathetic fool was he?
But she’d been a fool too. She’d been jealous of Sophia.
That revelation had circled round his head all night and still was a small consolation now.
Sophia Dimou was his stepmother Gia’s niece—almost a cousin though not by blood.
The family had suggested that Sophia would be the perfect wife to ensure Ares’s place in society was assured and polished.
It was a play for control to keep their influence over him.
Make him more palatable—less of a fraud.
He’d known her for years—even kissed her a long time ago.
It had instantly told them all they’d needed to know.
Hard no. Never in a million years would he agree, no matter how much pressure—even publicly—they brought to bear.
However, Sophia hadn’t the strength to stand up to her family for a long time.
Ares was genuinely pleased she’d finally found happiness with someone else.
But apparently her existence had caused Bethan angst. How had Bethan even known about her?
The same way Bethan had thought he’d want to waste time at tedious dinner parties with boring people.
Someone had told her and he even knew who.
‘Why did you pay so much attention to what Gia said?’ he asked. ‘Why would you trust the word of a woman you barely knew?’
Bethan turned from her exploration of some of the packages. ‘She’s your family,’ she said simply. Sadly. ‘I thought she was being honest with me so I could support you.’
A sinking sensation sucked him. He wouldn’t trust but Bethan had a wildly different background. Regret curled. ‘She mentioned Sophia to you.’
She still avoided his gaze. ‘She said your engagement was well publicised and wanted to warn me in case someone said something. So I looked it up. Google translated all those stories in the society pages. Some of them were years old.’
But even those articles didn’t tell the whole truth and the whispers of his background had been wiped from the web.
Gia’s ‘warning’ had in fact been an attack.
He should have prepared her. Instead he’d kept so much from her.
It had been habit, no? And self-protection.
Keeping his past private had been a requirement and he’d never wanted to answer questions about his mother anyway.
Just thinking about her had hurt too much because of the guilt he carried for his part in her demise.
He’d never wanted to admit his failure to anyone, let alone to Bethan.
He’d shut down that entire part of himself.
But not any more—hence the foundation. He needed to make reparations there. Perhaps here too.
‘I became Ares Vasiliadis when I was thirteen years old,’ he suddenly admitted. ‘Before that, I was Ares Pappas, the unwanted and illegitimate son of Loukas Vasiliadis.’
Her eyes widened. ‘What?’
Pushing past old habits was uncomfortable but this little she deserved to know—why Gia had been so unkind.
That it wasn’t her. ‘Pavlos Vasiliadis—Loukas’s father—cared about nothing more than his bloodline and when my father and half-brother died unexpectedly, I was swept in as Pavlos’s replacement grandson and heir. ’
‘You...’ She stared at him. ‘You’re not joking, are you?’
‘Pavlos was completely controlling. Everyone followed his edicts. He had power, money and far-reaching influence. They changed my name, changed my school, changed my life.’
‘They wanted you to do everything they asked,’ she said slowly. ‘But you refused regarding Sophia.’
Regarding so many things, actually. Sophia was the least of it. But Bethan was locked on her and it was welcome. Her fixation on her saved him from dwelling on the deeper wounds of the half-brother he’d never gotten to know, the bitter wrath of his stepmother, the pain of his mother’s abandonment.
‘You resisted that engagement for so long but then married me super quick. Was it to shake off the pressure they were putting on you?’
He hesitated. If he’d realised anything in the past twenty-four hours, it was that they’d not communicated honestly enough. It didn’t feel right to hold back on her now. ‘There are multiple benefits to any deal.’
‘So our marriage was a “deal”.’ Emotion bloomed in her eyes.
‘One that could have worked well,’ he said tightly. ‘You were alone—’
‘So you pitied me. You thought you were doing me a favour.’
Why was she getting angry?
‘And I was. I could give you things you never would have had otherwise,’ he growled, frustrated by her hurt accusation. ‘You expect me to separate out issues that are too tangled. Truth is I wanted you. I didn’t want her. I thought it would work. I thought it would be easy.’
Because it had been easy. He’d thought keeping her happy would keep being easy.
Full truth—he hadn’t really thought at all.
He’d been impulsive. He’d wanted to keep her in his bed.
Wanted to keep sailing with her—those days on the beach all the fun he’d not had in years.
Not since he’d been a carefree kid relishing the rare days when his hardworking solo mother had had the time to shed her stress and taken him to the beach and taught him how to swim and sail.
‘Why weren’t you honest with me about all this back then?’ she asked. ‘Why keep it so secret?’
‘It wasn’t a conscious thing.’ He kept everything quiet. ‘It happened fast.’ He’d just gone for it. ‘I wanted it to be on my terms. My choice.’
‘So I was just in the right place at the right time.’
‘You really think that?’ He gaped.
‘I think you trifled with my emotions.’
‘I married you.’
‘Not because you loved me.’
He stilled—on the precipice of the same cliff he’d fallen off years ago. When she’d asked this and he’d not answered. He’d not lied to her. But that was not what she’d wanted.
He didn’t believe the kind of love she dreamed of. Lust, yes. Safe companionship maybe. But love? That was a lie.
‘You thought I’d be a compliant wife.’ Her face was pale. ‘You thought you could control me the way they tried to control you.’
Fury flared. ‘I never wanted to control you.’
‘You wanted to tuck me away.’ Her anger matched his. ‘Why? So you could have affairs without me knowing?’
He’d wanted her to be happy. And she’d been happy here.
‘Why would you even think that?’ he asked. There had never been anyone else.
She was too furious to listen. ‘You thought I was so insipid—so infatuated—that I’d do anything you wanted me to.’
He frowned. ‘I never thought of you that way.’
‘No?’ She moved closer. ‘Then how did you think of me?’
That she was sweet. Okay, yes, easy to please.
That maybe he could care for her enough.
That he would be enough as he was—stunted.
That maybe he would not fail her as he’d failed in the past. But she’d walked out at the first hurdle.
And there was no point raking over the past. It changed nothing.
He was who he was. So he shut her down. ‘It doesn’t matter now, does it? ’
‘Doesn’t it?’ Her anger exploded. ‘I’m asking. Or does what I want not matter?’
He thought he’d done so much for her, but most had been based on assumptions that only now he realised were wrong.
‘You didn’t want me to live with you in Athens,’ she said, hurt sharpening her tone.
‘You wanted to be a part-time husband. You didn’t want anything to upset your perfectly curated world.
You didn’t go to the dinners and you thought you could stick it to them even more by marrying someone utterly inappropriate. ’
‘You were never not good enough.’ How could she think that?
‘No?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘Which is why in the one week in which you’ve decided to endure me as your wife again, you’ve brought me back here where no one can see us. Why can’t you just admit you’re ashamed of me?’
‘That’s not what this is.’ He wanted to shake some sense into her. Hold her firm and still so she had to listen. But his hands slid around her waist, pulled her close and threw the rest of him back into chaos.
‘No?’ Bitterness sharpened in her eyes. ‘Then it’s just this—you still just want to screw me.’
Lust overwhelmed him. ‘I’m not alone in wanting that.’ He pressed her closer, feeling her soften even as she glared up at him with those beautiful, angry eyes.
His gaze dropped to her pout. He was a second from spinning and pinning her to that table with his hips, desperately aching for the abandonment, the utter oblivion that lust brought them. He craved that bliss in which nothing else mattered.
‘Well, it’s not happening,’ she breathed. ‘That is not part of this deal.’