Chapter Eight
Ares grazed on the popcorn with a continuous, smooth movement of his hand—bowl to mouth to bowl to mouth—stuffing the gaping wound she’d ripped the scab from, stopping himself from speaking.
But it didn’t stop him from thinking. He hated that she’d felt the need to apologise for being sweet and young and romantic.
For having dreams. And he hated that she was right.
He’d been hurt. Before her. Yes, he had some walls.
And he was keeping them. And because of that, he couldn’t touch her again. It wouldn’t be fair.
She’d chosen the first of a street-racing movie franchise with ten instalments.
Muscle cars, muscle men, explosions, high-speed chases.
Bethan’s wide eyes made him chuckle. She was knitting—her nimble hands never, ever still.
The new piece was quickly taking shape. Soft pastels in a pretty pattern.
He realised it was a baby’s jumper. Was it a gift?
Had to be. But his brain tortured him with the vision of Bethan cradling her baby.
Then teaching her toddler all her skills.
She would have been a nymph here, spending her time swimming and sailing with a cherub or two in tow.
Idyllic, no? The few magical days he’d had as a child with his mother on the beach could have been an everyday joy for his child—with Bethan. Not him. She was the loving one.
But he would have provided for them. He would have given her everything he could. Nanny. Chef. Housekeeper. The space to unleash her creativity and craft. But she wanted more.
‘Who is it for?’ he asked huskily when she glanced up and caught him staring.
‘My friend Phoebe is pregnant,’ she said.
‘It’s beautiful.’ He kept his popcorn fingers far away from the fine wool.
She blushed and bent her head, her face an open book again.
He just knew that for a second there she’d thought about having a child too.
When he’d met her he’d thought she’d been sweet and guileless and inexperienced but she’d not been entirely so—not in one fundamental way.
She’d known love but she’d known such loss too.
Both her parents. A sibling mere weeks from being born—she’d lost that relationship before it had even begun.
He knew the ache of that—the loss of all the possibility, the banter and fun to be had with your brother or sister.
And then she’d lost her grandmother of course—in a long, slow sickness.
There was so much grief in her, he didn’t know how she still smiled so readily.
And she’d been bullied by snobby classmates.
That anyone could be cruel to someone gentle and creative and kind enraged him.
That they’d made her feel inferior. But his actions, his family, had echoed that hurt in her—she’d thought she was not good enough for them?
She was far too good. She wanted a full, happy family and she should have that in her future.
But back then she’d been wounded and wary—actually as careful of her heart as he.
He’d known loss too. And rejection. From family, not from school friends.
His father. His mother. He’d known failure.
So their reasons differed, but they’d each chosen not to reveal too much.
He’d hidden parts of himself. Like her, he’d been too busy having fun—too busy seducing her.
Why would he ever revisit his own personal hell? Why ever share that with her?
Now he thought about all the things she’d said and the things he’d left unsaid.
He would leave them unspoken. There was no need, no point, to talk.
She’d built a life in London. Made her friends.
Found her career. Started dating. She was flourishing and happy without him.
They just had the one thing left. The one thing it had always come down to.
One kernel of pure chemistry. But he’d ignored it for more than two years.
He could ignore it for a few days more. Because this afternoon—that frantic, physical encounter—had been wild and devastating and in no way had destroyed the magnetism that drew them together.
But it wasn’t fair to do that again when he had no intention—ability, even—of opening up to her in the way she had with him.
The honesty he owed her was an impossible ask.
The second film in the franchise started and he sank lower into the sofa.
By the time the credits began for the third he realised her hands were still.
She’d fallen asleep. He carefully extracted the soft wool from her lap and placed it safely on the table.
Then he lifted her into his arms. She stirred. He shushed.
‘Go back to sleep,’ he whispered.
For once she didn’t argue with him. Those beautiful eyes remained closed. He carried her to the bed they’d shared for those first magical nights, tucked her in, turned away before temptation could control him.
They wanted different things. The love she wanted from him wasn’t a kind he could offer.
He didn’t feel it, didn’t believe in it.
He wasn’t just ‘hurt’, he was irreparably damaged.
The broken bastard, the unwanted son of Loukas Vasiliadis.
Shame and anger bubbled within because he knew—to his bones—that he was unwanted still.
It was only his skill, only the power he’d fought so long to attain, that kept him in that damned company.
If he’d failed there they would have cast him out.
The next morning he worked in the study for as long as he could—which wasn’t nearly long enough.
When he walked out she was in the pool. He watched briefly then turned.
The memories here were too strong—blurring past and present and confusing him.
While his anger with her had eased, the lust hadn’t.
If he were a better man he would take her back to Athens now, organise the notary and get the divorce settled.
But there were only a few more days until the foundation gala and he wanted her there.
He wasn’t great at talking and he couldn’t help wondering weakly if she might even want to attend of her own volition.
Maybe he could show her what he was doing—why it mattered.
She’d been brave enough to be honest with him, surely he could manage the same to a degree.
Because that truth was coming out anyway—it was a huge part of his goal. So why not tell her now?
But he still wouldn’t touch her again. Wouldn’t mess this up when they’d made progress towards a peaceable closure.
He went back to the study, made a couple of calls, then went down to the beach to prepare.
Two hours later he hunted her down in the studio that had lain dormant for so long and now was vibrant.
‘Want to come out on the water with me?’ He glanced about, avoiding taking in how lush she looked with flushed cheeks and a smear of paint on her cheek.
She’d made the room hers so quickly. Occupied it only a few hours yet it was infused with vitality and creativity. Okay, mess. But he liked the colour and chaos.
‘Now?’ She cleared her throat. ‘Okay, let me just clean up.’
She didn’t ask where they were going, not even when they stepped onto the boat and he started the engine.
She just ran her hand through her hair and turned her face to the breeze.
He knew her love of the water came from those hours with her father.
That she felt at home on the waves. He did too, thanks to his mother.
Those carefree times had been so special.
It was half an hour before he rounded the coastline and Artemis came into view. The stunning yacht was anchored in a cove, one of the jewels in the luxury yacht arm of the Vasiliadis empire.
‘Are we going onboard that?’ Bethan asked as they pulled alongside her.
Ares pulled her bag from the stow and tossed it up to a waiting deckhand, chuckling at her astonished gaze. ‘Don’t worry, I remembered your knitting.’
‘How long are we staying?’
‘Just a couple of nights. We’ll make our way back to Athens this way, okay?’
‘Oh. Great.’ But something flickered in her eyes before she looked away.
She nimbly stepped from the small boat to what his crew joked was the ‘mother ship’.
The crew lined up to greet them, then the bosun and one of the deckhands returned the small motorboat to its mooring and used a jet ski to get back.
Ares followed Bethan as Carina, the trainee steward, took her on a tour of the boat.
He saw Bethan’s eyes widen at the large jacuzzi and suppressed his damned thoughts.
Then Carina took them below and showed them the rooms. Bethan’s adjoined his.
But, he reminded himself, the doors did lock.
Bethan was nothing but effusive. ‘This is stunning,’ she said to the steward. ‘I’m too scared to touch anything, it’s so perfectly polished.’
‘I’ll leave you to settle in.’ The steward smiled shyly. ‘We’ll have drinks on deck for whenever you’re ready.’
‘Thank you, Carina,’ Ares said.
He closed the door after Carina, crossed his arms and smirked, knowing that look in Bethan’s eyes. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think a crew of twenty to serve only two is somewhat extravagant,’ she said, fidgeting with her bangle and studiously not looking at the large bed just beside her. ‘And some of them seem pretty young.’
Right.
‘It’s a big boat, takes a few to keep it running.’ He cocked his head and chuckled. ‘Would you prefer a smaller boat so we can stay in even closer quarters?’
‘Actually, about that, perhaps I might move to another—’
‘Sorry, not possible.’ He’d already inquired. ‘The crew are in the other cabins.’
Her eyebrows arched. ‘You let crew use the guest cabins?’
‘Those young ones you spotted are trainees. That’s why there are so many. They need to understand the complete guest experience in order to be able to provide it. To know what luxury service feels like.’
‘You let trainees loose on a boat like this?’