Chapter Two #2
But that trip to Athens after their wedding had revealed things he’d wanted to conceal for longer.
He’d told her they were going to finalise paperwork, make arrangements for her new bank cards and the like.
She’d been desperately nervous arriving at his family ‘compound’—the word alone setting off alarm bells.
It had been enormous. Super formal and cold.
Which was exactly how Ares had turned the second he stepped across the threshold.
Too late she’d discovered he had no intention of bringing her fully into his life.
It was only thanks to a passing comment from his stepmother, Gia, followed by a frantic Internet translation of the Greek social pages, that she’d discovered that he’d long been meant to marry someone else.
Apparently the engagement between Ares Vasiliadis and Sophia Dimou was finally imminent.
The numerous photos of his prospective fiancée had triggered every insecurity Bethan had.
The woman was beautiful, wealthy, accomplished, perfectly appropriate.
Gia’s words had whipped open the scars left by schoolgirl bullies and caused far deeper wounds.
It had been unfathomable to Bethan—and of course the rest of the world—why Ares had opted to marry her in such a hasty, impulsive rush instead.
So she’d actually grown some courage and asked him.
That was when she’d discovered how impervious he was to anyone else’s feelings.
He’d already gone quiet and self-contained. In that instant he’d turned to ice.
He hadn’t denied the engagement rumours, just dismissed them as irrelevant. Then he’d made her feel even more inferior by coolly informing her that she wouldn’t have to come to Athens much if she found it too stressful...
But Athens was where he worked. Where his family was. The family she’d hoped to fit into. She’d realised he was ashamed of her—that he didn’t want her with him when he was around those people. He’d gone so remote. When she’d asked if he loved her, he’d not even bothered to answer.
She’d been so heartbroken she couldn’t stay. Insecure and desperate, she’d run. And he’d let her. So much for her love story for the ages—the whole thing had been too good to be true. He’d betrayed her trust and broken her dreams and Bethan absolutely hated him.
But at least now he wanted their marriage to be over and she could hardly be hurt more when she wanted the same.
Except the soul-destroying truth was she still was physically attracted to him while that last part of her romantic self still ached for the idyllic ‘big family dream’ she’d woven around him.
Her childhood home had been a safe shelter from the misery at school.
Her grandmother had loved her, spent hours teaching her traditional skills, telling her stories of her parents, of her own relationship, until she’d become ill.
Her father had spent what time he had ashore teaching her everything he could too and it was wonderful.
But he had been posted away more often than not.
So while she’d been loved, she’d been lonely.
She’d longed for a husband who loved her and children—wanting them to have the siblings she’d not had.
She’d planned a life filled with people and joy because there had been joy at home until she’d lost them both.
She’d just wanted more. For five minutes she’d thought she could build that with Ares.
But she’d not indulged in that foolish fantasy at all in the time since she’d left him.
She’d focused on building an independent life for herself.
She didn’t want or need a partner. Her career was fulfilling—creative and growing.
She was proud of what she’d achieved and her girlfriends provided the safe, supportive emotional haven she’d missed.
But right now Elodie was away and Phoebe was coping with an unplanned pregnancy and heartbreak.
She hadn’t been up waiting for Bethan tonight.
Bethan had figured she’d gone to bed early, so had left her a quick note explaining she’d be away for a couple of days and not to worry—certainly not mentioned ‘the Greek’.
She would talk to them about him fully when she got back.
Hopefully she’d be able to because this would be truly over.
She ignored him the rest of the brief drive.
She wasn’t going to attempt small talk—there was no need to fill the silence.
She’d learned to control her nervous babbling.
Mostly. The only thing to focus on was that this could be over quickly and with minimal impact.
She was different. Wiser, more confident.
She wouldn’t let Ares walk all over her again.
It was only a few hours to endure. She would go to Greece, secure the end of their mockery of a marriage and finally be free.
The driver turned into the hotel drop-off zone. It was predictably luxurious. Naturally his sumptuous penthouse suite had a stunning view. Without a word she marched straight into the bedroom that was clearly uninhabited and locked the door.
She showered. Got into bed. Tried to relax.
Fell asleep for five minutes before waking—heart racing—from a steamy dream.
She tossed, turned, tangled in the top sheet until, too plagued by memories, she abandoned the idea of sleep altogether.
Something ice cold might settle her furnace of a body.
By now Ares would surely be asleep so she could grab something from the bar in the lounge.
She was halfway across the room when she spotted him silently watching her from the sofa near the window.
‘Are you seriously keeping guard because you think I’m going to sneak out in the middle of the night?’ she jeered furiously.
‘No.’ He shot her a withering glance. ‘I’m working.’
Shirtless. On the sofa. With his laptop on the low table in front of him. Bethan’s inner furnace was on full meltdown.
His gaze narrowing, he stood and stepped towards her. ‘What’s wrong?’
She gaped at his half-naked body. Failed to drag her eyes away. Just as she’d always failed. He was even more perfect—muscled, lean, bronzed.
‘What do you need?’ he prompted huskily.
‘I was thirsty,’ she mumbled, backing away. ‘But it doesn’t matter.’
He veered away from her. For another second Bethan still stared—taking in the way his broad back tapered to slim hips and tight butt. Blinking, she stormed back to her room.
A minute later he knocked. ‘Bethan.’
No ignoring that imperious tone. Gritting her teeth, she reopened the door. Keeping his distance, he held a small bottle towards her. She noted its elegant shape and pretty label and died inside.
Do not look up. Do not wonder what the expression is in his eyes.
Because this wasn’t deliberate or meaningful. Yet every muscle weakened.
‘Thanks.’ She reached out, mentally cursing her trembling fingers.
As soon as she got it, she shut the door, turning to rest her spineless self against the wood.
She gazed at the bottle, unsure she could stomach the memories a taste from it would invoke.
But she was unbearably thirsty and desperately tempted because she loved this and it had been so long.
She unscrewed the cap, sipped and sure enough was instantly transported back to the day she’d met him. ..
Barely dawn, the day was already scorching.
Bethan slowly strolled from her hostel to find the ferry to take her to Avra, the small island she’d heard was a ‘must-visit’ but difficult to reach.
The harbour was still, there were only a couple of boats by the jetty and only one broad-shouldered man hunched down by the ropes of one.
‘Excuse me, is this the ferry to Avra?’
He glanced up briefly, blinked, then rose to his full height to stare down at her.
For forty seconds she just stared back at the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
When he finally cocked his head and quirked an eyebrow, she awkwardly remembered herself, stammered a repeat of the question before nerves made her babble a fast and incoherent explanation he didn’t need and quite possibly didn’t even understand.
She twisted the bangle on her wrist, heat filling her face until he finally glanced at his watch and she fell silent.
‘We will leave shortly,’ he muttered.
She blinked. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
He turned his back to release the rope. Not wanting to miss the ride, she stepped aboard.
Her pulse didn’t settle and her brain ceased to function.
She just stared. His grey tee shirt was worn and hugged his shoulders, the linen shorts looked equally old and soft but everything visible above and below was perfection—long limbs, fine muscles, and the most beautiful blue-grey eyes she’d ever seen.
Desperately she sipped the last of the water from her small plastic drink bottle, melting from not just the heat but the vision before her.
She was unable to stop herself staring at the grumpy Greek god for the entire crossing.
He knew of course. She was hardly surreptitious.
Every so often he’d glance back at her. But there was no smile, no break in the grumpy demeanour.
He was silent the whole time and she was too bowled away by his looks to think properly.
So she didn’t compute that it wasn’t a huge ferry, that he’d not asked her for payment nor that there were no other passengers. She was just...utterly brainless.
When they finally arrived she jumped ashore to catch the mooring line and secure it to the cleat on the dock.
She caught surprise in his eyes but then he looked her up and down and made her feel more self-conscious.
She caught her breath as he stepped close.
He took the empty water bottle from her limp fingers, then moved to the back of the boat while she dragged in a recovery breath.
He returned only a few moments later and handed back her bottle—refilled with fresh water.
He then put a wide-brimmed hat on her head. Stunned, she didn’t know what to say.
‘The village is tiny,’ he said in accented, but perfect English and her body responded as if it were the sexiest thing it had ever heard.
‘There’s no transport,’ he added. ‘So you have to follow the path, walk up the hill.’
She swore she saw doubt in his eyes and defensiveness flared. She might be curvy and a bit limp in the heat, but she would be fine. ‘I’m fit enough.’
His sensuous mouth curved. ‘I’m very aware how fit you are.’
It was the lightest flirtation but she blushed madly and almost tripped over her own feet.
A full smile broke on his face—a beam of genuine amusement that utterly bowled her over.
She fell—intensely and irrevocably. But they’d docked and presumably he needed to depart and she’d been a dork already so she stammered her thanks and started her slow trek up the narrow path to the village, refusing to turn back for another look at him. She’d embarrassed herself enough.
It took her more than twenty minutes to get to the top.
The first thing she saw was a small taverna with a stunning view of the sea below.
At that early hour there was only the one customer seated at one of the tables outside.
A man. Bethan stopped. Stared. Two bottles were in front of him.
How had he gotten there ahead of her? But he flashed that tantalising smile and she was sunk.
‘Need something refreshing?’ He jerked his chin towards the bottles. ‘Try this.’
At the cool amusement in his eyes, the challenge, something flared within. Bethan, who’d been shy and withdrawn for so long, refused to run away from this.
She unscrewed the cap of the elegant glass bottle and sipped the lemonada—infused with a particular tree extract, native to only one Greek island, it had zing and a distinctly different aroma. It was deliciously refreshing.
‘That wasn’t the ferry, was it?’ She eventually smiled at him. ‘And you’re not a ferryman.’
‘How’d you work it out?’ His smile flickered.
‘You didn’t ask for payment.’
He met her gaze directly. ‘Maybe I’m asking now.’
‘What’s it going to cost me?’
‘A little of your time...’