CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER FIVE
Tessa
T HE FIRST TIME I imagined myself to be in love with Rafael Drakos, I was nineteen years old. I’d known him since I was seven and my father moved us from a small town outside of Dublin to Santorini. As a child, he’d intimidated me, dark-eyed and brooding. He rarely interacted with Gavriil or me. It didn’t bother me. Gavriil preferred to keep his distance from the man he described as having a block of ice for a heart. I got enough moodiness from my father and his never-ending quest to earn my grandfather’s approval, so staying away from the older Drakos brother wasn’t hard.
Until that summer when I went to my first event at the Drakos villa. A birthday party for Lucifer. The massive estate, set on a private island I could see from our front porch, was just a short boat ride away from Santorini’s famous caldera. The mansion dwarfed our home, playing host to Corinthian pillars and too many balconies to count, all of them offering unobstructed views of the sea. There was beauty there, but also opulence, so much that I felt smothered by the sheer luxury of it all.
My mother had insisted on pushing my wheelchair up the ramp and into the main hall, a cavernous room lined with Greek sculptures that should have been in museums instead of someone’s private home. Most people gave me looks of pity. A few whispered behind their hands, as if being in a wheelchair meant I couldn’t hear. Gavriil hadn’t come down yet. Lucifer had made a beeline for my father as soon as we’d entered. He’d coveted Sullivan Legacy for years and wasted no opportunity to speak with my father.
Despite my parents’ tense marriage, my mother had sensed my father’s rising irritation. She’d wheeled me off to the side and told me to wait while she went to serve as a buffer between Father and Lucifer.
So I’d sat, as I often did. Observing. Waiting for a few acquaintances to arrive who didn’t let my wheelchair stand as an obstacle between us.
Until a glimpse of the sea just beyond a balcony had called to me. I’d wheeled myself outside and up to the railing, only to belatedly realize I wasn’t alone.
“Good evening, Tessa.”
That voice…to this day, I sometimes wake up to the memory of that voice sliding over my skin, sinking deep into my veins and winding its way through my body. My first experience, I would later realize, as a woman responding to a man.
I’d started to look behind me. But before I could crane my neck back, Rafe had shifted out of the shadows and knelt down next to my chair. He made small talk about the weather, recently completing a diving course with the CEO of some company he wanted to buy, asked me about my nonexistent social life.
When he had glanced back toward the ballroom, it gave me a moment to appreciate the details I had seen before but never noticed. His face was narrower than Gavriil’s, but the blades of his cheekbones were just as sharp, his black beard cut to precision along the straight lines of his jaw. He possessed the same pale blue eyes as Gavriil and his father. For so long, I had imagined them as Gavriil had, tiny glaciers existing inside a man who might as well have been made of stone for all the emotion he displayed.
But that night, as he looked back at me with that hint of warmth, I didn’t see a man of stone. I saw a man living behind a shield. A man I suddenly suspected had far greater depths than the child I had been would have recognized.
My mother had come out moments later, her voice shrill with nerves as she’d lectured me on not straying too far away from her. I’d been mortified. But Rafe hadn’t run away. Instead, he’d taken my hand in his and bowed over it. His touch, warm and firm, had lasted for a single heartbeat.
One heartbeat was all it took to fall for Rafael Drakos.
After that night, I couldn’t shake the impression he made on me. I never threw myself at him or found excuses to be with him. That smacked too much of desperation. But when we found ourselves at the same event or ran into each other in Santorini, I savored every moment I had, every bit of conversation.
Once, I’d found it romantic. Now it just adds to the layers of humiliation slowly suffocating me as I move down the street with my market bag thumping against my hip.
He wasn’t wrong. When I realized he was going to say no last night, I left. Ran away, as he put it, to be alone with my humiliation and anger.
The humiliation is something I’ll get over. Being rejected, especially by the man you pined over for nearly ten years and imagined yourself to be in love with, is embarrassing. Toss in that I had spun quiet dreams of him falling for me in the months leading up to our wedding, only to hear him tell his father just hours after our wedding ceremony that he would never fall in love, and I had every right to flee.
But the anger, the helplessness… I pause to catch my breath. Helpless anger is far worse than…anything. There is no power. No control. Only feelings that can do nothing but suffocate you.
The same anger that drove me to say yes to Rafe’s proposal. Had I not had that anger festering inside me from not getting to visit Katie the year before, I’m not sure I would have said yes, even with my decades-long crush. Something I realized on my wedding day after I’d fled to my room. I’d let Rafe’s offer be the catalyst for change instead of making the choice myself.
Rafe still hasn’t called or texted. Either he’s contemplating my offer or, the more likely scenario, he’s gone back to Greece.
Good riddance.
I’ve reserved today for rest, to get myself back into a good place. A quick trip to the market, a light lunch, hours of lounging on my bed or the terrace with a book. Tomorrow morning will be designated for work. And the afternoon will be something fun, something I can look forward to when thoughts of Rafe and his rejection of my proposal weigh me down.
Notre Dame, I decide as I turn a corner and my building comes into view. I can’t remember how many times I’ve been inside since I came to Paris. I’ll wake up early and continue my work on the schematic designs for Juliette’s house. Applying the skills I learned in my program to renovating a stunning home on Washington’s Olympic Coast isn’t just a dream. It’s satisfying, knowing I’m helping Juliette create a home for her stepmother that she’ll be able to move through with confidence.
It’s also the kind of project that will enable me to pursue other passions down the road, like taking on designs for clients needing accessible designs who wouldn’t be able to afford them. I’ve known since university that accessibility design was an area I wanted to focus on. But living in an apartment that wasn’t designed for someone like me has made me more appreciative of all the privileges I grew up with. That and having two potential clients who had needed those changes, but had to decline my proposals because of cost.
I won’t be able to help everyone. Not even close. But I can do something.
Buoyed by my plans for the next two days and thoughts of my future, I mentally map out tomorrow afternoon if the morning is successful. I’ll go to the cathedral first, navigate the long aisles, the dark little coves flickering with candles lit by prayers of the thousands who will have streamed through that morning. Then wrap up with a visit to Shakespeare and Company on the Left Bank. Definitely use the wheelchair so I can take as long as I want to wander through the shelves on the main floor and pick one, two, or even half a dozen books to take home.
Perhaps, after an afternoon to myself, I will somehow work my way around to accepting putting off my divorce long enough for Rafe to receive his inheritance. In the moment, all I could think of was myself. But condemning Rafe to losing out on his entire life’s work, not to mention the uncertain future Drakos Development’s thousands of workers would face in the aftermath of such a huge change, feels selfish.
I don’t want to. Resigning myself to another eight months of purgatory feels like forever. But it’s the right thing to do.
The scent of freshly baked baguette wafts up from my bag and eases some of my tension. Paris’s open-air markets are a wonderful place to spend a morning. I can find anything from fruit and gourmet cheese to flowers and spices. The Marché de Grenelle, with its colorful stalls arranged under the Métro, offers not just the usual consumables, but random goods like books and clothing.
I glance down at the bag slung across my body. Beneath the bread, fruit and wedge of goat’s cheese is an impulse purchase. One I questioned at least three times as I maneuvered my way through the crowds.
But beneath the self-doubt, I’m glad I bought it. Rafe may not want me as a lover. Fine. But someone will. When that time comes, I want to feel as sexy and confident as I can. Until then, I can enjoy my gift for myself.
“Tessa!”
I bite back a sigh and glance over my shoulder as a young man darts out of the lobby.
“Hi, Thomas.”
Thomas bounds up to me. With his shaggy brown hair and lanky build, he is the epitome of what I imagine a college boy from California to be. He’s here on a summer study abroad program, a detail I learned when I ran into him in the lobby his first week here. Since then, every time he sees me, he peppers me with questions about my life in Greece, what it was like to live in Ireland before that, my favorite things to do in Paris. It would be endearing if I hadn’t glimpsed the interest in his eyes or turned him down four times to “just grab coffee.”
Even if I wasn’t married, the kid is easily seven to eight years younger than me. I have zero interest in being some college student’s French fling.
“Let me get the door for you.”
He holds open one of the glass doors to our apartment building. I nod my thanks as I maneuver inside. Accepting people’s offers for help during my first couple of months in Paris took some getting used to. My mother had maintained almost exclusive control over my wheelchair whenever we were outside the house, meaning I never had the chance to see those offers of support. I’d mostly used my crutches in the privacy of my own room, as my mother claimed it made her nervous I could fall again. Moving around the City of Lights on my own had been freeing but also challenging at times. The assistance given to me by random strangers helps me stay independent.
“Can I carry your bag for you?”
“No, thanks.” I smile at Thomas over my shoulder as I head toward the elevator. “It was a light shopping day. Thanks, though.”
“I don’t mind. Really.”
Sometimes, though, offers for help can be challenging. I appreciate when people see me struggling and step in to assist. But when someone is acting like Thomas, pushing even after I’ve clearly said no, it’s hard to be polite.
“I know, Thomas. But I’m fine. Really.”
I feel a tug on my shoulder. Irritation surges through me as I look back to see Thomas wrapping a hand around the strap of my bag.
“You look exhausted, Tessa. Just let me help.”
I start to swing around, but he pulls at the same time I turn. The movement throws me off balance and I stumble, one of my crutches sliding out from under me as my weight shifts to my left leg. I can’t stop my cry as a sharp pain shoots up my calf. I twist and manage to lean into my fall, sliding across the tile floor as the contents of my shopping bag fall out.
“Tessa!”
Thomas is at my side, hands reaching for me as I grit my teeth against the pain.
“Thomas, if you touch me, I’m going to bean you with one of my crutches.”
He stands back, hands up in the air, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I was just trying to help.”
I close my eyes, wincing against the pain still circulating through my leg as I slowly sit up. Nothing broken from what I can tell. But God, that’s going to leave one heck of a bruise on my hip.
“I know, Thomas.” I sit there on the floor, catching my breath as I force myself to relax, to get my body back under control. “But next time someone tells you they don’t need help, listen.”
“I just—”
“Wanted to help,” I echo wearily. “I know. And I declined your first offer. Why did you keep pushing when I said no?”
I open my eyes to see Thomas staring down at me, a mixture of regret and confusion on his face.
“I…” He blinks at me. “I just…”
“I know,” I say gently. “Thomas, I really appreciate you offering to help. I do. Sometimes I need it. But if I say no, can you please listen to me next time?”
He stands there, looking absolutely miserable, as I slowly maneuver myself into a kneeling position. I reach down and grab my errant crutch, silently cursing as I look at my morning’s shopping strewn across the floor.
“I can…” He pauses, looking around at the mess. “I’d like to help you clean this up. Please?”
“Thank you.” I hiss out a breath and stay on my knees, waiting for the pain to subside. “That would be helpful.”
Thomas darts around the lobby, picking up bread and cheese, a somehow unbroken jar of stone fruit compote, a bunch of herb leaves, and…
I sigh as Thomas picks up a scrap of red material off the floor.
“Is this yours…”
His voice trails off as the material unfolds, revealing a barely there nightie made of scarlet lace. It’s a pointless piece of clothing, one I certainly hadn’t expected to find in the stalls of the Marché. But when I saw it, I imagined myself in it, the lace barely covering my breasts as I watched Rafe move toward the bed, his eyes devouring me as he slowly stripped off his shirt to reveal a muscled chest.
That’s a much more pleasant image than the sight of Thomas holding up the nightie with a slightly scandalized expression on his face in the middle of our apartment lobby.
“Thomas—”
The door to the lobby swings open as I stand back up. A shadow fills the doorway, the face obscured. It doesn’t matter. Whether it’s his broad shoulders or his scent or just his sheer presence, I know exactly who it is.
Great. Fantastic. Could this morning get any better?
“What’s going on here?”
I wince as Rafe’s voice cracks through the lobby like a whip. Thomas grips the nightie as he whirls to face Rafe.
“Who are you?”
I bite down on my lip as a very inappropriate giggle builds in my throat at the sight of Thomas squaring off against Rafe. The two are similar in height. But Thomas lacks Rafe’s sheer presence, the confidence that rolls off him as Rafe pinpoints him with an icy gaze.
“Thomas, it’s okay.”
Thomas shifts to stand between me and Rafe. It would be sweet if the whole situation weren’t so absurd, like watching a gazelle stare down a furious lion.
“You know him?”
“I’m her husband.”
I see Thomas’s shoulders fall. Guilt intrudes. It’s ridiculous, I know. I’ve never once led the boy on. But I still feel bad as he turns to look back at me with a crestfallen expression.
“You’re married?”
I raise my chin, determined to keep at least some semblance of my dignity intact despite this whole mess.
“I am.”
Thomas’s eyes flicker down to my left hand.
“You’re not wearing a ring.”
“She just told you she’s married.” Rafe stalks toward Thomas. Before I can open my mouth, he rips the nightie out of Thomas’s hands. “Stay away from her.”
“Rafe!”
He ignores me, advancing toward Thomas so that he has nowhere to go but backward until he slams into a wall.
“If you ever come near my wife again, I will track you down and make your life a living hell.”
My jaw drops. Thomas stutters out some inane reply before dumping my groceries on a sideboard table and making a beeline for the stairs. He avoids even looking in my direction as he takes the steps two at a time.
Silence falls. Seething, I navigate over to the table and balance with my hip so that I can repack my bag. I grit my teeth against the pain still pulsing in my leg.
“Why are you here? Again?” I snap as I shove the greens inside.
“To talk with you about your proposal.”
His matter-of-fact tone grates over my nerves even as his words make my breath catch.
God, get it together, Tessa .
“You didn’t have to be so mean.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened here.” His voice is just over my shoulder now and, despite my irritation, awareness slides down my spine. “That boy has a crush on you.”
“Yes, he does.”
“He didn’t know you were married.”
Accusation sharpens his words. I shove aside a niggle of guilt. I have nothing to feel guilty about.
“No one I’ve met in Paris knows I’m married.” I brace, then hold up my left hand, waggling my fingers before refocusing on shoving food back into my bag. “It’s easier that way.”
“Easier for who?”
“For me,” I shoot back.
The lobby goes quiet again, save for the rustle of produce and the tiny grunt that escapes my lips as my leg spasms again.
“You fell.”
I tense. Then, finally, “Yes.”
“Did he cause you to fall?”
“Rafe—”
He appears at my elbow, not close enough to disrupt what I’m doing, but close enough that every cell in my body responds to his proximity. To the memory of what occurred between us last night.
“I asked you a question, Tessa.”
My head whips around and I stare up at him.
“I heard you, Rafe. Don’t talk down to me because your ego’s bruised for some obscure reason. Yes, Thomas caused me to fall. No, you can’t kill him and bury him in a quarry somewhere. Yes, I’m in pain. Thank you for asking.” I reach out and wrap my fingers around the nightie still clutched in his hand. “And that’s mine.”
The bastard doesn’t relinquish his hold. No, he arches a brow and stares down at me, indiscernible emotion flickering in his eyes.
“Who did you buy it for?”
My thighs clench. I steady myself as I toss back my head and meet his gaze head-on.
“Me.”
His eyes darken. The air between us charges with electricity. My breathing grows ragged as he leans down slightly. God, is he going to kiss me?
“We need to talk.”
His voice is still measured, controlled. But the underlying huskiness sinks into my skin as warmth pools between my thighs.
“Okay.”
“Not here.”
I look away first, not wanting him to see how much I’m feeling right now. How much I’m desiring him. “Where?”
“Come with me and find out.”
I swallow hard. It’s hard for me to picture Rafe inviting me back to his hotel or some other location with a bed just so he can divest me of my virginity and send me on my way. Although at the same time, I think with a tiny smirk, he’s known for his efficiency.
No, the most likely scenario is that he wants to talk through terms and conditions. Negotiate in a setting where he’s in control. I’d prefer the comfort of my apartment. But I’m also learning when to pick my battles, when to push and when to accept that things might need to go a different way.
“All right. Let me put my groceries up and get my wheelchair.”
“You still use it?”
I nod. “Some days are good for crutches. Others aren’t, especially if I’m tired or hurting. Or if I might be moving around for a long time.”
“I’m coming up with you.”
I narrow my eyes. “You think so?”
“Yes.” His gaze darts to the stairs where Thomas vanished moments ago. “Just in case.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, you can take the stairs and meet me up there. The elevator won’t fit both of us.”
I turn away from him and move toward the elevator. Elevator is a generous term, given that it can barely fit two people. But the elevator is what made me living in this building possible. It’s slow and occasionally makes a grinding noise that has me questioning if it’s going to just randomly stall and strand me between floors.
Yet I love it. I love everything about this building, from the old marble floors to the wrought-iron railing, all the way down to the quirky foreign exchange students.
The elevator door slides open. I move into the tiny compartment and turn around to see Rafe standing just beyond the threshold, his expression hard.
“You think I’m overreacting.”
“Yes.”
“He knocked you down.”
“He did.”
I want to tell him how much it means to me that he cares, that he wants to protect me. But I also can’t stand back and let others fight my battles for me anymore. I did that for years. I’m not going to slip back into old patterns.
“Rafe,” I say gently, “it was an accident.”
“Just because it was an accident doesn’t mean he gets a free pass.”
I sigh, caught between agreeing with him and not wanting to see Thomas penalized for what happened.
“Yes, he made a mistake. Had he been dismissive about it, or cruel or careless, I would agree with you.” I put my hand up to stop the door from closing. “But he wasn’t, Rafe. He was apologetic and, before you showed up, I think he truly realized what he had done. People make mistakes, but they can also fix them.”
His glower deepens.
“Perhaps. But people can also simply be people. They can fail.”