CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rafe
I WATCH T ESSA out of the corner of my eye as I walk her through the massive living space on the first floor of my villa in Corfu. Since we left Paris, with a quick stop by her apartment for her to pack, her tension has noticeably increased.
Her smile slipped as we boarded the private plane at Charles de Gaulle. Her hands gripped the armrests of her seat as we took off. My few attempts to engage her in conversation about her business fell short as she murmured half answers and kept her gaze on the window. When my pilot announced that we were getting ready to descend into Corfu, her lips thinned into a line. Her expression didn’t alter on the limo ride through Corfu, even as we passed elegant Venetian mansions with soaring arched windows and the long, pillared portico of the Palace of St. Michael.
Even now, as she glances around the luxurious surroundings of what will be her new home for at least a couple weeks, she looks trapped. Hunted.
I don’t regret many things. Regret has no place in business. It is one of the few, perhaps the only, useful lesson Lucifer taught me. As I watch Tessa’s eyes dart around the room, as if she’s seeking an escape, she reminds me of a frightened animal about to leap away.
When I envisioned our arrangement, I pictured taking my time, introducing her to the pleasures of sex while I dictated the direction of our affair. It gave me an opportunity to wrestle back some of the control she’d taken from me by negotiating such an incredible clause.
Yet seeing her like this, I realize I underestimated the impact it would have on her. I don’t fully understand her reasons for hating it so much. But I don’t need to. Her reasons are her own. Just like when I make a decision, I don’t owe anyone an explanation. Being CEO means I get to make the decisions.
“I can have the plane take you back to Paris.”
She whips her head around. “No.” She exhales slowly. “Honestly, this is good for me.”
“It doesn’t look good.”
Her laugh sounds forced. “Probably not. But I can’t go my whole life avoiding the fact that I spent almost my entire existence here.”
I know the sensation she’s describing. It’s the same one I experienced the day Lucifer’s secretary called to let me know he had passed. Except unlike Tessa, I have yet to find a purpose in that freedom. Perhaps it’s too late for me. Forty-one years is a very long time.
She turns to face me then. Her face is determined, her breathing more even.
“I will make this work.”
I’m struck by the stark difference between the woman in front of me now and the young woman I knew before our wedding. The one who watched the world go by with a sad hunger that pulled at me, tempted me to reach out when no one else had come close to making me feel anything.
But the woman my wife has become doesn’t need me to seek her out and keep her company. She’s thriving on her own. A notion that stirs both admiration and that distant sense of loss.
“I trust you’ll inform me if you start to feel differently.” At her nod, I move toward the hallway. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”
I take her on a tour of the villa, pointing out features like the massive kitchen, the library, the terrace with the infinity pool that looks out over the sea. As a child, I despised Lucifer’s grandiose spending. But as we move through massive doorways and utilize one of several elevators, I’m grateful for it. As I watch Tessa out of the corner of my eye, I get a small glimpse of the world she’s grown up in. One she’s now trying to change through her work.
A small smile tugs at my lips. I already knew her to be a kind woman. But knowing she’s resilient, determined, and is using that kindness to benefit others stirs a deep pride. One I’ve never felt for anyone or anything in my life.
We continue down the hall toward the eastern end of the villa, stopping in front of a pair of white doors.
“Welcome.”
Her eyes widen as I open the doors. White walls gleam against the contrast of a slatted wood ceiling with exposed beams. A four-poster bed sits against one wall, angled toward double glass doors on the other side of the room that open out to a private balcony with a soaking tub and stunning views of the sea. A bright blue fainting couch sits in an alcove on the far side of the room with a bay of windows behind it and views of the olive groves.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Coming from an interior designer, I consider that an especially high compliment.”
She flashes a smile at me. “You’re welcome.” She moves into the room, navigating her wheelchair with ease. “Where is your room?” The words are barely out of her mouth before a blush stains her cheeks.
“I stay on the second floor. There’s an elevator at the end of this hall if you’re using your wheelchair.”
She frowns. “Is the master suite not on the bottom floor?”
Old anger surges in my chest, then abates just as quickly.
“It is. I utilize an office space.”
“Why?”
Irritated, I moved toward the doors. “Because I do.”
Instead of backing down as I would have expected her to, Tessa turns and moves closer, following me.
“I remember seeing pictures of this place when your father first bought it. Right before…” Her voice trails off.
“Right before he was kicked out of his own company for threatening an old woman and nearly stealing her home from her.” My smile is cold and humorless. “Your point is?”
I know that I’m being abrupt. Even a touch cruel. Despite officially holding the title of wife, however, Tessa does not need to, nor have the right to, know the intimate details of my life.
She tilts her head to one side, watching me, as if trying to decide just how far to push me on this. At last, she looks away with a shrug.
“It’s none of my business.”
“No. It’s not.”
Her head whips around, her eyes widening for a moment before a shutter drops down over her face. I blink. This is how she looked last night in Paris when she first saw me. Distant. Removed.
“Well, I’m sure you have things to attend to. Thank you for the tour.”
She’s dismissing me. Me. I open my mouth to argue, then realize it would only be sabotaging myself. I have an opportunity to exit with no more conversation on a subject that is best left closed.
I incline my head to her.
“Dinner is at seven in the main dining room.”
I turn and walk out. I have plenty of work to focus on. Tasks that need my attention. But as the afternoon progresses, I find myself returning time and again to our exchange. To how quickly I dismissed what should have been a simple question, one that makes even more sense when I take her profession into account. I responded from a place of emotion. I find it odd that after years of suppressing, of existing in a space of neutrality, that Lucifer’s death would shake my ability to stay calm and controlled. Something I will need to examine at a later date as I wrestle myself back under control.
A couple hours later, I closed my laptop and stand. I’ve accomplished a lot. But my focus has been off, drifting on more than one occasion to the woman just one floor down. When I proposed her coming back with me to Greece, I had assumed it would be easy to do the work I needed to during the day and focus my attention on Tessa at night. Instead, thoughts of her plagued me through conference calls, reviewing reports and drafting up several letters of correspondence.
Tomorrow, I decide as I walked through the villa, I’ll go to our office in the city center. Physical distance will be useful. Tonight, though, I plan on continuing what we started when we sealed our contract with a kiss.
Tessa is waiting for me in the dining room. There’s an odd tightening in my chest at the sight of her sitting there, and how right she looks there. For once, the room doesn’t feel like a prison. I sat at that table for far too many events when Lucifer still ran Drakos Development, sometimes with an iron fist, other times with a lackadaisical attitude as he pursued his latest desire, from women to properties to vacations.
When I do finally inherit, I intend to sell all of the properties Lucifer left me. I have no interest in residing in the spaces he lived in, utilized for his years of debauchery and cruelty.
Yet to stay somewhere else feels like a surrender, as if I’m acknowledging his memory affects me to any extent.
“Good evening.”
She looks up at me and smiles. “Hi.”
I sit down next to her. “How was your day?”
She blinks, as if surprised by my question.
“Good. Progress on Juliette’s house. And,” she says with a proud smile, “I made headway on another new client proposal.” Her face falls when she sees my frown. “What?”
“Didn’t you say that you already had a client you were working with after Juliette?”
“Yes, and I actually just got another referral.”
I frown. “How are you going to manage that by yourself?”
Some of her excitement dims. I’ve never regretted telling anyone exactly what they need to hear. But as doubt creeps into her eyes, I mentally chide myself for not stopping and crafting a better response.
“I won’t be taking on any more. But this client…” Her voice trails off. “She’s the reason why I wanted to start my own firm.”
“What do you mean?”
She hesitates, then pulls her phone out of her pocket. “I love designing. Sometimes it’s a simple change or upgrade. Other times it’s a complete overhaul.” She taps something on her screen. “And sometimes, it might be the first time someone gets a home that’s truly made for them and their abilities.”
She hands me the phone. I swipe through the photos. An old, rambling farmhouse that looks to be one step away from disaster, with steep stairs, a slight pitch to the floor and a sagging roof. I know nothing about design. But from what little I can see, it should be condemned, not redesigned.
I say as much as I hand the phone back to her.
“It’s been in her family for generations.” She smiles as she looks down at her phone. “Just outside of a village in southeastern France.”
“Given the state of the house, I’m surprised your client has the funds to fix this.”
“She received a grant.” Tessa doesn’t meet my eyes. “There’s also a charity that’s providing some support.”
A suspicion forms in my mind as I stare at her. “Tessa.”
“Don’t.” She looks at me then, her face hard even as her heart shines in her eyes. “This is a big part of what I want to do with my company, Rafe. To help people.”
“An admirable goal. But you also have to think about it from a business perspective. Maybe hire some help instead of giving away your services for nothing.”
“With what I earned on that Paris apartment and what I will earn from Juliette’s house and the penthouse in London, I have plenty.”
“But you can’t run a business on charity.”
Her lips thin. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
Her words deliver an unexpected blow. It shouldn’t matter. She’s behaving foolishly, leading with her heart instead of the numbers she’s no doubt ignoring. But, I remind myself, she’s an adult. Capable of making her own decisions and, judging by the way she’s refusing to meet my eyes, more than aware that she’s making poor choices.
Perhaps another opportunity will come up in the coming weeks to discuss. To steer her toward efficiency and practicality rather than trying to save the world. She won’t like it, but I’ll also be including a generous settlement in her account when our divorce is finalized. The account I know she still hasn’t touched. Another thing that shouldn’t bother me. How Tessa chooses to fund her life is none of my concern.
“Have you thought about redecorating the villa?”
Her question catches me off guard. “Excuse me?”
“The villa,” she continues, as if she hasn’t heard my voice’s sudden drop in temperature. “It’s a beautiful structure. With the right upgrades and renovations, it could really be—”
“Once I receive my inheritance, including this villa, it will go on the market as is.”
Her eyes widen. “Why? You could do so much with it—”
“I have no interest in doing anything with it other than turning a profit.”
Her eyes narrow. “Is that all you ever think about? How much money you can make?”
“It’s the only thing I know or care to know.”
I can feel her disappointment. I dismiss it, telling myself it doesn’t matter.
“There’s more to life than money.”
“And there are plenty of villas I can purchase with the money I earn.”
“Is it because your father—”
“Don’t.”
I don’t bother to soften my order with a smile or some other nicety. Tonight appears to be about setting boundaries. Clearly defined ones so we don’t have this issue again. I mentally step into the void, that place where nothing exists except me. A place where I have total control. Where no one can reach me, including her.
“The subject of Lucifer is off-limits to everyone, and that includes you, arrangement or no. Are we clear?”
She stares at me for so long I wonder if she’s going to say anything. Then, at last, she closes her portfolio and puts it in her lap.
“Crystal.”
She wheels back from the table, turns and leaves the room. I sit there, staring down the length of the table. The room seems a touch darker, memories of the past surging in the shadows to fill the emptiness left by my wife.
My butler, James, appears with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“Is Mrs. Drakos not joining us, sir?”
“No.” I keep my eyes away from the door that Tessa just left through. “Tired from traveling. I’m dining alone.”
He nods his head and sets one glass on the table. I watch the ruby red liquid splash inside. Focus on the details instead of the emotions until they’re quiet enough for me to push them back down where they belong.
I remember creating the void as a child. I couldn’t have been more than five or six. I remember stepping into it for the first time after one of Lucifer’s screaming matches that left my mother in tears and me cowering in her embrace.
One of the last times I remember her hugging me before she withdrew from my life. Became a cold wraith that flitted through the villa until one day, she simply left.
The void is what kept me strong all these years, immune to anything and anyone. I utilize it not just for my own sake, but for others’, too. People like Gavriil, even if he doesn’t know it. The void was the only thing that kept me from breaking, from going to my brother and offering the comfort and support I had wanted to, an action that would have resulted in Lucifer tossing Gavriil back out onto the streets.
People like Tessa, who look at the world with stars in their eyes that blind them to the reality of who people really are inside.
For decades, the void has been unbreachable. But as I pick up my glass of wine, I have to work to dismiss the guilt tugging at me through the walls I usually maintain. Yes, I was harsh. Tessa has never experienced that side of me, not fully anyway, in the years I’ve known her.
Better for her to learn now, though, before we continue with our agreement. If she truly wants to follow through with our arrangement instead of ending up in a long, drawn-out legal battle, she’ll have to accept me and who I am.
With a man like Lucifer for a father, it’s only understandable that I have a little bit of the devil in me.