CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tessa
I STARE AT my screen, rereading the same email for the fourth time. I’ve managed to push through most of the day by focusing on work. Juliette’s house is a pleasure to work on. I did a video conference with her earlier, including a walk-through of some of the rooms I had questions on. Seeing the spaces and hearing Juliette’s enthusiasm for everything I proposed gave me a much-needed boost to my gloomy mood.
The house in France, however, the one for the client I’m essentially doing for free… I’ll never admit it to Rafe, but the scope of the project is starting to become clear. And God, it’s going to be rough.
When the woman wrote to me sharing how her husband had passed away before he had been able to make the improvements he had promised as old age had stolen her independence, I had resolved to find a way. Yes, on some level, I know Rafe is right. It’s foolhardy. I don’t even know if the inspection I’ve ordered will find that the house is savable.
But as I read the inquiry that came through my website, her desperation was evident. “I feel trapped,” she’d written. “I’d like to live my remaining years as best I can, but I fear it’s too late.”
I felt each and every one of those words. And, I think angrily as I exit out of my screen and push back from my desk, I don’t give one wit about Rafe’s outlook on business. I can survive without Tessa’s Interiors. I started this business because it was something I enjoyed and something I could bring a unique perspective to. I would rather try and fail than make a profit at the expense of people who could use a business like mine the most.
Screw you, Rafe.
He hadn’t sought me out last night after I’d left the dining room. Seeing that side of him, the one I’d heard Gavriil talk so much about but had never witnessed in its entirety, had been unsettling. Rafe and I were nowhere near compatible. I must have had a moment of insanity to agree to his proposal.
Not insanity, I correct myself as I shift from my office chair into my wheelchair. Desperation. I roll myself out onto my balcony and look out over the sea. This is one of the few things I’ve missed living in Paris. Being able to go out and smell the salty air, hear the distant cry of gulls, the lapping of waves on the beach.
Maybe I’ll set aside some funds from my next project and schedule a couple trips to some of France’s beaches. I haven’t been to Normandy or the south. The south is especially appealing given that Katie and I both earned our scuba diving certifications a couple months ago. Maybe when I get back, I can talk her into a girls’ trip to celebrate her engagement. She texted me photos yesterday of her proudly wearing the ring.
I didn’t tell her where I was, just that I had left for a short trip and promised to tell her everything when I got back. When she pressed for more details, I’d encouraged her to enjoy her engagement and being with a man like Nathan who adored her.
My heart twists my chest. I’m happy for Katie. Truly. She was mostly ignored by my father and barely acknowledged as my mother devoted herself to my care. It’s a miracle she doesn’t resent me. Although our parents’ lack of interest gave her a freedom I never had. A freedom that kept us on friendly terms, but without the kind of deep, fierce love we have now.
I am happy for her. It’s just hard to ignore the whisper that I may never experience what she has. And after Rafe’s and my disagreement last night, I wouldn’t be surprised if he booked his plane to fly me back to Paris before I can experience sex.
At this point, I wouldn’t fight him on the terms of the divorce if that happens. I can handle eight months if it means finally being completely free of my past and moving forward. Not just with my life in Paris and my business, but getting out, meeting new people and maybe finding someone who wasn’t an arrogant ass.
A knock sounds on my door. I tense. “Come in.” James, the butler, enters. I smile at him. “Good evening.”
He gives me a slight smile in return. “Good evening, Mrs. Drakos.”
I barely manage not to wince at the sound of my married name.
“You’re invited to dinner on the rooftop tonight.”
“On the rooftop?” I repeat.
“Yes, madam. Mr. Drakos has invited you to join him at eight.”
My heart jumps into my throat. Not what I was expecting at all. “Are you sure?”
James gives me another slight smile. “Confident, madam. You two are the only ones here.”
“Of course.”
I wait until he leaves before going back into my room and moving over to my closet. I assumed I would only be here a couple of weeks and packed light. A few sundresses and some loungewear. I shouldn’t want to dress up for the man who so quickly dismissed me yesterday after reminding me that I had absolutely no stake in his life whatsoever.
But I want to look good. Not for him, but for me. So I can navigate whatever is going to happen with the confidence I’ve developed over the last few months instead of slipping back into old patterns and letting my insecurities rule me.
I pull out a red sundress Katie convinced me to buy on a shopping trip on the Champs-élysées. I brush out my hair, add a touch of perfume behind my ears, and then pick up a book I’ve been meaning to read for the past few weeks, a romantic comedy with family drama, ghosts and a star-crossed romance to distract myself.
After an hour, I finally make it through the first chapter, interrupted by constantly glancing at the clock and the door.
Disgusted with myself, I set the book on my nightstand and reach for my crutches. I’ve spent most of the day in either my office chair or my wheelchair. It’ll be good for me to get up and move around.
I also resolve to utilize the impressive personal gym James showed me this morning. One of the reasons why I’ve been able to shift to utilizing the forearm crutches far more than I ever did at home is because of the incredible physical therapist my doctor in Paris paired me with. I’m not going to lose progress just because I’m distracted by my coldhearted husband.
I make my way to the elevator a few minutes later and merge on the top deck. I stop, confused by the sight before me.
The deck is incredible, a stone terrace edged by plants and strategically placed lighting that make the lush flowers seemingly glow in the dark. One side of the terrace is lined with endless lounges, plump cushions and even plumper pillows offering a place for someone to sit and enjoy the views of the sea, the olive groves and the rooftops of Corfu in the distance.
But it’s the table that has me confused. The small table in the middle of the terrace, draped with a white tablecloth and topped with a small bud vase with two red roses and a single candle.
“Good evening.”
I turn around. My heart catapults into my throat. Rafe is standing just a few feet behind me. The sleeves of his dark blue dress shirt are rolled up to the elbows revealing tan skin and muscled forearms. His black pants follow the long length of his legs. There’s no sign of the coldness, the anger he displayed yesterday. He’s regarding me with that half-amused smirk I’ve seen him sport so much since he walked into the restaurant and upended my life less than forty-eight hours ago.
“Hello.”
He gestures to the table. “Shall we?”
I stay where I am.
“I hope you can understand my confusion.”
He nods. “While I stand by my words, my reaction was strong yesterday. Consider this a peace offering.”
I notice what’s missing: the actual apology for his overreaction. But I also recognize that he’s offering me something he probably doesn’t to most people: a truce. If this were an actual marriage, I would call him out on his lack of remorse. But it’s not. As he made perfectly clear yesterday, this is a business arrangement. Nothing more. I can either accept what he’s offering, or walk away and fly back to Paris.
The temptation to do just that is strong. But I would be shooting myself in the foot. I’m attracted to Rafe. Very attracted. Even if he and I disagree on the fundamentals of life and business, I know him. He knows me. Just having those years between us lessens some of my nervousness.
His impressive physique certainly helps, too , a naughty voice whispers in my ear.
“Thank you.”
I move to the table. He pulls out my chair, waits until I’m seated before he circles around. He nods and James materializes from a corner of the terrace with a bottle of wine and two wineglasses.
“Mrs. Drakos?”
This time I’m not quick enough to contain my flinch.
“Yes, please. Thank you, James.”
He pours the wine and then leaves as silently as he arrived.
Rafe picks up his glass. “Not used to your married name?”
“No. I’ve been using my maiden name in Paris.”
“I noticed.”
He says the words matter-of-factly. There’s an almost one hundred percent chance it doesn’t even bother him that I don’t use his name.
“How was your day?”
“Productive. Again.” I start to tell him about Juliette’s house, then stop.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just…shop talk. Sometimes I get very excited and forget most people have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“I’m interested.”
His words lodge somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. I meet his gaze and, for the first time, I’m grateful for his blunt way of speaking. I know that when he tells me he’s interested, he truly is.
I tell him about the schematics, the work involved in breaking down each part of my proposal to Juliette into further detail and getting more explicit with things like materials, design and the work involved.
“A far more intricate process than I realized,” Rafe says as James places salads in front of us.
“What about you? How was your day?”
Rafe blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting the question.
“Busy.”
“Are you working on anything special?”
His lips curl, but the smile is humorless. “Just work.”
I start to ask a question, then stop, remembering how yesterday went. I don’t want to pry, even if the flatness in his voice makes me curious about what’s going on at Drakos. Makes me wonder why he seems so disinterested in the company he’s devoted his life to.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“No lies. Remember?”
The words are gentle, said without the tension from yesterday.
“I always got the impression that Drakos Development was…well, everything.”
“It is the focus of my life.” He looks out over the sea. “Although when I compare my level of commitment to the company against Gavriil’s, I find mine wanting.”
I can’t help but smile. “Gavriil is certainly passionate.”
Rafe’s eyes land back on me. “Just the one kiss?”
“Just the one,” I reply with a small smile. “It doesn’t even begin to compare to the kiss he gave Juliette on their wedding day.” My smile dims. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell me. That it was all for the will.”
Rafe looks at me for a long moment. “He was in a hard place. Judging by the last time we spoke, his marriage is no longer just for the inheritance.”
I blink at him in surprise. “Are you defending him?”
He arches a brow. “You sound surprised.”
“It just… I know you two never had the best relationship.”
“We never had a relationship at all.” Rafe’s smirk is cold, bloodless. “As I’m sure he told you.”
I don’t bother denying that Gavriil has vented to me on numerous occasions about his brother. But I also think Gavriil got at least some of it wrong. There’s a reason lurking somewhere in the past, something that made Rafe turn away.
“At least he had you.” Rafe gives a slight shake of his head. “Never a friendship I would have imagined.”
I think back to the first moment I met Gavriil as he’d leaned over the low-slung stone wall, golden brown hair falling over pale blue eyes, and asked why I was in a wheelchair. His bluntness had been refreshing compared to my coddled existence.
“Gavriil was the first person to ask what happened to me.”
A furrow appears between Rafe’s brows. “That was a positive experience for you?”
“It was then. Even now, it just depends on the day. Sometimes I don’t mind answering questions. Other times it’s hard. But back then…” I pick up my wineglass and gently swirl it. “It was like everyone just pretended like we were normal. Like I wasn’t in a wheelchair or going to see a physical therapist. Your brother walked right up to me and said, ‘Why are you in a wheelchair?’”
Rafe makes a huffing noise that sounds almost like a laugh. “Not surprising.”
“He wasn’t being rude or mean. We were kids. He just wanted to know. He was the first person, aside from my sister, who saw that I was different and didn’t either make fun of me or pretend like everything was just fine.”
Rafe is quiet as James comes out and delivers our main course: freshly caught fish drizzled with butter sauce and served on a bed of fingerling potatoes.
“May I ask what did happen?”
I pause with a fork full of fish halfway to my mouth.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“No,” I agree, “I don’t. Before we move to Greece, we lived in Ireland. My father was working for a real estate firm. Slowly climbing his way up. I vaguely remember my parents arguing about moving to Greece. My mom didn’t want to leave her family, his family, the area they grew up in. It didn’t help, too, that my mom was home with Katie and me. I remember her being tired all the time. Tired and sad because my father was gone a lot trying to convince my grandfather and aunt to promote him.” My throat tightens. “There was a day my father went into Dublin for a meeting. Katie was up a lot the night before. Normal toddler stuff, nothing dramatic. My mother was exhausted. I wanted to go out and play. She asked me to wait, to just give her a couple hours to sleep.”
I can still remember my frustration, indignation that I was once again waiting for my mom to stop messing with my baby sister or get up from a nap. I feel it as though I’m there right now in the living room, watching her quietly snore on the couch as I creep past.
The guilt is also fresh, just as bitter and heavy as it was twenty-one years ago when I woke up in the hospital and realized my family’s lives had been changed forever.
“We lived on the edge of a moor. It was beautiful. This endless expanse of grass and shrubs. That day it was misty. I pretended like fairies were lurking in the mist. I wanted to go out and walk along the stone wall that ran along the back of our property.
“I can still remember climbing up on the wall, holding my arms out as I placed one foot in front of the other. A big girl, navigating the wall on her own. I slipped. I only fell about ten feet. But I sustained an injury to my spinal cord. One that left me partially paralyzed below the waist. I’m fortunate to have as much control and feeling as I do.”
Silence falls. Rafe is watching me with that cold, dark gaze. Except the longer I stare, the more I see. The slightest softening of his eyes. A tensing of his full lips. A touch of pallor beneath his golden skin.
“I’m sorry, Tessa.”
I breathe in deeply, knots of tension loosening as I accept a rare gift of compassion from my husband. “Thank you. I don’t remember much of my life before the accident, so it’s been a part of me for so long that most days, I don’t think about it. But my parents do. Ever since that day, nothing has ever been the same.”
Suddenly aware of the depth of what I’ve revealed, I start to say something, anything to relieve the tension. But the shrill ring of Rafe’s phone saves me from having to come up with something. He glances at the screen and frowns.
“Excuse me.”
He steps away. I let out a harsh breath before taking a long sip of wine. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his lips thin, his face tighten. Even if he doesn’t carry the same personal passion that Gavriil does for Drakos Development, the company is still his first priority. A good thing to remember and motivation for me to guard my heart.
I may like Rafe, care for him. But we will never be on the same page when it comes to what’s important in life.
“Yes. Fine. Do what needs to be done.”
He hangs up and comes back to the table.
“Apologies.”
“No.” I wave him off. “Business comes first.”
Something flickers across his face, an emotion I can’t place. But neither of us pursue it. We’ve reached some sort of an impasse, quality that is far more pleasant than the tension we experienced yesterday. The rest of the meal proceeds smoothly, partially due to the exquisite meal and incredible dessert.
“You’re not going to stay for your first lesson?”
My heart surges into my throat as heat sweeps through me. “What?”
He stands and moves with a predatory grace that makes my breath catch. He stops by a lounge and turns, one corner of his mouth curved up in a taunting smirk as he gestures toward the cushions.
“Join me.”
I hear the subtle command in his voice, try to fight the way my body responds to the deep melodic tones of his voice.
And fail miserably as I find myself standing and moving slowly toward him. Drawn toward the banked fire in his eyes, the hunger that emboldens me even as I tremble inside at what’s to come. Nervousness, excitement, anticipation, it all swirls together as I stop a foot away.
Slowly, he reaches out and grabs my waist. I slide my arms out of my crutch cuffs and lay them against a nearby chair. Rafe eases me down onto the lounge, his hands firm yet infinitely gentle. The pressure of his fingers on my skin sends pleasurable bolts of sensation through my body.
He sits next to me and pulls me closer. Our breaths mingle as he lowers his head, pausing just above my lips. My pulse pounds so fiercely I wonder if I’m about to pass out.
“Rafe.”
There’s a question in the way I say his name, a hesitation. I don’t know what he has planned, what’s going to come after this. I do know that I’m standing on the edge of a precipice. One wrong step, and I could lose my heart to a man who will never allow himself to return my feelings.
“Tell me you want this.”
Another command. But one that offers a way out. I stare into his eyes, pale blue fire.
And make my choice.
“Kiss me.”
The words are barely out of my mouth when his lips capture mine. I moan as one arm wraps around my waist, his hand pressing against my back and pulling me tighter against his body. His other hand delves into my hair, his fingers cradling the back of my head as he deepens the kiss.
But this time I’m not just going to sit back and let him initiate. I slowly run my tongue along his lips. He groans. Our mouths open, tongues delving, breaths melding. I can’t tell where I end and he begins as he urges me closer, like he can’t get enough of me.
My hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, then wrap around his neck. My fingers slide into hair, the silky strands a delicious contrast to the hard planes of his chest. Driven by desire and newfound confidence, I gently tug, rewarded by a growl as he grips my hips and hauls me onto his lap.
I gasp as my skirt rides up. The only barrier between his hard length and my core are his pants and the thin material of my underwear. I shift my hips, moaning as the most incredible feeling spirals through me.
But before I can experiment further, Rafe pulls back. His hands hold me in place so that all I can feel is that wonderful, torturous pressure.
“Rafe,” I beg, trying to move, to feel more.
He doesn’t answer. At least not verbally. No, instead he brushes a kiss over my forehead, one that calms some of the heat racing through me even as it stirs an altogether different feeling in my chest. A tenderness that is both beautiful and unwanted as he trails his mouth over my cheek and down my jaw.
I should stop him. I wanted fire. Foreplay. Sex. Not this sweetness, this romance that makes me want things I can’t have.
I shudder, trying to keep myself under control as his lips trail down my neck toward my shoulders. I knew this was a possibility. That I might struggle to keep sex separate from how I used to feel about my husband.
Used to? a little voice taunts in my head.
He grazes his teeth against the dip in my shoulder, reignites the fire. I embrace it, letting my head drop back as I focus on the physical sensations.
His fingers slide up my neck and into my hair a moment before he turns my head. He kisses me again, a searing kiss I feel in every nerve ending in my body.
And then he pulls back.
“Is that it?”
He chuckles. “For now.”
Disappointment chases away some of my contentment. “But…that was just a kiss.”
One brow climbs up. “If that only ranks as just a kiss, I’m going to have to improve on my technique.”
I lightly thump his chest with my fist. “You know it was good.”
“Good,” he repeats with slight disdain. “I prefer the best.”
“Given that you’re the only man who’s truly kissed me, you are the best.”
“Minus my brother.”
I roll my eyes. “I never should have told you that.”
“I’ll have to remind him to keep his lips off my wife the next time I see him.”
His teasing words have the opposite effect. He says “my wife” so casually. Yet in just a few months, we’ll be divorced.
“Well,” I say, striving for a light tone as I slide off his lap, “if that’s all for tonight, I’m going to go to bed.”
I avoid his gaze as I reach for my crutches. He waits until I’m standing before he speaks.
“Tessa.”
I swallow hard before I look at him, trying to project a confidence I don’t feel. “Yes?”
“We can stop this at any time.”
He stands, sliding his hands into his pockets. The fire is gone, replaced by the familiar ice I’m accustomed to. The lover has disappeared. In his place stands the billionaire developer who can switch feelings on and off in the blink of an eye.
I knew what I was getting into when I proposed this. Just like I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to marry Rafe. I ran away then. I’m not going to run away now.
I raise my chin up and smile. “I know. I’m enjoying myself. Hopefully you are, too.”
“Yes. But this isn’t about me.” He advances toward me. “You’re upset.”
I shake my head, dislodging more of my hair from its updo. “No.”
“No lies, Tessa.” His hand comes up, then falls back to his side. “Not to me. Not to yourself. Arrangements only work if both parties are honest with each other.”
Arrangement. A cold word. Businesslike. One that yanks me out of the emotional quagmire I’ve stumbled into and pulls me back to reality. There is nothing waiting for me on the other side of this. Not with Rafe, anyway.
But if I can keep my head, if I can enjoy what he’s offering, explore my sexuality with someone I trust, there’s only endless possibility waiting for me at the end.
“I want to be here, Rafe. I’ll tell you if that changes.”
I turn and walk away.