Chapter Five
Zervou instructed his driver to park outside Ariadne’s apartment complex and then retrieve her, while Zervou waited in the car.
While he wanted to lure Erjon out of hiding, he knew he had to be careful. Two sightings in this—well, slum was really the only word for it—within two days would be suspicious, but if it seemed like he was trying to hide his identity the second day…
Yes, that worked better for his purposes. Though he hated to give Erjon any credit, he’d been hunting the man for years to no avail. There was some intelligence in the man to be able to stay out of Zervou’s reach.
When his driver returned, Ariadne following behind him, Zervou watched. She had dressed in what he’d sent over this morning. Admittedly, he’d half expected her to be defiant for defiance’s sake and refuse.
But she wore the high-necked dress that went all the way down to the ground, hugging the lines of her body beautifully. Her arms were bare. Her hair was down in a riot of waves. If she wore makeup, it was minimal. A touch of color at her lips if that.
She looked dangerous in black. The musculature of her bare arms added to that danger, while the delicate gold rings she wore on her fingers and the band of dainty jewels around her wrist were the perfect hint of something softer, more elegant than the skilled brawler she was.
Perhaps the only nod to her own style was her usual hoops in her ears and nose and the shoes, which he only noticed as she was helped into the back seat—sneakers instead of the expensive sandals he’d supplied for her.
Since she somehow seemed to make it work, he didn’t nitpick. It lent an aura of credibility to the whole thing if she didn’t simply change overnight. “You look beautiful.”
She eyed him warily as she settled into the seat next to him. “I feel a bit ridiculous. Dresses and jewels aren’t my norm.” She held up her wrist and let the bracelets jangle against each other as if proving her point.
“They are now, for the time being.”
She made a vague kind of noise, no doubt meant to convey agreement without actually agreeing. She shifted in her seat, as if the luxurious limousine was somehow uncomfortable.
“Do you travel like this everywhere?” she asked, a hint of derision or disapproval in her tone.
“I travel in whatever ways I wish,” he returned, a little bolt of irritation surprising him.
He’d long ago learned how to move through life without letting irritation eat him from the inside out.
He had built himself into a man who did not have to deal with irritations or frustrations or annoying people.
He studied Ariadne with some curiosity. He supposed she might be the exception.
As Erjon’s daughter, he needed her—no matter how she behaved.
What a strange feeling.
“So, what exactly is the point of this dinner?”
“To be seen. Gossip is practically currency in the circles I walk among. We want all the rich and powerful in high society to want to know who my date is. The more the information permeates, the more it trickles down to the type of people Erjon associates with.”
She seemed to consider this, but her eyebrows remained beetled together, the faint hint of a frown tugging the corners of her lips down. Like she was confused.
“You may be required to smile at me, once or twice,” he offered.
“A laugh or two wouldn’t go astray.” He reached out, skimmed a finger over the curve of her shoulder.
He wasn’t surprised that she jerked at the touch.
It was kind of the point. “And a touch cannot cause you to jump a foot,” he informed her.
She scowled. “I wasn’t expecting it. I’m used to punching in response to unannounced touches.” She laid this down as a bit of a challenge.
He couldn’t help but be amused. “You will have to get used to keeping those fists unclenched while we are together.” He placed his hand over hers—currently clenched in said fist. “Relax, Ariadne. There is no boxing match here. It is a meal. A bit of a performance.”
Her hand didn’t relax. She remained stiff next to him, her fingers clenched. Still, he left his hand atop the fist. There was something fascinating about the way tension coiled there, knowing she could do some damage if she’d like.
He ran his index finger along the bumps of her knuckles. Power changed to tension, to bracing. She was a myriad of reactions.
“Have you decided which facility you would like your mother to go to?” he asked, keeping his hand over hers.
She did not pull away, but she didn’t relax into the casual touch, either. She took a careful breath before she spoke. “The one in Mykonos felt like the best fit, but—”
“Excellent choice,” he replied over her excuses or objections or whatever was meant to come after the but. “I will make the arrangements, and then we shall take a trip to drop her off.”
She eyed him. Would that wariness always poke at his temper? “We?” she demanded.
“Have you ever been to Mykonos?” he returned, keeping his voice casual. No one made him lose his temper anymore.
She looked ahead, a strange expression on her face he couldn’t quite decipher. “No, I have never been anywhere,” she said flatly.
“Well, that is about to change. You and I are about to see Europe together, glikí mou.”
She frowned at him—not the usual response to finding out you had just earned yourself some all-expenses paid holidays.
He convinced himself she simply didn’t trust him to deliver.
Once he did, all her reticence would leave, since that was what good sense dictated.
She’d survived this long. She must have some sense.
“Do you have some objection to seeing Europe?”
“Of course not. I just… I do not know how to relax and trust this,” she told him earnestly. A kind of earnestness that felt too…naked. A softness that would be crushed by all the world had to offer.
But no doubt Ariadne had already been crushed in a myriad of ways.
“Perhaps you should endeavor to try,” he told her.
This did not change the soft confusion on her face, even as the car pulled to a stop, and he got out. He skirted the car himself and opened the door for her.
He helped her out of the car, tucked her arm into his, turned to face the elegant restaurant. “Enjoy yourself, Ariadne,” he said, gesturing at the building in front of them. “Pain and suffering will no doubt come soon enough. Why not enjoy the respite while it’s here?”
Ari chewed over Zervou’s words the entire dinner. Enjoy yourself. Had she ever had such a luxury?
She’d certainly never had a meal in any place nearly this fancy. The tablecloths were a crisp white, the candlelight gave everything a romantic glow. The silverware gleamed like it was polished in between every use. Fresh flowers unfurled in a vase in the middle of the table in pretty pastels.
Everything felt gilt and wasteful almost, but it wasn’t…overstated. The feeling of waste came from her own life of scraping by for the bare minimum.
And in two days she would go to Mykonos. He’d mentioned Europe.
She had never been any of these places, not because there hadn’t been opportunities. Her skill in the boxing ring had garnered her many an offer. Athens. Bulgaria. A bout in Poland.
But she’d never been able to commit to leaving her mother, even if she would have been able to raise money to cover her travel expenses. So she only took local fights.
Perhaps with her mother in a facility, she could take on some upcoming fights outside of Corfu. Zervou had said he’d let her continue to box.
Enjoy yourself.
Mother would need to be settled. Happy, or whatever Maria’s approximation of happy could be. Hopefully.
What would it look like to allow herself to enjoy this little windfall, knowing the rug would be pulled out from under her once her father was taken care of? Would it really be such a risk? Or would it simply be…a rest?
Bodies, muscles, reflexes required rest to grow stronger. Perhaps this would allow her the same. She had felt lately that she’d been failing her mother on a larger scale than ever before. Maybe this…break would allow her to fortify herself to do better.
The meal itself was exquisite. Even Zervou’s company wasn’t terrible. He was arrogant but not…pompous. With his buildings venturing into sporting arenas, they had some common ground on which to talk—at least, common ground that did not involve her father being the root of both their problems.
“Tell me, how does a young girl find herself in a boxing gym?” he asked after ordering dessert from the waiter.
Ari did not know how she could eat another bite but was tempted all the same. His question was less tempting.
She did not often get into full truths. They felt dangerous, like hints at ways to hurt her. But since it all revolved around the man they were working together to destroy, she felt the truth was better served here.
Still, she did not know where to begin. Boxing stemmed from something more than being physically capable. It was a seed planted by her father. Perhaps the only one that had ever borne fruit.
“My father was a kind of…specter growing up. He wasn’t always there, but the threat of him was.
Sometimes he would appear at my school, walk me home and tell me he had plans for me.
I was not always afraid of him. He seemed no more dangerous than my mother when she was drinking.
But as I got older, I started to understand who he was, what he’d done and that no plan he had for me would be anything I wanted. ”
She could remember when she’d gone from a girl curious about the grumpy man who showed up from time to time claiming her as his, to a teenage girl who understood what her mother spoke of when she said Erjon had forced himself on her.
“I became angry. Always so…angry.” Perhaps you should not play victim then, her father had once told her when she’d told him to leave her and her mother alone. With absolutely no way to back it up.