Chapter Twelve #2
A relief, really, Ari assured herself. Proof there was no addiction, no mistakes. Just enjoyment when it suited.
Even back in Corfu, in his grand estate, they managed to see very little of each other privately. And in public, it was always an act, a farce. With a strange new distance she didn’t understand and did not want to.
What was not a relief was the persistent nagging feeling of…something changing. Shifting inside of her. This idea of something more or beyond when her entire life had been two things: survival most of all, and the hope to someday end her father.
Now, Mother was safe, at least for the time being. Ari was fed and more than well taken care of—again, momentarily. She still got to throw herself into the job she loved, which would last long beyond Zervou.
She knew all these things were fleeting, and still she could not picture a life with her father in jail, Zervou no longer here and going back to nothing but survival. She knew that was what was next, but…
Right now, she was happy. Not with everything but happier than she’d ever been. More settled. And it allowed her to see beyond revenge and survival. It allowed her to see herself and her life as a whole, not just day after day to struggle through.
And so she found herself asking questions she’d never had time to consider before.
What would it take to be happy? In the real life she had coming for her once this fake life was over?
Zervou appeared in her peripheral vision like an answer. When he could never be.
She lifted a glass of water to her lips and pretended not to see him until he stepped up to the table on the patio. A glimmering Corfu morning spread out beyond him.
“Good morning,” he offered.
They had existed as strangers since returning. She had half thought of trying to go back to her apartment just to see if he would notice.
But then she’d catch Bacchus out of her periphery vision at the gym. She was being watched or watched after, whichever way she wanted to view it. And since she wanted to have no conflict, she’d simply gone along with staying put.
But he’d made a habit of not seeking her out in the mornings. Letting her go to the gym and about her day before requiring her presence in the evening for whatever public event he had lined up.
So she tried not to shift or act uncomfortable with his appearance now, even if she was. “Good morning.”
He said nothing else, but he placed a small jewelry box on the table next to her plate.
She stared at it, confused for a moment.
He didn’t seem to have his usual patience this morning. “Open it,” he ordered.
Frowning, she took the box and opened it. Only realizing it was a ring box when she saw the contents.
It was so beautiful. If she had thought of what a fake engagement ring from Zervou Kritikos would look like, she would have imagined something flashy. Something that would photograph well—big and loud. Beautiful, of course, but more show than substance.
Instead, the ring in this box was understated. Beautiful, ridiculously expensive no doubt, but it felt made for her.
And that was ridiculous.
“You will wear this at all times,” he said, an order meant to be followed and a reminder this was all just part of the plan. The only reason she was even part of the plan was her bloodline she did not wish to recognize.
She looked at the sparkling gold, the pretty green jewel. She didn’t even know what kind it was. Which was a reminder of who she was. “What about when I am boxing?”
He eyed her. She didn’t meet his gaze, but she could feel it, his gaze and a tension inside of him that made little sense to her. And she did not wish it to make it make sense, because if she understood…
Having these lines drawn was her last defense against everything that had happened in that boxing ring in Paris. An unraveling she couldn’t survive.
“I worry there is nowhere at the boxing gym safe enough to keep something as fine as this ring from getting stolen,” she explained. “No matter how good and loyal people are, money is an enticing lure.”
“You may leave it in the car then, with Bacchus or whomever drives you. But as much as possible, in public, it should be on your finger. We do not want any questions.”
Questions. No, they didn’t want that. They wanted Erjon. Though Zervou’s men had followed the member of the Petrov family and the man he’d met in Athens and a few other meandering possibilities, they had yet to get any clarity on where Erjon himself might be.
This was supposed to draw him out. Fully. He would not allow her to be married off to the man who wished to destroy him. He would need to stop it.
“Put it on then,” Zervou directed.
She didn’t want to. Everything inside of her resisted reaching out for it, but he’d given a direction and as much as she was used to following her own directions and no one else’s, he existed in some other place for her, didn’t he?
She lifted the box, still resisting touching the actual ring. “This is the last step.”
He lifted a shoulder. “It should be.”
It should be. She recalled him saying a while back if they had to marry, she would win an impressive divorce settlement for her trouble. That he would actually go so far as to marry her if that was what was required to lure Erjon out of hiding.
Marry. It had never been a dream of hers. She’d never really thought relationships were in her future. She had too much to do. Too much to protect. Everything about her future had been simply keeping her and her mother safe and alive, and how could she imagine balancing all that and a life partner?
Her dreams had been so small, and Zervou had opened up a whole new world to her. Beyond survival. More than one world, really.
Not that a marriage between them would be real. Not that this was real or changing her dreams. If they married, it would be simply to get to Erjon. It wouldn’t be about…living beyond survival and revenge.
But too much between them had begun to feel real. Within reach. A core part of the life she wanted. The idea of marrying him wasn’t repellant, it was…intriguing.
Was she alone in that feeling? Could he behave the way he did and not care for her at all? Or was this strange pang inside of her—need and want and something deeper all wrapped up into one confusing ball of emotion—something he felt, too?
What would it be like if she let her guard down, if she let him see that she was happy, touched? That she thought the ring was beautiful and that he was good? What would happen if she risked?
What always happens to women who risk anywhere near a powerful man.
Destruction. Even if he was kind about it, he would say something about this not being real, and she would be the fool.
You are a fool, Ari.
She closed her eyes, trying to ice out the pain.
“Is it such a hardship, glikí mou, to wear a beautiful ring?” There was an edge to his voice, irritation simmering in his gaze.
She couldn’t say she fully understood it or him, but she felt like she was on the edge of it making sense. Of everything or nothing making sense.
“No,” she said softly, slipping the ring on her own finger. Because the ring was not the hardship.
It was loving him that would be.