Chapter Fourteen
Zervou had not slept. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time watching Ari sleep. In his bed. In his arms. With his ring on her finger still.
She had offered him comfort. Not solutions. Not arguments. Just herself.
This had never happened to him before. It was causing something to rearrange inside of him, and he did not have a good grip on it.
He had always needed a good grip. Without it, he was flung about, victim to fate’s whims. He had vowed never to be again.
Not after watching his father’s life drain out of him.
Not after watching his mother lean more fully into fate, into pain, into suffering.
She wanted life to be hard to match her pain.
She wanted his life to be hard to match her pain.
And when he had not been able to do that—a child, with his own grief reaching out for something other than sadness—he had been turned away.
But Ari had not turned. She had stepped forward and offered soft. Offered sweet. Offered.
His ring. Her finger. Like she belonged to him. Like she could.
He’d had no plans to get married in his life, but the institution itself was no real enemy, was it? He had no shortage of money, of advantages. It wasn’t as though he risked anything if they married, if they enjoyed it for as long as it was…this.
And marriage was no full binding contract, no matter what anyone said.
They could be married for as long as it worked, then go their separate ways when it stopped.
He wasn’t so miserly that he was afraid to give her a decent divorce settlement when the time came.
Why should she not have half if they decided to go their separate ways? It wouldn’t hurt him any.
Yes, he supposed they could just…continue this relationship as it was after Erjon was in jail, but he liked that ring on her finger. He liked the idea of binding her to him.
If it was wrong, so be it.
It felt actionable. Sturdy. Real. Like any business deal.
They could make a portion of this fake relationship real, for as long as that made sense.
She could live in his house, wear his ring, be his.
She could offer comfort, and she would accept his help.
It would be…satisfying. Something beyond his revenge—just like she’d spoken about before.
What came after Erjon? Whatever they wanted. Because that was the world he’d built. One where he took what he wanted, enjoyed what he wanted and didn’t martyr himself to any cause or grief.
When dawn broke, he slid from the bed. He had breakfast arranged out on the terrace, because he knew she liked that. And while she might not eat the expansive spread he offered, she would eat something. She would sit there and enjoy the view and the food.
And he stood, sipping his coffee, waiting for her, determined that whatever was next would be handled easily enough. He would arrange it to suit him. He would make the world her oyster, and she would accept the pearl inside.
He heard the door open and turned to watch her step out into the faint morning light.
“Morning,” she said sleepily. She tipped her face up to the sun and took a deep breath.
He did not return her greeting, because he was struck by her. Always. And this understanding that he would never tire of exactly that. Of watching her. Of her being here. Whether here be his place in Corfu or anywhere else. She didn’t belong any one place. She just belonged with him.
And perhaps it caused some trepidation within, but at the end of the day, he only had to convince her of the same. She was letting him take care of her, of everything. Her father, her mother. Where she lived, what she ate, how she got to work. She accepted everything from him.
Yes, there would be nothing at all wrong with getting married and seeing where that went.
“I think we should begin to plan our wedding,” he said, with no preamble. And still, he watched her expression and reaction very carefully.
She stiffened, then purposefully relaxed, moving to sit at the table. She sent him a small smile. “You haven’t given the engagement much time to draw him out.”
“No,” he agreed.
That no hung between them, without explanation. Without anything.
“It would not be such a hardship to be married to me, would it, Ari?” he asked quietly. Perhaps he’d meant it to be flippant, but it hadn’t come out that way.
She held his gaze, that soft thing that scared him right there in their dark depths. But he was no coward. To turn away from fear was cowardly.
She must have felt the same. She spoke softly again. “No, it would be no hardship.”
“Then we shall begin to plan a wedding.”
She said nothing to that. She sipped her water and looked out at the sea. He didn’t interrupt whatever she was thinking about. She wasn’t offering any kind of opposition, was she?
She ate a bit, and they sat in what he was determined was a companionable silence even if he felt oddly…tense.
“I never really planned on getting married,” she said thoughtfully after she’d eaten a little bit, still looking out at the sea.
“Neither did I.”
Her gaze moved to him. He saw a softness there he did not recognize. Something she’d kept to herself until now. Always so tough on the outside, but there was not only strength underneath. There was…whatever this was.
“So…why should that change?” she asked him. Not in challenge. No, in curiosity. “We do not need to rush into anything. I think the normal expectation is for an engagement to last. I’ve no doubt you can find Erjon before we’d be expected to marry.”
I’ve no doubt. The fact she believed in him, trusted him, only added to his certainty. They would be good for one another. “We enjoy each other.”
“We can enjoy one another without anything legally binding,” she replied.
He tried not to be frustrated, because she was not refusing. She was simply…protecting herself. He simply needed to make it clear he would protect her. He would take care of everything for her. Legally binding was for her. “I offer you the world, Ari. Won’t you take it?”
She took her time before answering, clearly considering the implications of that. “It’s a lot to offer for a little enjoyment. Surely you’ve enjoyed other women before and not married them.”
He saw in her careful study that she was searching for something, and he was determined to give it to her. To be what she needed. “Perhaps, but none so much as you.”
Their gazes held, and her breath, too. The moment stretched out, a band of pressure around his chest. There were more words, more feelings. The idea of love. Could she love him? If she accepted all he gave her, if she let him… It could be love. Perhaps it could be love.
“All right,” she said slowly, after quite a few seconds had passed. “I haven’t had very much enjoyment in my life. I suppose it would be foolish to reject it out of hand.”
“And you are not foolish, glikí mou.”
She smiled softly, but he saw something not quite certain in her gaze. But she stood before he could analyze what.
“I’m sorry. I have to get to the gym. I can’t be late for my class.”
He nodded.
And that was how they parted. Nothing more said. No fond touches. Just…an agreement. An arrangement.
He refused to let that leave him unsettled. Perhaps they had not discussed that this was more than pretend or simple enjoyment, but they did not need to. They both knew, with or without words.
He went through the morning trying to determine what arrangements for a wedding were acceptable to make without his future bride’s input.
It would need to be soon, so he needed to get the ball rolling.
Perhaps they could have a small affair, then something bigger and splashier for the society pages. But the ceremony itself, just for them.
So that she could become Ariadne Kritikos.
She would not need to use his name for boxing since she’d built her career as Ari Malis, but she would be his in every other arena.
It felt as right as anything ever had.
Perhaps he would take her with him to Anovol. Whether he wanted to or not, whether his mother would actually accept help or not, Zervou knew he would need to head home to deal with getting his grandmother moved into palliative care in the coming days.
Not to hold his stranger of a grandmother’s hand. Not to introduce Ari to his mother, even if he was already picturing it. Even if it…somehow mattered.
He shook that thought away. He would go to handle things. Period. No matter how little it was appreciated, it was necessary. Something his father’s memory demanded, no matter how Zervou wished it wouldn’t.
He’d been a good man, his father. Principled. It hadn’t helped him any, but still Zervou knew that at least when it came to his mother, he had to abide by some of the principles left behind by a man who’d died rather than bow and scrape to viciousness.
A knock sounded on his office door, and he looked up to find Bacchus there.
“There is a man from Ms. Malis’s gym who is here to speak with you. A Mr. Lefteris Demo.”
Zervou frowned. Ari hadn’t been gone long enough for something to be wrong, had she? He didn’t think so, but still concern gripped him. “Let him in.”
After a few moments, Bacchus returned with a small man who looked to be in his fifties. He was dressed plainly, but he’d clearly taken some pains to look put together—his hair was slicked back, his tie was tied tight.
So this was not an impromptu meeting about Ari’s well-being.
No, Zervou assumed this would be about the stadium.
Interesting that this man would come to him directly rather than go through Ari.
Zervou respected the move. Confident. Bold.
With enough time to ensure Ari’s relationship with him was not superficial.
Zervou held out his hand for the man to shake, and the return grip was strong. He looked like perhaps he’d boxed himself as a younger man.
“It is good to meet you, Mr. Kritikos. Thank you for meeting with me without an appointment.”
“Of course, Mr. Demo. Come in. Have a seat, if you would.”