21. Lourdes
Lourdes
Asmall stream of light greets my eyes as I wake, and for a moment, I have no idea where I am. The sheets don’t feel like my cheap scratchy ones. These are soft and smell nice.
Sensing a rumbling beneath me, I bolt up and look to my left at the oval window with the shade pulled down. Not a drafty broken vinyl one behind cheap, thin curtains that bleed in the morning light when all I want is five more minutes of sleep.
It all comes back to me. The events of last night hit me like a slap in the face. David’s betrayal in Ares’s Club. The bounty on my head and the violent men who came to collect me. Ares arriving to rescue me, killing those men, and whisking me away to safety.
And now, I’m on his plane. On my way to Greece.
The cabin beyond the door is quiet. I reach over and lift up the window shade. Past the white glow is an endless view of bright blue.
I sit quietly and look out the window. Past fluffy suspended clouds, blue water sparkles below.
“That’s the Mediterranean,” Ares’s deep voice purrs from the now open pocket door.
He’s in a pair of linen pants and a light blue button-down shirt.
I smooth my hair, aware I need to brush my teeth. “Good morning,” I say. “I think.”
“It’s eight a.m. Santorini time.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “We’ll land in a few hours. There’s coffee and a light breakfast when you’re ready. I have your luggage.”
He produces it from somewhere and leaves it at the foot of the bed.
“Thank you.” I nod and watch the door close again.
I push out of the bed and maneuver my way into the attached bathroom. I study myself in the oval mirror for an extra second before I do anything else. For some reason, my reflection from last night looks different. I don’t look kidnapped. I don’t look stressed. I look rested.
That unsettles me. I can’t get too comfortable with any of this pampering.
My next move is to get to Chicago and be with Sandrine.
I find my phone, dying to call her. I need to hear her voice to bring me back down to earth.
I just don’t trust my voice will be steady given what’s happened. I might end up upsetting her.
After brushing my teeth, I open my suitcase and look for something comfortable to wear for breakfast with Ares. I opt for a pair of black leggings and a crop top T-shirt.
When I step back into the main cabin, he’s seated again in his forward captain’s chair at the wide granite table. His jacket from last night is draped over the back of the seat.
With the phone to his ear, he’s speaking Greek again. His tone is neutral, the words sharp and precise. No stammering or long pauses. I don’t understand the language, but I understand cadence.
Someone on the other end is being corrected. And I wonder if it has anything to do with me. I’ll have to accept that many tense calls he’ll deal with while we’re away will be about me. I’m the reason he’s here. Away from Zervas & Company. Away from Club Wicked. Away from the Aurelian.
Ares’s gaze flicks toward me without a break in his conversation. A few seconds later, he ends the call.
I sit in the seat across from him, and the attendant from last night appears with a cup of coffee. I smile and say thank you.
“Another for you, sir?” he asks Ares.
“Another?” I say before he answers the attendant.
“I’ve had two already.” He puts down his phone. “And no, William.”
William… Good to know a name. I wonder where he slept.
“Are you from Santorini?” I ask Ares, then sip the coffee.
“Yes. Originally.” He clears his throat. “I went to university in London. Are you hungry?”
I wet my lips. “Yeah, I am.”
“Good, that’s a good sign.” Ares snaps his fingers. “William, we’ll take breakfast now.”
The sound of cups and plates on a tray clinks in a coordinated rhythm behind me.
“There’s something that’s been running through my head for hours,” I say, fiddling with a napkin.
“Speak,” Ares says, crossing his legs. “All we have is honesty now. It’s what will get us through this ordeal.”
Nodding in agreement, I say softly, “Why did you hire me if this was all you really wanted?”
“This?” he challenges my weak words.
“Me,” I say. “And yes, I guess I was obtuse. Some men are just relentless flirts.”
“I don’t flirt,” he says with a bite in his voice, and I feel it in his stare. “Your question is valid. When I first saw you at Winterhall, I felt something I didn’t understand. Something foreign to me. I was conflicted because you were married. But I had to keep you close.”
Whatever took hold of him when he saw me was strong enough to move all these chess pieces. But Ares doesn’t do relationships. And I have to go back to Chicago and take care of Sandrine.
I want to tell him that he’s not alone in this attraction. Never was. But I’m terrified by it. Not him. Not the man. I strangely believe that if I don’t consent while we’re together, he won’t force himself on me.
It’s all up to me. Will I give in? Will I take what I want? Even if it’s temporary? To feel alive again and have hope that I can love and be loved one day?
It hadn’t occurred to me how dead inside I’ve felt until I let myself enjoy being looked at by Ares Zervas. He’s awoken something in me.
His phone rings again, and he takes the call.
And again, he converses in Greek. I glance out the window while William sets our table with a beautiful breakfast. I eat, staring out the window.
The crystal-clear Mediterranean looks so calm below us.
Sunlight cuts across foamy sea waves. A low stretch of land sits blurred in the distance.
It reminds me of Northerly Island, where Dad used to take Sandrine and me as kids. I’ll have to find the time to speak to her at some point. She struggles to remember, and I worry that if too much time passes, I’ll fade in her memory like Dad. Like Mom.
Ares finishes his call and eats in silence.
After a few bites, he says, “That was my house manager in Santorini. She has clothes waiting for you.” He drills me with a stare.
“I see in your eyes how you want to object. You don’t have to justify accepting help from me.
As much as I hate your husband for raising a hand to you, I almost hate him as much for making you believe you couldn’t go to anyone for help. ”
“I don’t want to be treated like a victim. There were…circumstances that got me there.”
I bite my lip and want to tell him the reason I stole from Nathan. But Ares doesn’t want anything serious or long-term. It’s not worth risking Sandrine’s identity.
I also don’t want to tell him about the miscarriage and the depression. In that case, he’s right. I didn’t have anyone I could ask for help. I was stripped down to the basics. I needed a roof over my head and food. And it all snowballed from there.
“I promise nothing will ever be tasteless,” Ares remarks about the clothes.
“You won’t be uncomfortable. I asked for classy and conservative.
That’s how I prefer my woman to look. That pink dress you wore to Winterhall made my mouth water, but you will never wear anything like that again unless it’s for me only.
” He leans forward. “And it will be for only me, because I don’t fucking share. ”
There’s no threat in his voice. Just a promise.
“Thank you for all of this. For making sure I have clothes.” I lay down my silverware and stand. “It means so much to me, and I swear, I’m grateful.”
“I know you are.” Ares stands, too.
We’re frozen for a moment, and I lean in to hug him.
One hand grips my waist, and the other my chin. “Watch how you touch me,” he whispers. “I’ll only let you go a few more times.”
Shuddering, I step away. “Understood.”
He lets me go. Ares knows he’s intimidating. He probably practices in the mirror.
I go back to the bedroom and take a shower. I lose track of time putting on makeup and fixing my hair. I find an old T-shirt dress and tie a zip-up jacket around my waist.
In the main cabin, Ares sits on the sofa with a chic leather duffel at his side, wearing a suit jacket over his casual clothes. I love the look. He does the combination with style.
“We’re landing in a few minutes,” he says and gestures for me to sit next to him.
I sit and feel his body heat. He’s an inferno and smells so good. When I look at him, his gaze moves slowly over my face. It’s so intense I have to turn away and look out the window.
The plane dips and begins its descent. We cut through the clouds, and next, the wheels touch down smoothly.
I expect to see other planes and a small terminal. I’ve never been to Santorini, but all I see is a line of tall trees with grass on one side and sparkling water on the other.
“The Santorini airport is small,” I say, looking over my shoulder.
Ares just smiles. “This is my private airstrip.”
My jaw drops a little. “You have your own airport?”
He lowers his sunglasses to me like I should have expected this. Being whisked away to a safehouse with an impossibly gorgeous man is something women fantasize about. Maybe in my youth I did, too. When I had the luxury to dream.
I’m grown up now, and I understand what comes with a man of wealth, a man of the world, a man so powerful others fear him.
And being flown to a Greek island in the middle of the night with that man was never on my bingo card.