65. Lourdes
Lourdes
After a brief kiss, Ares left the facility that afternoon, got into a black SUV, and with his guards following, drove off.
He came back later that day. He’d changed his clothes. They looked new and surprisingly casual. He brought me a latte while I took a break between Sandrine’s appointments.
Her first day was a therapist-apooloza. This facility takes its therapy and treatments extremely seriously. Sandrine doesn’t have one therapist, she has a team.
During the coffee break, Ares informed me he was staying at a local hotel. No five-star Fairmont here. I expected him to rent a house or a mansion. When I asked why, his answer stunned me.
“I don’t need all that space when I don’t plan to be there. I plan to be here. Every day. With you.”
And he kept his word.
He showed up every day.
For two months.
For eight weeks, I got to know my husband, the man. The man I would have seen had we stayed in Santorini longer. We’ve gone on dates. We kissed a few times. But he’s been very proper with me. He’s been very good about accepting my boundaries.
He brings me flowers every day, my favorite coffee, and pastries for Sandrine that I suspect are flown in from Chicago.
It feels like he’s my assistant.
For all the freedom he gives me, I know he’s been stalking me. He will always worry about my safety. And when we return to living together, that’s the man I will be going home to.
Ares needs to be someone else in New York. I accept that. We needed this foundation to survive him being the head of the Greek Mafia in all of the United States.
After Sandrine’s sessions today, I feel exhausted.
“Come on, let me take you home,” Ares says, his hand on my back.
And I let him.
When we get to Elodie’s house, where I’ve been staying in the guest cottage, Ares walks me to the door, not expecting to be invited in. I haven’t so far. But not because I haven’t forgiven him yet. I have.
I wasn’t ready to give myself to him physically. Today I am.
“Is your cousin home?” he asks, admiring her nice house. “Can I meet her?”
“She’s in Las Vegas following up on a lead.”
“Lead?” he asks.
“She’s a field reporter.”
His eyebrows raise. “Reporter? In Las Vegas?”
“Yeah, she’s been spending more and more time there.” I watch his eyes calculate who Elodie might be doing a story on.
“This is nice for a guest cottage,” he says, glancing at the structure.
“It’s been perfect for me.” I rock on my heels. “Do you want to come inside, Ares?”
He gives me a wry smile, and I realize how that sounds. I can’t say that wasn’t a double entendre. I want him. I want my husband.
“I would very much like that.” He presses into me while I unlock the door.
I step inside and toss my keys in a bowl on the nearby console table.
Ares comes in and stands over me. “May I kiss you like a husband kisses his wife now?”
Swallowing, I nod. “Please.”
He presses his lips to mine, slow and gentle at first. But tingling warmth overtakes my senses.
Then we go crazy on each other. Like teenagers. It’s wild and comforting at the same time.
“This is what I missed.” Ares hugs me against his chest and kicks the door closed.