CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER TEN
A full three days later, and Athan still had not quite recovered. For the most part, Lynna had avoided him, which was satisfying. She only bent her pride like that when something had affected her, so there was that.
But he could not seem to rid himself of the echoes of that kiss. It kept ringing in him like a bell. And he could not recall a time, even if he went back to his reckless, hormonal teenage days, when one woman had ever affected him on such a level.
It felt like a bad omen of too many losses to come, and yet he could not change course now. She was his wife. And maybe he realized, even if she ended up meaning too much, it would only be his due to lose her, really. Maybe this was all just a grand sacrifice toward allowing her to hurt him the way he’d once hurt her family.
Or he was losing his mind.
Either way, there was no way to go but forward. They were going to a charity ball tonight. To be seen and photographed together. To introduce Lynna to anyone and everyone. To end any questions that Constantine’s tabloid parade had stirred up.
When Athan strode down the stairs, she was already standing by the door waiting for him. He would have glanced at his watch to see what time it was, but he could not take his eyes off her.
She was perhaps the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She tried to hide it, keep so many things understated in her usual day to day, but in the ball gown, there was no hiding how striking she was.
It was a dazzling sparkle in bronze. It nipped in at the waist, hugged her hips. Her arms were bare, pale and mouthwatering. There was a smattering of freckles on both shoulders, and he nearly missed a step at how badly he itched to taste each one.
He had teased himself with a taste, the most basic feel of her the other night, and it was eating him from the inside out.
Was he even breathing? He felt as if every atom of his being had been frozen into place.
But he forced himself to look away, at the stairs. At his watch, then back at her. And then when he’d gotten himself under control, he smiled at her.
She was scowling at him. “I was told to be ready at seven. It is ten past,” she said, sounding like a scolding schoolteacher.
“It is not my experience a woman is ready to go on time.”
“Then your experience is lacking. I am always on time.”
“Yes, I suppose you would be.” He offered his arm.
She eyed it as though it were some kind of trap. Her scowl never changed, especially when she hooked her arm with his and let him lead her outside to the car waiting for them.
The driver held the door open for them and Athan helped her in before skirting the car and getting in on the other side. She was rearranging her skirts, studiously not looking at him. He supposed she had no reason to, but it was interesting to watch her now as they drove, when she had nothing to do.
She was not so good at pretending he wasn’t there when she couldn’t distract herself with cooking.
“The dress is beautiful.”
Her chin came up a fraction. “Thank you,” she said.
Her hair was pinned up in strands, much like it had been on their wedding day. Colorful jewels winked at her ears. She kept her profile to him, elegant neck, lofty expression. Regal, all in all.
“You must have to work very hard to make yourself look so drab on your jobs.”
Slowly, she turned to look at him, affront in every inch of her expression.
Maybe he’d done it on purpose. Maybe he couldn’t quite help himself. Some sort of deep-seated need to get her to look at him, react to him. Childish, no doubt.
But she was looking at him now.
“Drab,” she repeated, as if she didn’t quite understand the word when applied to her.
He wanted to laugh. There was something so… something about her. The way she said things, the way she held herself. Her sharp, dismissive reactions to him. The vulnerable way she accepted a compliment. He wanted to puzzle through it all.
He decided it all suited their purposes. His near obsession with her. This want. Everyone would see it and assume it love. People loved that little fantasy, almost as much as if not as much as they loved a salacious tale.
Every picture would reflect a man besotted, and if he was, he supposed no matter how strange and out of character it was, it was not like he believed in some end goal of happy-ever-after. He could try to be a better man, but being a good one forgiven for all his past transgressions was impossible. So…
“All that frumpy black.”
“I am staff when you see me. It is my job to blend in.”
“And now you are my wife.” He liked to say it. Out loud. Watch the way she tried to hide her reaction to the word. Sometimes a wince, sometimes a scowl. Would she spend a year scowling over it, or could he potentially get her to enjoy some piece of it?
When they beat Constantine, maybe. When he talked her into bed, definitely.
Because he would and they would enjoy their time—or at least, he would endeavor to. Then they would part. Both having gotten what they wanted, more or less.
He did not know why the thought left him feeling restless . Moody. But it wasn’t the thought. It was just this aching, persistent want he’d brought upon himself for being fool enough to touch her.
“Ophelia has the biography ready to go. Once the pictures begin to circulate, she’ll make sure it’s distributed.”
Lynna’s response was muted. She’d approved the biography and knew the reasons behind why so many people were interested in her—thanks to Constantine’s stories. But he knew she wasn’t fully comfortable with the speculation about her as a person.
Still, she was going through with this. Still, they were partners in this. It was a new experience Athan had not expected to enjoy so much.
When the car arrived at their destination, Athan got out of the car and went to her side to help her out himself. He opened the door, held his hand out. She hesitated, and he knew it was because any physical touch reminded her of that moment in the pantry.
She had wanted him every bit as much as he’d wanted her. He should not have taunted her into telling him to stop, but he wanted no confusion.
If she wanted him, she would have to make that choice herself. Not leave it up to him. Not give herself an out when it came to the responsibility of her own choice.
“Smile for the cameras, omorfiá mou . We have a crowd to dazzle.”
* * *
Lynna had tried to prepare herself for people wanting to take her picture. For a charity ball, for a reminder of the glittery life her parents had once led and she’d had a few glimpses of before her father had lost everything.
It was a lot, and yet none of it was more than trying to deal with her reaction to Athan, and his obnoxious determination or need or whatever to not ignore the little spark of chemistry that seemed to exist between them.
When he could, and should, just as she was trying to do.
She kept telling herself to prepare for her body’s reaction to him. She kept assuring herself time would allow her the ability to brace herself, to ice it and him out.
But no amount of bracing changed the reaction inside of her. He’d walked down his elaborate stairs in his simple if elegant and well-appointed tux, and she’d struggled to breathe normally ever since.
Sharing the back seat of the car with him. Having him help her out of the car, his hand on her back as he’d guided her into the crowded room of sparkling people. It felt as though someone had shaken up an entire carbonated beverage in her chest, and she was nothing but an explosion of bubbles.
And lower, a deep, throbbing pang .
And maybe all of these things could have been weathered, but people were watching her every move. Her picture was being taken at every angle. She had known this was the purpose of tonight—for people to see and take pictures of her with Athan. So people stopped creating some mystery behind who she was.
But no amount of knowing prepared her for the discomfort that itched over her skin. It wasn’t about confidence. She knew she looked good—Irinka had helped her from afar, and she had hired her own stylist to help prepare for the evening. But that didn’t mean she was simply comfortable with being…looked at? Perceived? Whispered about, quite assuredly.
It was discomfiting, but worse was when it wasn’t discomfiting at all. When Athan kept his hand on the small of her back. When he introduced her to people, procured her a drink, never allowed anyone to separate them for even a moment.
And all those concerns about the wider world around them seemed to melt away.
He was like a mountain, looming there. He was beautiful and made her breathless and there was something immovable about this knot that sat in her stomach, tying tighter and tighter until every faint touch from Athan had her reliving that pantry kiss and yearning for all that more he’d promised in words, and she’d stopped.
When Athan led her out to the dance floor, she didn’t even notice the flashbulbs. His hand engulfed hers, he drew her close, and it felt as if they were the only two people in the room.
In the world.
You hate him. You hate him. You hate him. Why was that so hard to remember with his hand at the small of her back, with the easy way he swayed her to the music?
“We have danced together once before,” he said, his voice low and rumbling next to her ear. He had to feel the tremor go through her. “Do you remember?”
She had purposefully not allowed herself to remember. It had been before she’d left for university. Before he’d betrayed her father. That hazy time of before when she had been happy and carefree enough to believe the world was hers for the taking.
Even when the dashing Athan Akakios had stepped in to offer a dance at the party her father had thrown for her eighteenth birthday. He had smiled at her crookedly, and teenage fascination had fluttered there in that moment.
He was older, too handsome to be fair, and she had known his offer to dance was something her mother had finagled, not something of Athan’s choosing. But he had been kind about it.
Even in that moment of thinking he was dashing and fun, she hadn’t had any real dreams of a romance between her and Athan specifically . But she hated here and now remembering that too much had started in the moment. The belief that it would be silly to waste her time on the foolish boys at school when there were men out there who knew how to handle themselves. Athan was five years older. He’d no doubt still seen her as a child, but he’d given her a glimpse into what adulthood looked like. How a man behaved himself.
She’d told herself then and there she would wait for the right man, never waste her time with less .
And at university, in the before of it all, she’d held everyone up to the standard Athan had set that night. Charming and polished and gentlemanly…with just the hint of something like mischief and danger dancing behind all those polite manners.
Not for her. She knew it hadn’t been for her, but she’d dreamed of a time when it might be.
“Your dress was navy blue,” he offered when she said nothing to his original question.
She looked up at him in surprise. Why would he remember that?
His mouth was curved, his eyes self-deprecating. “Trust that I did not wish to remember that detail at the time, as you were so young, but it was the first time I had to accept you were no longer…a childhood buddy .”
She could only stare at him, as the music drifted around them and Athan moved her through the song. His body in perfect accordance with hers.
He had seen her in that moment, when she’d been quite certain she’d only been a duty to get through. In the here and now, it left her…rocked, when it shouldn’t. It didn’t matter. After all, look what he’d done after all that?
“Perhaps you should have continued to consider me a buddy and concerned yourself with not betraying my father,” she said quietly. Now wasn’t the time to have a discussion or argument about her father, about Athan’s betrayal, but she needed to put that wall back between them. Somehow it had gotten unsteady, and she needed it strong and sturdy.
“You know, we have not actually ever discussed that.”
Something that felt far too close to fear seized her, but she knew what to do with fear. Stamp it out. “Nor will we.”
He looked down at her, a strange, considering expression on his face. “Why not?”
She could not meet his dark gaze, and the faint look of something that appeared like concern, but couldn’t be. Athan Akakios had no concerns for her. “It’s over and done. There is nothing to discuss.”
“Ah. Best to box it up, set it away, push it down?”
“Yes.” She didn’t care if it was considered emotionally healthy or not. It had gotten her here, and maybe this exact here was a borderline disaster, but it was a moment in time. Her life was on the right track. A good track. She was setting Rhys up for every success, and once she got out of this, she would go back to the work she loved.
Then he said the next words, low and in her ear. “It is still there, Lynna.”
An unbidden lump began to form in her throat. Tears wanted to spring to her eyes, but she swayed to the music and fought off the wave of emotion. Maybe all her feelings were there, but what did it matter if she never thought about them? If she never took them out and poked at them?
It did not matter. She would never let it.
And she did not cry. Even when Athan pulled her slightly closer, like he was offering some kind of comfort she didn’t want and wouldn’t take. Not back at his house when faced with the topic of her father’s old friends missing him. Not now, simply because he’d reminded her of a time before…and wanted to speak of what happened.
What happened was Athan and his father had ruined her family’s lives. Intended consequences or not, they had done that. Whether the feelings about that were still there or not didn’t matter.
She got to choose how she dealt with them. Which was not at all. You could only control yourself, so she would.
And when he led her off the dance floor, in the direction of the exit, she was determined, so determined , to not let all these emotions get the best of her. Because chemistry, desire, lust—they were just emotions, right? Or science at the very least. Things that could be controlled with the right parameters put in place.
Outside the air felt cool. She could almost breathe again. She could set all that happened inside away.
Best to box it up, set it away, push it down?
Yes. Forever. That was how she’d survived the past five years, and how she’d survive the rest. Always.
Athan helped her into the car when it came around, and she made to settle herself with as much distance as possible from him, there in the back seat.
She knew he noticed, but he said nothing and made no attempt to scoot closer. Honestly, it was somehow worse when he seemed able to control himself…because then it felt like she should be better at this. Less…teetering on the brink of a terrible decision.
“Now that the pictures have been taken and will start to circulate, the biography Ophelia drew up that you approved should begin to appear in the media tomorrow,” Athan said, as if he had not mentioned her eighteenth birthday or her father or feelings at all back inside. “There might be some who are still interested in digging deeper into you, but the basic facts will help dispel some of the rumors my father has planted. And we can add more to the story as needed, but the pictures tonight will go a long way to take away the mystery, to undercut his leverage.”
Lynna hated this part of it, but she hated more that Constantine should get to call all the shots and morph how the public interested in Athan Akakios might view her. It wasn’t that she felt in any way shape or form protective of Athan’s reputation—because obviously he deserved whatever he got. And she wasn’t all that concerned with hers—couldn’t be, when she’d watched how easily someone else could ruin a reputation. A name. A family.
She had not allowed herself to really nurse that anger—it was unproductive, and she’d had to be productive. She’d had to pick up her family or else they would have sunk. But now, it was tempting.
Surely anger would keep herself from giving in to this… thing burning between her and Athan that he seemed so bound and determined to stir up.
“We will need to continue to make public appearances over the next few weeks. No doubt Constantine will have a rejoinder, and we must be ready to deal with it,” Athan continued as they drove.
“And you would know all the devious and underhanded ways to do that,” she said archly.
She could feel his gaze on her, but she didn’t dare look at him, even in the dark of the back seat of the car. She kept her gaze resolutely on the glittering Athens passing by outside her window.
“I would,” he said evenly, and it was completely and utterly unfair that he could make her feel small when he’d always been in the wrong and she never had, at least when it came to him.
She refused to say anything else the whole drive home. No, not home . His house. One she wouldn’t even have to live in for the entire year. Once they had won enough AC International people over, she would go somewhere else. Anywhere else. Back to London or maybe to his Norwegian home in the fjords—far, far away from him .
When the car slowed to a stop, Athan got out of the car and before she could manage to scramble out herself, he was there. He helped her out of the car again, and he didn’t immediately let her go. He led her to the front door, her hand in his. His grip was firm, but she could have pulled her hand away with a decent yank.
That hardly screamed happily married couple though, and it would allow him to see too many emotions, when she hoped he saw her as an emotionless robot.
Oh, how she wished she could be one.
Once inside, she did pull her hand out of his grasp. She offered no good-night, no words of anything. She simply marched for the stairs. She wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t .
But part of her thought maybe she should.
He wasn’t following her though. Still, when he spoke, his words were loud and clear, even though she had the impression he was still standing by the door while she was hurrying up the stairs.
“I want you, Lynna.”
It was stark. Plain. Said in his dark, low voice it was like the most intimate touch. She had to squeeze the banister just to steady herself, had to stop so she wouldn’t trip.
If words can have this kind of effect, what could he have? It was one of those errant, terrible thoughts she couldn’t allow herself to give in to, but their frequency and potency just seemed to grow. Day by day. Second by second.
She could hear him take the steps behind her, but it was the fact she could feel him, some force he exuded. Closer and closer, until she knew without even looking that he was right behind her.
“Do you believe that?” he asked, his voice a low rumble far too close to her ear.
The strong thing to do would be to turn and face him. To tell him that his feelings were immaterial, and he could not keep pressing this point. This… whatever between them. The not strong but maybe smart thing would be to run. All the way up the stairs, into her room, and lock the door.
On herself.
Instead, she answered the question she shouldn’t, eyes closed, voice little more than a whisper. “Yes.” She wished she didn’t believe it. Wished she could believe he was a user manipulating her.
But she had seen the way he watched her. She had felt him kiss and touch her. She wouldn’t put it past him to use it against her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want her at all.
“And you want me,” he said, his finger grazing the line of her neck. It sent a wash of sparks through her. A shudder she couldn’t suppress. “Whether you like it or not.”
He was not asking her a question. It was a clear statement, and still he said nothing else, touched her nowhere else, like he was waiting for an answer to a question he hadn’t asked.
She could lie to him. It would be so easy. Meet his gaze. Say no and walk away. She had the strength, somewhere deep down, she knew she had the strength.
But the other night had showed her that he was hardly going to act on that desire if she said she didn’t want him to. Which meant, to find some release from all of this, she was going to have to admit to him, out loud, that she wanted it.
And, by God, she wanted it. When was the last time she’d gotten what she wanted? When was the last time she’d had the opportunity to think of nothing but her own wants, needs, desires without repercussions?
Because what could be the repercussion here? He rejected her at some point in the future—when she didn’t want him to accept her, so that hardly mattered? Nothing could take away one night. She could have this one night and know…
“Yes,” she whispered in spite of herself.
But he did not touch her again. Did not turn her to face him. Did not do any of the things she hoped he might so it could feel like he’d…lured her into this, tricked her.
“Then why hold back?”
She finally steeled herself to turn to face him. Tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “I hear tell devils are charming enough, but then you eat the apple and all hell breaks loose.”
His mouth curved, all dark, dangerous intent. Thrilling and perfect. “Hell is not always so bad.”
It was unfair. Resisting him was too hard, and hadn’t she had enough hard? Wasn’t life hard enough without fighting so damn much? Marrying him had been an easier way out than scraping by…why not take this easier out as well?
His gaze moved over her face, like he was drinking her in, and it was a heady thing, to see his desire stamped all over his face. To know he wanted her, surely as much as she wanted him if he was doing this, pushing this.
But he still didn’t touch her. “You will have to admit to me that this is what you want. You will have to say it, show it. So that when tomorrow comes, even if you still lie to yourself, you will not be able to lie to me.”
“What does it matter?” she asked, a little desperately. Because it shouldn’t, if this was nothing.
But his eyes were a blaze. A sun to get lost in and blinded by. “It matters.”