CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER ONE
Rafe
I’ VE NEVER CONTEMPLATED murder before. There are more logical and efficient methods of dealing with people. Having a net worth of one point seven billion euros at my disposal gives me more options than the average person.
But as I watch my wife smile up at a strange man on a Paris sidewalk, my fingers tightening on the wheel of my car as he leans down and kisses her enthusiastically on the cheek, I evaluate several possibilities. Hiring an assassin wouldn’t be hard. Or I could shove him off the top of the Eiffel Tower.
I’m not jealous. I’m angry. I’ve never tolerated anyone breaking a contract. That includes my wife, even if our marriage was a contractual arrangement in name only. The same contract that included a two-year infidelity clause. Perhaps that’s why she’s asking for a divorce just four months into our marriage. To pursue a relationship with the blond-haired man now gesturing wildly. His animated antics remind me of a circus clown. And Tessa…
My chest tightens. Tessa looks beautiful. Dark blond hair falling thick and loose to her shoulders. A light blue dress that follows the slim curve of her torso before flowing into a wide skirt that stops at the knees.
Awareness creeps over me at the sight of her bare legs. I’ve never seen her in anything but dresses, long skirts, or flowing pants. Seeing her at my brother Gavriil’s wedding four weeks ago had momentarily jolted me out of my usually apathetic state. The sight of her moving confidently with the aid of forearm crutches as she talked and laughed with strangers had kindled a flicker of pride in me. She had always been forced to stay on the sidelines by her overly protective mother, an observer of life rather than a participant.
Not anymore.
The man reaches down and hugs her, wrapping his arms around her waist with an intimate ease that propels me out of the car in the blink of an eye. I resist slamming the car door and close it quietly so I can continue to observe as I cross the street, my eyes fixed on my cheating wife.
When I walked into my bedroom the night of our wedding and found her letter on my pillow, there was a single moment when I felt like a hand punched into my chest and hollowed it out with one clawing scoop. A sensation that had happened only twice before. One I knew I needed to shove away and bury before it became a problem. I focused on the facts as she stated them in her letter: she was taking advantage of our arranged, in name only marriage to live independently in Paris and wished me the best in my future endeavors. A cold, blunt conclusion to a letter written by someone I had once considered as close to a friend as I’d ever had. No discussion, no warning.
I have never gone after a woman. I certainly wasn’t going to pursue one who had displayed a cunning I’d never seen beneath her supposedly quiet demeanor. I thought I was offering her an opportunity to move out of her parents’ home, a new life with the kind of wealth and luxury most people couldn’t begin to imagine.
But she wanted nothing to do with me or my money. Marrying me had apparently given her the fortitude to leave her former life behind. So I did what I do best; prioritized what I needed to accomplish now with an eye on the future. The wedding was over. I had what I wanted. Our marriage convinced her father to sell me the luxury real estate brokerage firm he inherited, a firm with decades of prestige and a mountain of debt that would have crippled Nolan Sullivan without my help. Investing in that project, along with my other work, kept me focused.
Until three days ago when a petition for divorce was delivered to me at my private island villa just a short boat ride away from Santorini’s shores. I’d read it on my balcony, from where I could see her modest house. The same house where I’d proposed seven months ago, months before I knew anything about Lucifer’s mad scheme.
A knot twists in my chest at the memory. Tessa had been sitting on a balcony in her wheelchair looking out over the ocean, her face so sad it had tugged at me. It had hit me then that I had seen her looking that way many times over the years. That offering marriage would not only get me what I wanted, but maybe offer her something more than the mundane existence she lived in.
I’d sat down next to her, outlined what her father and I had talked about. It hadn’t been until I’d asked her if she would be my wife that I saw the hope in her eyes, the hope and something more than casual affection. Something I had responded to, felt in that cavernous pit of nothing. Then shut down just as swiftly.
It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. None of it does. If she wants a divorce, I’ll give it to her. I have no interest in being tied to someone who doesn’t want to be married. I saw what that did to my mother.
But I need Tessa to agree to carry my last name for a little longer. Just eight more months and I will officially inherit everything my father left to me, including the company I was raised to lead. A company the old bastard tied to the condition of me being married for at least a year.
Tessa doesn’t know yet about the stipulation in my father’s will, the one that demands we must reach our first anniversary or I forfeit my entire inheritance. I didn’t know myself until just over a month ago when I attended my father’s will reading. Gavriil had wasted no time in marrying a journalist to hold on to his share. My other brother, Michail, whose existence I hadn’t even been aware of until recently, cursed our father and stormed out of the lawyer’s office.
I, on the other hand, had already fulfilled the first stipulation of my father’s will, even if I hadn’t known it at the time I’d slid my ring onto Tessa’s finger during an intimate yet lavish ceremony hosted on our island off the Santorini coast.
But there’s a second clause, one that is now in jeopardy because of Tessa’s decision to file for divorce. If we don’t reach our one-year anniversary, I lose everything. And, will or not, her trying to break our contract after less than a half a year rubs salt in a wound I hadn’t even realized existed until I’d read the letter from a high-profile lawyer in Athens.
Goals. Tasks. Concrete things I can assess, measure, attain. This is what I excel at. Not emotions or social engagements or marriage. This whole mess also proves that the philosophy I’ve lived my life by is accurate; alone is best.
I reach the other side of the street.
It’s time to remind her what she has to lose, both with her flagrant affair and her ridiculous request.
Tessa glances my way as the man releases her, then does a double take. Her eyes widen, but there’s no panic or shame in the golden-brown depths. Just surprise. Anger jolts through me at her lack of remorse.
“ Bonjour , Mrs. Drakos.”
Her lips thin into a tight line. “Hello, Rafael.”
Touché. I despise my full name, and she knows it. I also despise how I have to intentionally bite back a smirk of admiration.
“Is this your husband?”
I turn my attention to the blond buffoon who’s looking back and forth between us like he’s at a damn tennis match.
Cold anger fuels my next words. “I am.”
Instead of turning and running like any sensible man would when confronted with their lover’s spouse, the idiot reaches out and grabs my hand.
“It’s great to meet you. Your wife is amazing. Just amazing.”
He’s gushing like an overexcited teenager. Annoying as it is, it gives me a moment to reassess the situation. I’m not sure what I witnessed on the sidewalk. But a tender embrace between lovers seems less likely given his enthusiasm.
I pull my hand out of the man’s clammy grasp. “I think so, too.”
Tessa’s quiet snort surprises me, as does the arched look she gives me when I glance down at her.
“I don’t even know if I’d be doing this without her,” the man continues, seemingly oblivious to the tension between Tessa and me. “I thought about the Eiffel Tower, but Tess thought the gardens were better, and they really are.”
Theos , does the man ever shut up?
“She even helped me pick out the ring.”
The pressure in my chest eases as I realize Tessa is helping this man propose to someone else. A pressure that surges back seconds later as I glance down and realize Tessa’s left hand is bare.
I think back to my brother Gavriil’s wedding. Our one interaction was brief. I never looked at her hands. How long has she not been wearing her ring?
It shouldn’t matter. But it does. Another symbol of her intention to break our agreement.
Our eyes meet. Pink suffuses her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. I pointedly glance down at my hand and the silver ring glinting in the last rays of sun streaming down the street. She follows my gaze, her nose wrinkling in a frown when she sees the ring.
“God, sorry.” The man shoots me an embarrassed smile. “I’m Nathan. Nathan Jones. Katie’s boyfriend.”
The last puzzle piece falls into place. Katie, Tessa’s sister, also disappeared the night of our wedding. I struggle to contain my irritation. It had taken just one phone call to find out Katie had accompanied Tessa to Paris. My sister-in-law was not in my good graces.
“Hopefully fiancé before the night’s out.” The smile Tessa gives Nathan pokes at me like an irritating insect. “Which speaking of, you’re going to be late if you don’t get going.”
Nathan glances at his watch and swears. “Off I go!” He kisses Tessa’s cheek again, pumps my hand before I can step back. “Nice to meet you, Rafael.” He’s gone before I can correct him.
Leaving me alone on the sidewalk with my wife, who’s biting down on the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing.
“You couldn’t have corrected him?” I narrow my eyes at her. “You know I despise Rafael.”
“It’s an elegant name,” she counters.
I never realized the sharp disparity in our height before. Gavriil’s wedding was a blur, one where I fought dual demons of trying to crack my heart open just enough to stop my brother from rushing into a marriage of convenience with his sworn enemy while keeping my distance from Tessa. Simply seeing her had unsettled me. Given that I had just tried to have a heart-to-heart with Gavriil for the first time ever, I needed time to retreat and stitch myself back together. But that had meant a quick greeting from several feet away.
Now, as I stand within arm’s reach, I realize she’s nearly a foot shorter than me. I gaze down at the familiar heart-shaped face, the large caramel-colored eyes and full lips softening the defined cheekbones and elegant jawline. A stunning face, one made more arresting by the newfound confidence radiating from Tessa’s petite frame. A faint fragrance teases my nostrils, something light and floral with an underlying sweetness.
“You’re right.”
She blinks. “What?”
“Elegant.” I tilt my head to one side. Two can play at this game. “Just like Contessa.”
Her brows draw together as she glares at me. “Mine’s not elegant. It’s ridiculous.”
“Noble and graceful,” I counter, enjoying the heightening of the flush in her cheeks.
She huffs. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting tomorrow.”
I take in her dress, the rosy hue of her lips. That awareness hanging in my chest takes root, spreads. I’ve always thought Tessa was attractive, with a haunting quality that drew me to her side on more than one occasion. A kindred spirit. A notion that made the idea of marrying her to solidify a merger with her father’s company acceptable. The few times I’d envisioned anything about our marriage, it had always been simple: quiet conversations, existing in each other’s presence with a level of comfort I’ve never experienced with anyone else.
There’s no comfort in this moment. No, now there’s desire. Not the subtle attraction I’ve kept a firm grip on for the past couple of years as I observed the woman Tessa was growing into, but something that sinks deeper beneath my skin and kindles a spark.
I mentally step back. There’s no room in this marriage for any emotions that could turn it from a mutually beneficial arrangement into something messy. I’m also acutely aware of the smoothness of her skin, the brightness of her eyes. Hallmarks of her youth and the thirteen years that separate us. It never bothered me before. But it does now as my eyes drift down to the swells of her breasts, as I wonder how she’d feel in my hands—
I look away. It’s just the surprise of seeing Tessa in a different light. That and simple human biology.
“Negotiations concluded sooner than I expected. I’d like to take you out to dinner.”
A V appears between her brows. “Why?”
I give her a tight smile. “We have business to discuss. We’re in one of the premier food capitals of the world. We might as well enjoy ourselves while we talk about an unpleasant topic.” She glances down at her dress. Jealousy tightens the muscles in my neck. “Unless you have somewhere to be.”
She stares at me for so long I wonder if she’s going to answer. Then, finally she shakes her head. “I was just going out to a bistro. I can go tomorrow.”
Victory surges through me. I’ve learned through countless mergers, negotiations and takeovers that once someone has agreed to the first step, the finish line is already within reach.
She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, as if readying for battle. I smile down at her. She can fight all she wants. But before I return to Greece, I will have won the war.