CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER TEN
Tessa
I SLOWLY WAKE UP, blinking through the grogginess that’s clinging to me even after a decent night’s sleep. The price to pay, I suppose, for finally having my first non-self-induced orgasm.
I stretch my arms overhead and smile. My doctor told me there might be a possibility of not having complete sensation. I wasn’t sure what to expect. But Rafe made it so easy to trust him, touching me, making love to me with his mouth and fingers. The sight of him watching in the mirror, his blue eyes on fire as he brought me to a level of pleasure I’d never experienced, had sent me not only to new heights of desire, but new levels of confidence as a woman.
Except, I remember with a cold dash of memory, for the aftermath. He held me, kissed my hair, cradled me as if I were made of glass. But as soon as he stood, that mask dropped back into place. He told me he had a meeting and wouldn’t be joining me for dinner. And then he left. Aside from my flushed face and the delicious, lingering sensation of having been made love to, there was nothing to suggest that I had just had my first brush with sexual intimacy.
He handled it the way he should have. Had he dragged it out, whispered vague promises he never intended to keep, it would only make my ability to keep my distance more challenging.
Still, it left me with the feeling of being dropped off a cliff. So I threw myself into work. Again. Doing what I had accused Rafe of doing as I sought to distract myself.
Unfortunately, focusing on work had only introduced a new worry. That perhaps I had bitten off more than I could chew in starting my own business. Working on one project at a time was one thing. Working on two with a third waiting in the wings was something else entirely.
Rafe’s advice, that I should consider hiring someone to help, resurfaces. As much as I want Tessa’s Interiors to be mine, if I truly want to grow, I’m going to have to change my mindset. Frustrated with myself, and even more frustrated with Rafe that he might be right, I look away from my desk and out toward the sea.
It’s beautiful here. The tension that gripped me between Paris and Corfu has disappeared. Ironic when I think about it. In trying to distance myself from my past and avoid anything that might remind me of the years after my accident, I had actually been holding on. If I had said no to Rafe’s request to accompany him to Greece, I wouldn’t have had last night. I wouldn’t be gazing out over the cerulean waves, the olive trees, the brilliant sky.
I sigh. It was so much easier to move on in Paris, with no reminders, nothing familiar for me to fall back on. There was only forward.
But this trip, I’m coming to realize, is good for me in so many ways. Showing me how to accept my past, live my present and look ahead to the future.
I glance back at the sketch pad lying on the table next to the lounge. In between schematics and materials, I took a few breaks. But instead of picking up my book, I sketched, mentally redecorating the rooms James had given me a tour of the afternoon I had arrived. Before Rafe had made it clear he had zero interest in doing anything but selling his father’s house.
I only met Lucifer a handful of times. I loathed the man, so I can only imagine what growing up with him had been like. From the snippets Gavriil told me about how Lucifer treated him, it’s no wonder that Rafe is a block of ice. It’s probably the only way he survived.
A shudder crawls down my spine. When I have children, I will never let them go a single day without knowing how much they are loved, as my father did. I will endeavor to never suffocate them under the weight of my own guilt and insecurities, like my mother did.
I pick up the sketch pad and flip through it. The rooms themselves are beautiful, with the colors and flooring serving as surprisingly solid foundations. Clean. Timeless. It’s the ostentatiousness of the furniture, the paintings, that overwhelms. As if Lucifer bought the most expensive things he could find and stuffed them into rooms.
Which, I think with a snort, is probably exactly what happened.
Rafe, however, is about efficiency. Progress. Yet as I’m coming to know a different side of him, he also has that undercurrent of passion, that attention to detail. He says nothing matters to him. Yet I see the way he looks out at the sky, the trees and especially the ocean. As if in the busy pace of his life, the view of nature calms him.
I don’t even know if he’s aware of it himself. It makes me wish that he could trust me, just one room, show him what could be possible and maybe even give him a glimpse of a side of himself he hasn’t listened to. May not even be aware exists as he marches forward with his schedules and checklist.
Maybe tomorrow. Given the argument that came out of our discussion before, I have no interest in reintroducing that tension. Or pushing him.
A knock sounds on my door. “Come in.”
My body tightens as Rafe walks in, dressed in a white polo shirt and tan slacks. Even in neutral-colored clothing, the man looks like a Greek god.
“Good morning.”
His face is smooth, but there’s a hint of warmth in his voice as he approaches me, hands tucked into his pants pockets.
“Good morning. How did you sleep?”
I give him a small smile. “Are you genuinely asking, or is this your way of looking for a compliment?”
His teeth flash white against his tan skin, so quick I might have missed it had I blinked. A slight pressure builds behind my eyes at the side of his genuine smile. I wish he would smile more.
“I was genuinely asking after your welfare. But compliments are acceptable too.”
I roll my eyes as I glance away. But I noticed my sketch pad lying open. Trying to move as casually as possible, I reach over and start to close the pad.
“I slept well—”
“What is that?”
I slam the cover shut. “Just sketches. Doodling.”
“That looked like the master bedroom.”
My body tenses. His face is back to being blank, his voice emotionless. I have no sense of direction, no indication of what he’s thinking or feeling.
I raise my chin. I lived years like this. Always watching, waiting for a sign that I was going to do something to upset my mother, to make my father turn away. Always anticipating, always on edge.
No more. If Rafe is upset that I drew some sketches, then he can go jump in the sea.
I open the sketch pad and hand it to Rafe.
“I worked late last night. Sometimes reading calms me, but other times it’s sketching.”
He examines the pages, taking what seems like a ridiculously long amount of time evaluating each design. His fingers glide over the pages, moving with that same slowness that I once chalked up as methodical.
But now, with the memory of how he used those fingers on my body yesterday, I no longer see the movements as efficient. No, it’s sensual, the way they move over the paper, lingering, grazing.
I bite my lower lip. God help me, if one session of heavy touching can reduce me to this, what will the actual event do?
“These are good.”
I blink in surprise as I try to hold back a smile. Try not to let him see how much the simple compliment warms me.
“I’m glad you like them.” I lace my fingers together. “I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy. I just saw the rooms and—”
“I’m not accusing you. As you are aware, my relationship with Lucifer was not a pleasant one. And as I said at dinner, I should have handled my response better.”
“Thank you.” I hesitate, then decide to take the plunge. “I could have handled my response to your feedback on my business better, too.” I swallow my pride. “If you have time, I do have a couple questions. Structuring a business as it’s growing. Don’t look so smug,” I snap as he looks at me with a distinctly masculine gleam of triumph in his eyes.
“Are you saying I was right?”
“No, I’m saying I have questions.”
“I’m good at what I do, Tessa.”
“I know. My reticence has nothing to do with you. It’s…me. I let my parents, especially my mom, rule my life for so long.”
“And you’re afraid that if you ask for help, you’ll be falling back into an old pattern.”
A tightness I didn’t even realize I have been carrying slowly eases from my chest. “For someone who says he doesn’t do emotions, you’re very perceptive.”
“Psychology is a science. One made up of research, data, statistics. Patterns. I can understand those. Plus,” he says as he watches a gull fly up high in the sky before diving back down toward the water, “without being able to observe and make my own conclusions about how people are thinking or feeling, especially going into a deal, I would not be effective at what I do.”
It’s incredible how he rationalizes everything down to science, to numbers. But I know that there’s far more to this man than he lets himself or anyone else believe.
“You’ve accomplished more than you are giving yourself credit for, Tessa.”
Just like that, he turns it back on me. I swallow hard. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“You’ve been on your own for four months.”
“And ever since I was seven years old, I’ve lived someone else’s life. Not my own. It feels like I’ve wasted the last twenty-one years.”
“Stop.” He’s looking at me now, his expression firm. “The work you’re accomplishing now, what you’ve done, is because of the experiences you’ve had the past twenty-one years. Not to mention that for eleven of those, you were a child.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Tessa.” His eyes are hard, glinting with an inner resolve that makes me grateful I’ve never been on the receiving end of his true fury. “Parents make mistakes. They fail. Your mother’s obsession with keeping you safe to the point of isolating you from the outside world is a reflection of her, not you.”
I stare at him. I want to ask. Want to know just what Lucifer did to him that turned him into a man who sees so much yet keeps everyone at arm’s length. Who insists he has no soul even as he reaches deep into mine with his perception, his caring.
“Don’t dwell on the past,” he says quietly. “Move forward.”
My breath comes out in a rush. “All right. Let’s start with questions. Work our way up to having you take a look at my business structure and plan.”
I shift, my hands grazing my portfolio. Inspiration strikes.
“Actually, how about another arrangement?”
His eyes heat as he sweeps me with a lingering gaze. “The last one has certainly been beneficial for both of us.”
“You may not like this one,” I reply as I try to keep my attention focused on now and off how his hands felt on me. I tap the portfolio. “You let me redecorate one room, and I’ll let you review my business proposal.”
Even though he doesn’t move, I can almost see the gears turning in his head. Weighing, assessing.
“Budget?”
I mentally tally what I want to do. “Ten to fifteen thousand.”
“Significantly lower than I would have expected.”
“It’s not a complete overhaul. More updating. Making use of what’s there and swapping out what no longer works. Most of that cost would be new furniture, artwork, things like that.”
His eyes narrow. “What do you charge by the hour?”
“Seventy-five.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “An hour?” he repeats.
“Yes.”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “You do need my help.”
“I’m an entry-level designer. I’m not going to charge people two or three hundred euros an hour when I’m just starting out.”
“Except you do good work. You should charge it for it.”
My mind turns to my other client. The one outside of the little French village.
“There are ways to meet the needs of the population that you want to help the most.”
My eyes fly to his. It’s unsettling how he knew exactly where my mind went. “Why do you want to help me?”
He pauses, as if he’s not quite sure how to answer himself.
“I enjoy it. Organizing, identifying problems, coming up with solutions. It’s the best part of what I do.”
Surprised, I ask, “Not the property development? The acquisitions?”
“I mentioned the other day that Gavriil lives and breathes Drakos Development. I go through the motions out of habit. I’ve known nothing else my entire life.”
“So what would you do? If you didn’t have Drakos?”
“There is nothing else. There never will be.”
My lips part. My heart aches for him, for a man so talented to simply relegate himself to an existence that brings him no joy.
His phone rings. He glances down at his screen and narrows his eyes.
“Something wrong?”
He shakes his head. “The Acropolis Museum is trying to get in touch with me.”
“The Acropolis Museum?” My eyes widen at his nod. “What do they want?”
“They’re hosting a gala fundraiser tomorrow night. They want me to attend.”
I lean forward, propping my chin in my hand. “I feel like there’s more to the story of why a world-renowned museum is calling you.” I bite down on my lower lip as he glares at me.
“I made a donation.”
“How big of a donation?”
“Drop it, Tessa.” His phone rings again and he swears in Greek.
“You should go.”
He looks at me and frowns. “No.”
“Why not? It’s good publicity for Drakos Development. Not to mention their museum looks incredible.”
He cocks his head to one side. “You’ve never been?”
“No. I should add it to my travel list.” A list that’s growing longer with each passing day.
“I’ll go.” I start to smile, but he holds up a hand. “On the condition you attend with me.”
Excitement races through me. “Really?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it.”
My excitement vanishes as nerves flutter in my stomach. “Won’t it look odd, though? With how intimate our wedding was, I don’t think a lot of people even realize we’re married.”
He shrugs. “My personal life is none of their concern. I’m only asking if you want to go.”
I can’t remember the last time I went to a party. My mother only allowed a few large-scale events a year for my “safekeeping.” The thought of going without her keeping a stranglehold on my leash is very appealing.
As is the idea of finally having the chance to redeem what happened all those years ago the night I fell in love with Rafe.
Thought you fell in love.
“I’d like that.” I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t bring anything fancy enough for a gala, though.”
“Give your sizes and preferences to James and he’ll have several dresses sent over for you to choose from.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to lean down and kiss me. But he simply nods and leaves the room, leaving me alone with my sketch pad and the sounds of the sea just beyond my balcony.