Thick winter fur including a beautiful full tail and stunning face. Perfect for any distinguished home.
A very nice fox taxidermy for your collection.
Sophia couldn’t believe she was going to pay almost five hundred dollars to buy a stuffed fox on eBay. But when she’d planned out her “persona” during the flight to Corfu, the most disturbing thing she could think of for a hobby was taxidermy. Must have been stuck in her head after her friend had emailed her some disturbing images from the Bad Taxidermy website, one of which included a fox wearing a strange expression and a three-piece suit.
And so Baroness Sasha Foxington III was born.
Which meant she needed to acquire a stuffed fox. Sophia hit the buy button and completed the shipping details with Dion’s address, forking out extra for express shipping. She swallowed back her guilt and found the website for a Corfu animal shelter, making an anonymous donation to find some karmic balance.
Unfortunately for her, desperate times called for desperate measures. Her guilt would have to take a back seat, since it looked like Dion wasn’t going to be as easy to dissuade as she’d hoped. He seemed to really be making an effort to get to know her.
Last night, he’d totally foiled her plans to dive straight into embarrassing him in public. The whole “private dining” experience was brilliant. He managed to get out of having to be seen with her without giving her a damn thing to complain about. Either the man was already wise to her plans or he was so smooth her amateur con-lady moves were bouncing right off him.
He’d acted sweet and attentive, too. If it was a real date, she would have been thoroughly charmed. In addition, the food had been incredible, since the chef had done a tasting menu—thus messing with her plans to order weird and disgusting food combinations—and, to make matters worse, she’d found herself enjoying Dion’s company as the night went on.
Which absolutely had to stop.
Sophia wiped her internet history and stashed her laptop under a layer of clothes in one of the drawers in her bedroom. Thankfully, Dion hadn’t done anything outrageous like try to suggest they share a bedroom. At least this way, she had a little privacy in which to conduct any reconnaissance work.
Like ordering weird shit off the internet.
She glanced around the room. The “guest bedroom” that Dion had given her was probably bigger than the apartments most people lived in back home. Along with a giant king-size bed covered in linens that felt like they were spun from the clouds in heaven, the room contained a reading nook, a dressing room, and a stunning antique vanity unit that had been thoughtfully filled with all manner of useful things. A small note told her to use anything she liked, and the drawers contained hand creams and body lotions, bottles of perfume, and an entire skin care regimen from some fancy-looking French brand, all with sealed boxes.
You will not be won over with cosmetics.
Still, there weren’t too many opportunities in life for someone to be treated like a VIP. Sure, her father tried to make sure they had that facade whenever they were in public, but there was a big difference between someone like Dion, who was truly wealthy, and her father, who simply appeared to be.
So far, only her mother had made contact by asking if she’d landed okay and wanting to know if the weather was good. No mention of Dion or the whole arranged-marriage fiasco, mind you. Her mother was a gold medallist in sweeping things under the rug. Usually Sophia could rationalise it was a “survival mechanism” born out of dealing with a temperamental and bullish husband. But this time it had Sophia’s blood boiling. Her mother could pretend she’d sent her daughter off on some fancy vacation if she liked, but that didn’t change the fact that they were trying to sentence her to a life without the freedom to make her own choices.
“Sorry, Mom,” she muttered under her breath. “I love you, but I can’t be like you.”
Tonight, a cocktail party was being held in Dion’s lush and expansive backyard. A party in her honor, apparently. He’d informed her over dinner last night that he wouldn’t be announcing their engagement immediately. Rather, he would introduce her as a family friend and give her a chance to settle in before he broke the news.
“How kind,” she muttered.
Whether people knew she was here to be married off was irrelevant to her plans. If there was a gathering of people, then she would be putting on a show.
She looked down at the oversize balloon-style pants made of red and yellow satin. They were almost as outlandish as the silk blouse with tiered ruffle sleeves. Sophia stifled a snort as she looked at herself in the mirror.
She couldn’t quite tell what was more ridiculous: the fact that she looked like a couture version of Krusty the Clown or that these pants had cost almost five hundred euros. But Dion wanted a high-fashion wife, so she was going to be high fashion.
Dion’s “personal shopper” had taken her out today on what was clearly meant to be a “make sure she dresses well” trip. Ha! Sophia had allowed the lovely woman to take her out, to help her pick some glittering, strappy sandals with a pencil-thin heel. But the demure black dress was tucked away in her closet, tags still swinging.
Sophia adjusted her hair, which she’d left in its wildly curly, natural state—rather than smoothing it down with a flat iron like she usually did—and sucked in a breath. After spending her entire life doing everything possible to look like the perfect daughter she was, wearing such an outlandish outfit in public was intimidating.
“You can do this.” She stared at her reflection. “You will do this, because then you can go home.”
Home. To the mother and father who were treating her like cattle. To her life of unfulfilling work under her father’s thumb. To the house that was a glorified prison.
“You’re going home to make a new life. Your life. Running your own business from your dream cottage.” She swallowed. “And then you’ll never have to answer to anyone insisting they know what’s best for you ever again.”
She flung open the bedroom door and cringed at the sound of string instruments floating up the staircase. It sounded like one of those fancy parties where people sipped champagne and wore the kind of outfits Sophia would wear back home. Little black dresses, pencil skirts, diamond studs.
Gripping the handrail, Sophia took the stairs carefully, her movements slowed by the teetering Jimmy Choo heeled sandals. They were a ploy to make the outfit look intentional—like this was some huge fashion trend in New York that he knew nothing about.
Dion would likely be outside wondering where the hell she was. Sophia had never been late for anything in her life, especially not on purpose. But the “big reveal” had to occur when the party was already in full swing. That way Dion couldn’t shuffle her off into a quiet room and demand she change. She needed the moment to be public so he’d have to grit his teeth and bear it. And be planning how to dump her after the party.
There’s no way he’d be able to see her as wife material after this.
When she got to the bottom of the staircase, she could see all the way out to the back garden through the wall-to-ceiling windows in the house’s main lounge area. She could see it all—Dion’s dark hair and tanned skin, his bright smile and warm handshakes and kisses on the cheeks of his guests. She could see the softly glowing lanterns and the sparkling night sky and the glistening pool. She could even see the trees shifting in the breeze, their leaves fluttering and trembling.
Dion’s perfect, polished life was about to have a wrench thrown in the works.
As if he sensed her, his head snapped up, and his dark eyes cut through the glass door leading out to the garden. Was it her imagination or did his jaw tighten? Any minute now, she would find out.
“Three, two, one…” she whispered under her breath as she pushed the door open. “Showtime.”
Chapter Four
What the actual fuck?
For a moment, confusion addled Dion’s brain. Was she wearing…clown pants? What happened to the shopping trip his assist
ant had organized? What about the instructions he’d given her?
Chic. Sophisticated. Elegant.
She was wearing fucking clown pants.
“Sophia?” He blinked, trying not to let the shock twist his face. What the hell kind of game was she playing?
Eyes turned toward them left and right, whispers gathering steam as everybody looked on. The yard was filled with his employees, business acquaintances, high-profile clients, and close friends. Dion’s cocktail parties were legendary in Corfu, and he’d built this house with entertaining in mind. From pool parties to networking events to chill weekend afternoons, Dion’s house was the place to be.
He’d planned to introduce Sophia to everyone tonight. They weren’t going to speak of their agreement to get married yet, but he still wanted her to get to know people so she felt at home here.
“Dion.” She waved, a collection of gold bangles glittering at her wrist. The clown pants were worn with a white blouse that had frilly sleeves. If worn with a pair of jeans, it might look fun and cute. But with red-and-yellow striped pants…
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said. “Again.”
Maybe because I was told to expect a little black dress.
Behind Sophia, Iva was looking at him with wide eyes while she shook her head and shrugged. His assistant, who prided herself on being in control at all times, looked as though she was about to have a meltdown.
“I guess my new outfit is working, then.” She came up beside him and looped an arm through his. The stares and whispers continued.
For some reason, Dion started having flashbacks to the orphanage. That one time the bully kid named Stav decided to pull Dion’s pants down in the middle of Mass. Instead of going beet-faced like most kids would have, Dion had waved his pants above his head, making it seem like he was in on the prank.
They’d both been given a ruler over the knuckles.
“I fear my outfit isn’t quite as impressive as yours,” Dion joked. “In fact, I feel boring as hell by comparison.”
She snorted. “You’re hardly boring.”
“The pants are…something.”
“Right?” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “You know, these are all the rage back home. Hot off the runway.”
“Really?” He quirked a brow.
“Think of it as a backlash to traditionally uncomfortable things that women wear to impress men. It’s a bold fashion statement.” She squeezed his arm. “And I like to be bold with my fashion choices.”
That certainly seemed in line with what he’d experienced so far.
“You’re not embarrassed, are you?” She cocked her head. Was it his imagination, or was there an edge to her voice?
You’re definitely imagining things.
“It takes a lot to embarrass a guy who has no shame.” He shot her his most charming grin.
“I know my style isn’t for everyone,” she replied, though her smile seemed a little brittle. “My friends back home would always say you could never tell what I might do in any given situation.”
“Duly noted. I will be prepared for anything.”
For a moment, Dion questioned his initial assessment of Cyrus Andreou’s motives. Maybe the marriage component was about finding his daughter a husband, rather than trying to keep claim over the business.
Regardless, the second they were married there wouldn’t be a business left to argue over.
“Want to introduce me around?” she asked.
“Absolutely. You’re the guest of honor.”
Sophia looked at him as though perplexed.
Dion led her over to Nico and his wife. His friend’s new daughter, Katherine, was still in Nico’s lap, her chubby hands clutching tightly at his finger. “I’d like to introduce Sophia.”
Nico raised a brow in open disbelief while Marianna smiled politely, her hands knotted in front of her. Katherine gurgled.
“Sophia, this is my business partner, Nico. We run Precision Investments together. This is Nico’s wife, Marianna, and their beautiful little girl, Katherine.”
Sophia’s expression softened. “She’s adorable.”
“It’s lovely to meet you.” Marianna held out a hand warmly and then glared at her husband until he did the same.
“What’s with the pants?” Nico asked, and Marianna shot him another look and then rolled her eyes. “What?”
“Honestly,” Marianna said. “I can’t take him anywhere.”
“Why not dress up?” Sophia lifted one shoulder into a shrug. “Life’s too short for boring outfits.”
“Indeed,” Marianna agreed. “I think you look fabulous.”
“Thanks.” Sophia’s reply didn’t sound all too cheery.
“How long are you staying in Corfu?” Marianna asked.
“Actually, I’ve moved here.” She smiled up at Dion. “No end date.”
This was off-script. They weren’t supposed to be announcing anything as yet, although Nico was the only one who knew about the impending marriage. Which meant Marianna would likely know about it, too.
Still, he’d have to keep an eye on what she was telling people.
Marianna clapped her hands together. “How exciting!”
Dion took that opportunity to steer the conversation away from Sophia’s reason for being in Corfu. “Sophia was asking about our local hospital last night. She did a lot of volunteer work back home, and she’s hoping to find that opportunity here, too.”
“You’re a hospital volunteer?” Nico nodded, his earlier reserved expression morphing into one of respect.
“Yeah, I am.” She bobbed her head. “I used to take part in a sick kids summer program every year.”
“That’s lovely.” Marianna pressed her hand to Sophia’s arm.
“Marianna teaches English at the Corfu Town Language Center,” Nico added, “but she also volunteers with a refugee support program.”
“We’re always looking for extra people to help out. If you want to give your time to a nonprofit, we would absolutely love to have you.”
A small circle had gathered around them. People were eager to meet the new guest and, of course, have time with Dion. Perfect timing. Because now they were hearing about Sophia’s volunteer work, which would overshadow any clothing choices she’d made.
“I’m sure your hospital back home would be thrilled to give you a reference,” Dion said. “They’ve got your picture up on their website, so they must have been pleased with your work.”
Sophia nodded tightly but didn’t say anything.
How many more strange quirks was Sophia Andreou going to reveal to him? She’d been chatty last night, talking ad nauseum about her taxidermy hobby. Then today she pulled a bait and switch with her outfit. Now she was suddenly shy and quiet.
What could he possibly expect next?
…
Dammit. Dion and his slick moves were humanizing her, making her out to be some Mother Teresa type rather than a tacky princess wearing couture clown pants. How did he do that?
It was a smart move, shifting the focus to her volunteer work. A very smart move indeed.
She remembered the first time she’d asked her dad if she could have a month off work to take part in the children’s hospital program for sick kids, and he’d looked so baffled she might as well have asked him if she could borrow his car to drive to the moon. He didn’t understand that helping others could be a rewarding experience.
“I’d love to take you out and show you around Corfu,” Marianna said. “I’ve totally fallen in love with the place.”
“She knows all the good spots.” Nico looked at his wife with pride.
He was handsome, with sharp eyes and thick, dark hair. Along with Marianna’s sweet face and large, brown eyes, they made a striking couple. Had Dion been hoping to find someone like that, someone who complemented him?
Sorry to break it to you, but that ain’t going to happen with me.
As Dion introduced her around the party, he continued to
make reference to her volunteer work, to the fact that she loved helping children. At one point, she’d offered to hold Marianna’s little girl, and someone had snapped a picture of them playing together while the baby shrieked with joy.
So much for giving herself a bad reputation in Corfu. It felt like every time she made a move, Dion was quick with a counter, easily dodging her attempts to embarrass him and deflecting with something that made her look good. She’d expected that he might have wanted to shove her into a corner so people wouldn’t see her. But he’d seen her move and pivoted with cat-like grace, never letting his charming smile slip for even a second.
After a while, several of the women at the party had asked her where she bought the pants and about the fashion in America, and it became clear her getup wasn’t working the way she’d hoped it would. Excusing herself from the party, she slipped inside to clear her head and try to think of her next move.
“You made quite an entrance tonight.”
Sophia caught sight of a tall man leaning against the wall inside the hallway. She scanned her memory for his name, but it didn’t spring to mind. The introductions all blurred together, face after face, name after name. She wasn’t very good with either, unfortunately.
“Theo,” he said, as if reading her mind.
“Short for?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” His lips lifted into a wolfish grin.
“Not really. I was trying to be polite.” The good thing about being in a situation where you wanted to actively put people off was that you didn’t have to bother with social niceties. That she could get used to.
“You’re not trying to be polite.” Theo’s expression shifted, the grin turning to something sharper.
Like Dion and Nico, Theo was also of the tall, dark, and handsome fantasy. What the hell did they put in the water on this island that made all the men so hot? Although she had to say that this particular man had an edge about him that flipped red flags in Sophia’s mind. He was powerful and seemed to lack the charm that Dion exuded like a pheromone. Aside from ticking the ultimate “hot Greek guy” fantasy checklist, there wasn’t much comparison between the two men. Where Dion made her grudgingly respect him, Theo made her want to back away from the conversation.
How to Lose a Fiance Page 4