by C. J. Miller
She likely didn’t have a diary proclaiming why she had raised Nicholas as her own. He found a few pictures in her jewelry case of her and Maria and her and Emmanuel. None of Nicholas. Not proof, but more evidence pointing in the direction of Nicholas’s questionable parentage and Kaliope’s resentment at raising him.
He checked the walk-in closet. Dozens of pairs of shoes and handbags and clothing were hung neatly in order by color. Demetrius checked the drawers, knocking softly on each one, looking for a false bottom. He checked the walls, listening for a hollow sound.
Then he noticed a shoe box. Every other pair of shoes was displayed on a shelf behind a glass door. He grabbed the silver shoe box and opened it.
In the box were mementos, ticket stubs and dried rose petals. At the bottom was a picture of Kaliope and his father with his father’s dog between them. Shock jolting him, Demetrius dropped the box. He bent to gather the items that had fluttered to the ground and looked again at the picture.
Kaliope had her arms affectionately around Octavius Drakos and his dog. It was hard to tell how old the photograph was, but she looked decades younger, and the baron seemed happier and more youthful, too.
Demetrius took out his phone and snapped a shot of the photo. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. How did they know each other? Kaliope had taken care to hide the picture. If it was taken at an official event, why hide it? What was Kaliope’s relationship with his father?
Demetrius put the shoe box back on the shelf. He checked the rest of the closet and snapped pictures in case he was missing something. Seeing the picture of the baron of Aetos and Kaliope had rattled him. He didn’t have much longer to search. Kaliope and Iliana were walking through the gardens and he had pretended to slip away to take a private phone call. If he was caught in the closet, he would look guilty of being a pervert in the best case, a spy in the worst.
Hearing noise in the hallway outside Kaliope’s room, he slipped away and returned to his spot on the portico. He sat on a metal bench and waited for his wife. It took everything he had not to charge into the hanging gardens, find Iliana and Kaliope and demand answers.
* * *
It was early, and Iliana was still in bed when her phone rang. Demetrius was already at work. Iliana cleared her throat and tried to sound alert as she answered.
“Iliana DeSante? This is Helena Kariolis. I was a friend of your mother’s.”
The words were like sunshine on her soul. Iliana had so many questions, she didn’t know where to start. “Thank you for calling me. How did you get my number?”
“Your husband reached out to me.”
This was a surprise to her, but she was delighted that he had. “I have so much I want to talk to you about.”
“Could you meet me at the Museum of Armament in Abele?”
Iliana would have met her almost anywhere. Helena may know something to dissipate the cloud of shame that hung over Iliana after learning about the king and Persephone’s relationship from Kaliope’s perspective. “It will take me a few hours. I’m at home.” It was the first time she had thought of Demetrius’s house as home, and it felt good to say the words.
“Let’s meet around one, after lunch. Would that work?”
After finalizing their plans, Iliana leaped out of bed, excited about the day.
She was early for her meeting with Helena. The museum was closed from noon until two each day, but Iliana and Demetrius were allowed inside to wait for Helena.
Her birth mother’s old friend arrived on time. She was a no-nonsense-looking woman, dressed in a practical business suit and black flats. She wore little jewelry, and her brown hair was short and stylish. Though most aspects of her appearance were unremarkable, she projected an air of power and authority that must work well when presiding over court cases. Iliana liked her immediately. She introduced herself and then addressed Demetrius.
“Would it be okay if your wife and I discussed some matters in private?” Helena asked.
At Demetrius’s nod, she and Helena walked out of the lobby, both their security teams trailing at a distance.
“Thank you for getting in touch with me. I visited Kontos a few weeks ago, trying to find people who knew my mother,” Iliana said.
Helena smiled. “I heard.”
Iliana felt a blush creep over her cheeks. “I want closure. I want to know more about my mother. I only recently learned I was adopted, and it’s been difficult to process.”
They walked the long halls of the museum. On either side of them, guns in display cases adorned the walls. “This is an interesting place to meet,” Iliana said.
“It’s secure and private. The curator is a friend of mine. I’m glad to speak with you about your mother, but my primary and professional reason for asking you here is to speak with you about the late king.”
“What about him?” Iliana asked.
“Though I’ve disclosed my connection to you through your mother, I am assigned to the court reviewing this matter, including your husband’s challenging the authenticity of the will.”
As a judge, Helena must be familiar with the matter of the king’s will. Iliana hadn’t realized Helena was directly involved.
“We have many different wills on file and the law is to uphold the last written will, as long as it was written in a sound frame of mind.”
Iliana wished she could testify about the will and the king’s final days. “I only spoke to my father once. I am not sure how lucid he was. He was reasonably able to talk with me, but I don’t know if he was capable of making important legal decisions. I could see someone taking advantage of him.”
“We have evidence that Stella Floros manufactured the will. Her detractors claim she not only falsified documents but that she’s been working on a campaign to win over the titled royals in the country to support her claim to the throne. The descent and distribution terms in the will are unclear. That makes the line of succession blurry, leaving the door open for Stella’s claim.”
“I’ve heard similar statements from my siblings,” Iliana said. Siblings, another word that rolled easily off her tongue now.
“Stella has been giving away items from the royal treasury in return for support. They are not hers to give,” Helena said.
“Why are you telling me this?” Iliana asked.
“Professionally, my colleagues agreed I should reach out and speak with you about the matter off the record. Personally, your mother was a good friend to me. I miss her. When I read about you in the news, I wondered if you were like her.”
Iliana realized she was holding her breath. She wanted the answer to be yes, that she and her biological mother had something in common. She felt simultaneously hopeful and guilty. Her mother, the woman who had raised her, had been wonderful, and they had shared many special memories. “Am I like her?”
Helena stopped in a room containing weapons used in the early 1900s. “I don’t know you well, but you have a spirit like your mother’s. Nothing brought her down. No matter what happened, she believed that her dreams would come true. When she met the king, she was swept off her feet. I warned her that she would get hurt. He was married, and I didn’t see a future for them. But Persephone didn’t give up. She refused to end the relationship. When she became pregnant, she thought she would have the family she had dreamed of with the king.”
Iliana felt a pang in her stomach. Her mother’s greatest wish hadn’t been fulfilled. It was sad to think about, sadder still that Iliana understood the sentiment. “It didn’t work out for her.”
“I don’t know what would have happened. I was in the delivery room when you were born, as was the king. It was a big deal, very secret. I remember thinking when the nurses handed you to him that he might make good on the promises he’d made your mother and leave his wife. He seemed to love you and care for your mother deeply.”
“Why wouldn’t he keep me? Couldn’t he have found a way to protect me?” Iliana asked.
“I suppose he thought there was no other way. Every person in the delivery room was sworn to secrecy, and the next day you were taken from the hospital. You disappeared, and I didn’t know where you had gone. I thought of you often. I hoped you had been placed in a loving and warm home.”
Iliana heard the heartache in Helena’s voice and wanted to reassure her. “The people who adopted me were wonderful parents. I couldn’t have had a happier childhood. They died a few years ago in a car accident and I miss them terribly, but they left me with beautiful memories.”
Helena brought her hand over her chest. “I’m glad to hear that. I’d hoped the king would ensure you were safe and happy.”
At the end of the exhibit, they sat on a bench and talked. Helena told Iliana stories about her mother, stories that brought her mother to life. It was a gift Iliana treasured.
Demetrius appeared in the doorway. “I don’t mean to interrupt. I wanted to check that you were both okay.”
“We’re fine. Great, actually,” Iliana said.
Demetrius pointed in the other direction. “I’ll be waiting.”
When he left, Helena took her hands and squeezed them. “You’re happy now?” Helena asked her, catching her eye after Iliana stole another look at Demetrius’s retreating back.
She wasn’t sure. At times, she felt closer to Demetrius than she had felt to another human being in a long time. Other times, she wondered if she had made a mistake marrying him. “Demetrius and I have had ups and downs. We’ve only been married a short time, and it’s been stressful.”
“He cares for you.”
Iliana shifted. Could she tell Helena about Alexei? “I don’t know about that.”
Helena’s eyes darkened with concern. “When I was younger, I presided over family court. I saw many young people give up on their marriages. I saw hurt because there was still love, but it was buried under stress and problems and fighting. You have forever to get divorced, but you have now to make your marriage work.”
“I want a family,” Iliana said. Those were the truest words she knew.
“He could be your family. I could be your family. The king’s children could be your family. It’s up to you to decide who you want to let inside. Only you get to choose who you want in your life and what will make you happy.”
Chapter 13
Demetrius had arranged for him and Iliana to stay in one of his presidential vacation homes in Icarus. Secluded and quiet, it was located on the water. His guards were posted outside, but he had asked for privacy with his wife. They had traveled often since being married, and Demetrius was aware of the strain on Iliana. She seemed happier after speaking to Judge Kariolis. While she hadn’t revealed what the two had talked about, Demetrius was glad to see her smiling.
Demetrius entered the master bedroom—the space smelled of fresh linens and lemon—where he was arranging a surprise for his wife. He’d asked Abeiron to fill the room with candles and his butler had obliged—after mumbling something about a fire hazard. As he lit the pillars, one by one, Iliana entered the room, her gaze moving from the candles to Demetrius’s face. “What’s this about?”
“You need a break. You need to relax.”
Iliana strolled toward him. She flipped her red hair over her shoulder. “Are you planning to seduce me?”
It had crossed his mind. “This isn’t about sex. This is about relaxing and having fun with my wife.”
He sensed she was giving him another chance, at least for tonight. He wouldn’t think about divorce or her ultimatum. He’d give himself a break from work and problems and focus on the fun part of their relationship.
Iliana flopped onto the bed and kicked off her shoes. “I think you want to ply me for information.”
Demetrius lay next to her. “Anything you want to talk about, I’m happy to listen.”
“Helena didn’t tell me directly, but I got the sense that the Valencian courts will uphold a previous version of the king’s will. That means I’ll be marchioness of Agot soon.”
Demetrius had told her he would listen, but he didn’t want to talk about those problems. He wanted his brother freed, but when Iliana talked about Valencia and the situation with her family, it amped up her stress. “That’s good. We don’t have to talk about politics, though. We can talk about anything you’d like.”
Iliana leaned her head up on her hand. “What did you have in mind?”
“Tell me about your plans for our house.”
Iliana frowned. “I don’t have plans for the house.”
“Tell me your plans for our future.” He had meant to keep this night lighthearted and fun, but that question plagued him.
Iliana regarded him with eyes that were wells of pain. It hit him in the gut to know she was unhappy with their relationship, and he didn’t know how to fix it. He wanted to be the right man for her, to ride to her rescue and be the man of her dreams.
“Do you love me?” she asked.
A blunt and direct question. He cared about her. He wanted to be married to her. Wasn’t that enough? Love would come with time. “You need love from me?”
She sat up. “Is that a serious question? You’re my husband. Of course I need you to love me.”
“I will provide for you. I will help you with your problems. I will give you anything you ask for.” Weren’t those things that women wanted?
“Except love.”
He hadn’t spoken about love this openly before. “Love grows and builds with time.” Discomfort hit him in waves. But if he changed the subject, she would be angry. If he left the room or made an excuse, he’d do more damage.
“If we have a baby, will you love him or her?” Iliana asked.
Another direct question, and he was unsure how to answer. “Iliana, you know that my father and my mother had a terrible relationship. Neither showed affection well. I can’t recall them being affectionate with Alexei or me. What you and I have is new territory for me.” He was navigating it the best he could.
Iliana rose on her knees and took his shirt collar in her hand. “Tell me what you feel now.”
He checked his words, feeling as if he was walking into a trap. Could he admit he was turned on? That he wanted to make love to her, to bury himself inside her and forget about the world for a while? When he was with her, his demons were quiet. When she was in his arms, his world felt good and right.
“Don’t think. Just feel. Tell me what you feel right now.”
She wanted the word love, but he wouldn’t lie to her. “Desire.”
Iliana brought her mouth down on his and kissed him hot and hard. “And now?”
He couldn’t figure out what she wanted from him. She knew that he wanted her. “Lust and the strongest urge to tear your clothes off. From the first time I saw you, I wanted you. So many times, I’ve stopped myself from kissing you, from reaching for you.”
“Why? Why do you stop yourself?”
“You’re my wife, but I feel you slipping away. Like holding water in my palms, the tighter I squeeze, the more I will lose.”
Her eyes softened, and she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Then, do that, Demetrius. We’ve had the right chemistry from the start.” She reclined on the bed.
He wouldn’t give her time to reconsider. When she was naked, he covered her with his body. He started behind her ear and kissed a trail down her neck, across her collarbone and down between her breasts.
“You have a magnificent body,” he said. He cupped her breasts and she arched under his touch.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Hot,” he said.
She pulled at his shirt, tugging it over his shoulders. He freed his arms while she went to work
on his belt buckle. He removed his shirt and kicked off his pants. Stripped from his clothes, he brought their bodies together.
“Now?” she asked.
It was hard to form words with the sensation that passed over him. “Desire. Obsession. I want you. I need you.”
She parted her legs, and he positioned himself at her opening. As he surged inside her, he felt as though he was coming home. She was every bit as passionate as he was, meeting him stroke for stroke, lifting her hips and taking him deep.
Her fingernails scored his shoulders, and, with a twist of her body, she was on top of him. She rode him hard, rocking and swiveling her hips, moaning.
Reaching between her legs, he caressed her in the place she liked, gentle, rhythmic caresses, until she shattered. A moment later, the insane tightness of her body gripping him, he followed her into ecstasy.
“Now? Tell me how you feel now,” she said, slightly out of breath.
He melted into the mattress, feeling hot and relaxed. “Sated.”
She pulled the blankets around them and curled close. “And what about now?”
She was tucked in the crook of his arm, her head and hand on his chest, her hair tickling his forearm. She was looking for some emotional display, and he wasn’t certain he was capable of giving it to her. “My actions should say everything you need to know.”
Iliana’s breath was searing his skin. “I need the words.”
So much was hanging on the ability to tell her he loved her. Why couldn’t he say the words? Iliana had given him chance after chance, turning away and then coming back to him, back to his bed. He had to give her what she needed.
The words wouldn’t form. “I care for you, Iliana.”
“And?”
“And you’re my wife. You’re my one and my only. You’re the woman I dream of. You’re everything to me.”
She pushed up on his chest. “I need a shower.” She didn’t seem angry. She seemed sad, and that was harder to deal with.
She fled the bed for the bathroom. Demetrius was aware he had bungled this, and he couldn’t understand why speaking that word was so hard for him.