by Caro LaFever
The man wasn’t ugly to the core for no reason at all. She’d realized this on top of Lycabettus Hill.
What happened to him? What happened with him and his father? Those men they’d just met must be part of his father’s side of the family. What had happened to destroy those ties?
The door to his grandfather’s room was closed. He yanked it open and charged in, leaving her behind. But she could see his grandmother standing right by the bed. Waiting for them. Or more accurately, waiting for him. Her hands were held in a tight grip in front of her. A light of hope shone in her eyes. Her tiny, round body was tight with tension.
Aetos Zenos began to yell.
Chapter 15
He had only himself to blame.
Aetos stared across the limo at his snoozing giagiá, his sleeping pappoús. They were on their way home. Home. To the farm.
The place he’d never wanted to see again in this lifetime. Or any other.
The witch stirred beside him, and from the corner of his eye, he traced her profile, silhouetted in the morning sun. Her skin shone with vibrant health no makeup could give a woman. Her long, blonde lashes were free of mascara, letting the rays of light touch the ends with gold. Her tongue danced out to lick her lips, the lips he dreamed of every night.
Every night. Every day.
Every moment.
He moved his legs, stretching them, adjusting his pants in an attempt to ease the sudden, inevitable tension in his groin.
She glanced over at his movement, her look as cool as it had been for the last two days at the hospital. Cool and distant and judgmental.
Gritting his teeth before he snapped out a comment that would wake his grandmother and draw her disapproval also, he glared down at his hands. His trembling hands. Because he couldn’t stare through the car window, and he didn’t want to glance at the witch and see her disgust.
Okay, he’d been an ass after meeting his cousins. He’d yelled until his giagiá had cried. He’d created a scene in front of his family and her and the doctors and nurses.
But the mágissa had no right to judge him. She didn’t understand.
And his grandmother had had no right to interfere. She didn’t understand, either.
His damn relatives didn’t have the right to look at him as if he’d turned into some kind of insane nut as he ranted and raved. They didn’t understand.
He had a right to rant and rave.
None of them had any idea what it had felt like to confront the two boys, now men, who had been held up before him throughout his childhood as paragons, as true Zenos men. His giagiá didn’t realize she’d asked the very men who’d stolen his inheritance to meet him at the hospital with the idiotic hope he would ever forgive them. She didn’t understand how his cousins represented everything he hated of his past. Like ghouls, their presence had resurrected all of his father.
His father’s hatred. His father’s punishment. His father’s rejection.
His grandmother and grandfather didn’t know of the endless lectures he’d endured on Lycabettus Hill. The lectures including an inventory of his failures, a list of his sins, and primarily, a denouncement of his heritage—his mother’s heritage.
You are unworthy of my name.
You come from peasants.
I was a fool to fall for your mother.
The punishing words had clattered in his head like rocks, pounding every iota of self-esteem and worthiness out of him. Not until he’d pushed himself to leave Greece and pulled himself up from nothing, not until then, had he found his worth and confidence.
To distract himself, Aetos stared at his grandparents sleeping on the other side of the limo.
His pappoús appeared tired, yet the color in his cheeks was reassuring. His giagiá’s head lay on her husband’s shoulder in silent companionship and consolation.
They didn’t understand, but he would never, ever tell them. Tell anyone.
As a consequence, none of them knew or cared. They only judged.
He could handle it. He had no other choice. He would never expose his mother’s family to his father’s bitter judgment and disdain. He could handle the judgments and disgust, just as he had when he’d been a kid.
So he was here. Paying penance for his apparently inexplicable behavior.
Still, only for a few days. Only until his grandfather got settled, and he could hire a nurse to come in and monitor his recovery. He’d focus on his work. Keep the family at arm’s length as he’d done successfully during the last week. He wouldn’t go near the female sitting beside him since it appeared any lust he felt was entirely one-sided.
On Lycabettus Hill, she’d run away from him as if he was a devil.
Restlessly, he pulled his cell phone from his suit pocket and flipped through his messages. None of them made any sense as his brain couldn’t seem to focus. Yet he continued to stare at the texts and emails as if he understood them.
He didn’t want to look at her again and lust again.
She’d run from him.
The only thing he’d done was touch her cheek and mouth. He hadn’t fallen on her like a starving animal as he’d wanted to do. He hadn’t coldly cut a deal for sex like he’d done with every other female since he’d been eighteen. He’d merely touched her.
And she’d run.
Apparently, the witch didn’t feel any lust towards him. The kiss at the hotel that had burned in his brain since it happened—the kiss had meant nothing to her. She’d only been playing a typical womanly game. One he was all too familiar with. Surprisingly, she didn’t want to play anymore, but it wasn’t worth another thought. It wasn’t a problem. There were many women who wanted him. Wanted his money and his power and were willing to trade. He had no need to get in any deeper with this woman. She’d already bullied her way into his life; what else would she demand if she let him into her bed?
Nai. It was best this way. He only had to endure a couple of more days and then he would be completely free of her and his family…
And his home.
Aetos glanced up, certain he’d heard somebody, some entity, whisper or maybe wail. Whoever or whatever called, he made the mistake. The mistake of looking through the window.
The highway was modern and smooth as it wound away from the city and into the rugged terrain. But it could not stamp out the ancient sense of timeless past etched into the jagged mountains rising before him. The modern road could not compete with the eternal, aching beauty of the pine-filled crevasses, the endless blue sky, the soaring eagle eyeing everything below like an elemental Greek god.
The memories. That was what had called to him.
The landscape was familiar; achingly so. The light dusting of snow on the mountain ahead reminded him of the countless walks he’d taken as a teenager, trying to find some peace. The rocky edges jutting into the sky brought back the memories of the rocks he’d thrown over and over in an attempt to throw off the rage he’d been unable to express in any other way. The sky was a color he’d never found in New York City, a blue that shone pristine clear and took his breath away.
If he had any breath.
“What is it?”
Once more, the curiosity. The compassion. Yet this time, he welcomed it because for two days he’d suffered nothing but cool words and silent looks of disappointment from the woman. Theós, he’d rather hear her soft voice and stare into violet eyes filled with inquiry than ones filled with disdain.
“I don’t want to be here.” The confession blurted from him, stark and scared.
She rustled beside him and puffed out a short laugh. “Well, you made that clear when you talked with your grandmother yesterday.”
His hand tightened around the cell. She laughed at him. Laughed at his blunt truth, the only truth he’d given a woman in years.
“The expression on your face when she won the argument…” She laughed again, a low, husky croon shooting right to his groin. Shooting his temper as high as the damn eagle in the sky.
The
rage on his face must have been clear, since she quit laughing when he turned and glared at her. Then, being female, she used a trick to distract him.
She bit her lush lower lip.
He wanted those lips. He wanted the treat of taking them with his own and biting them with his own teeth until she stopped laughing and started pleading.
Mágissa.
“I’m not laughing at you.”
“No?” He wrenched himself away from her female wiles and stared back out at the hated landscape. Anything, even the agony of seeing his past roll by, was better than falling into this woman’s trap. Falling for her tricks.
“No.” Her voice was firm. “I’m laughing at the situation.”
“The situation.” Another eagle joined the first in the blue, blue sky and Aetos focused on the dance between them, trying to stop any thoughts in his head.
His pappoús grunted before beginning his snoring once more.
“You have to admit, this is funny.”
Not only was she a witch, she was a crazy witch. “Funny?”
“Yes. Here we are, married,” she strung out the last word in a sarcastic volley, “going to your old home to be with your family in what I bet is a pretty simple farmhouse.”
“We won’t be staying at the farmhouse.” As soon as he capitulated to his giagiá, he’d made arrangements. He and his pretend wife would be safely ensconced in the most modern hotel in Thívai. From there, it would be easy to supervise his grandfather’s progress since the farm lay only twenty minutes from the town. There, he could do his work, keep tabs on his family, and stay apart from the destroying memories lying in wait to grab him.
“Fysiká tha ménete sto agrókti̱ma.” His grandmother’s voice was raspy with sleep, yet still sharp and to the point.
Aetos jerked his head around to stare at his giagiá. She was awake, her dark eyes snapping with determination.
Of course you will be staying at the farm.
No. No. He could not do this and stay inside himself. The farm held everything. It held the memory of his arrival there at fifteen, with a small pack of clothes on his back and a huge chip on his shoulder. It held the memory of trying to fit into the laughing, loving family of his mother without success. Most of all, most corrosive of all, the farm held the memory of when he’d been told about his mother by his weeping grandparents.
Not dead. Not when he’d been told by his father.
No, deserted.
She’d deserted him. Left him with his hate-filled father for another man, who’d died with her in a boating accident several years after she’d gone away. The betrayal had clawed the last piece of humanity from him that day and he’d appreciated the act for many years.
He had no interest in going back to that memory and revisiting any of the repercussions.
“No.” He managed to not shout the word. “We will stay at a hotel in Thívai.”
“Ypárchei arketós chó̱ros sto agrókti̱ma.”
There is plenty of room at the farm.
He had sent thousands of dollars over the years for renovations. In fact, most of the proceeds of the first deal he’d made had been sent to Greece to make sure his grandparents lived in comfort. He’d sent money for a new roof, a new bathroom, a new kitchen. There’d been a substantial outlay for a newly paved road going into the farm, replacing the dusty lane he’d tramped on many times. There’d been carpets and sofas and a new mattress he’d chosen himself.
But he was quite sure the extravagant amount of money he’d sent had not turned the farmhouse into a castle. And he’d need a fortress with acres of space to keep away from the witchy woman sitting beside him. He was also quite sure the thousands of dollars he’d given could never paper over the memories the farm held waiting for him.
Quite sure.
“Eseís kai i̱ Natalie tha koimoúntai se paliá krevatokámará sas.”
You and Natalie will sleep in your old bedroom.
He glanced across the seat at the female. Her blonde brows furrowed as she tried to understand what was being said. She thought this situation was funny? Let’s see her laugh. “My giagiá wishes us to stay at the farm.”
“Right.” She smiled, one of the smiles she rarely gave him and always gave his grandmother. “We’d love to stay with you.”
“In my old bedroom,” he continued relentlessly. “With one bed.”
A flush washed her pale cheeks. “Um.”
He laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Do you want to stay there now? Or would you agree it’s best we go to a hotel?”
She glanced at him, a wild look in her eyes. Wild to escape him, no doubt.
“Pretty funny situation, isn’t it, Natalie?”
His giagiá frowned across from them, trying to figure out the rapid English.
He’d won this battle. The female would do anything to escape him. There would be no way she’d agree to spend any time with him in one simple farmhouse bedroom, much less in one simple, small bed.
The churning in his gut threatened to eat him alive. He should be happy, dammit, happy he’d finally won. Instead, her certain rejection cut at him like an eagle’s talons.
The female turned away from him and smiled. Another one of those damned smiles. “Naturally, we’ll stay with you.”
She said the words slowly, to make sure his grandmother understood. Yet she could have said the words over a length of several hours and they still would have made no sense.
The female had agreed. Agreed to share a bed with him.
Reality slammed into him.
She’d agreed, which meant nothing stood in the way of his returning to the farm.
His grandmother smiled warmly as she finally understood the English words that sentenced him to several days of certain torment.
“No.”
Both women turned to glare at him. His pappoús awoke as if sensing the sudden tension in the air. “Aetos, ti symvaínei?”
These infernal females were plotting to tie him to his past, like a rock weighing him down and crushing him. He was going to lose it: his mind, his focus, himself.
That was what was going on.
His giagiá grumbled in Greek to her husband. The witch sat silent, her face pale once more. And he found nothing in his brain but a whirling dervish of fear and chaos.
The limo climbed and then turned. Aetos blindly stared through the window, his stomach knotting as they grew closer and closer to the farm. He should tell the chauffeur now to make the other turn towards Thívai, towards safety. Nothing came out of his mouth, though. There were no words running around in his head that he could speak to stop this awful happening. All he could do was stare at the twisting road, the tall pines, the small family farms as they passed.
All so familiar. All so painful.
“Tha meínete sto agrókti̱ma mazí mas.” His grandfather’s rough voice filled the limo with stern resolve.
The chains of familial expectations wrapped around him after seventeen years of being free. Of running. He couldn’t let it happen, not again. “Oxi, pappoús—”
“Tha meínei gia tis diakopés.”
The last demand jolted him upright from the slouch he’d held for most of this ride. His pappoús not only demanded he and the witch stay at the farmhouse, he demanded they stay for the holidays. For Christmas and New Year’s. He demanded they stay for longer than two weeks.
“Óchi.” The word ripped from him before he could soften the tone, before he could find the words to negotiate himself out of this hellish future. No, no, a thousand times no.
His grandfather’s bushy eyebrows creased into a dark line of displeasure. “Nai. Den tha mou arni̱theí af̱tó.”
His pappoús had never demanded anything from him other than love. An emotion he hadn’t been able to give him. Not in any true sense. Instead, he’d spent his teenage years trying to give the man everything else. His help with the farm. His attention when his grandfather taught. His dogged attempt to fit into the family. But none of it had
been enough. He’d known it, and so had his grandfather. It had been a relief to leave it behind him when he left.
This farmhouse represented everything about himself he’d rejected.
He didn’t need family.
He didn’t do home.
He didn’t want connection.
However, now, now his pappoús demanded something more than love. He demanded Aetos stay, not run. And just like his demand for love, there was no way his grandson could deliver what he wanted.
“What’s going on?” Her concerned voice whispered across the limo seat. She leaned forward, toward him and he was suddenly swamped with her wildflower scent.
“They want us to stay for the holidays.” He whipped the words at her, trying to drive her back into the corner she’d huddled in as soon as they’d climbed into the car. “More than two weeks, Natalie. Two weeks and longer—sharing a bedroom. Are you laughing now?”
She blinked, and her long blond lashes caught his attention like a spider web caught its prey. Next, she opened her eyes and the blue-violet blast hit him square in the chest. “No, I’m not laughing.”
A choked rasp left him.
“But if that’s what they want, Aetos,” his name fell softly from her lips, “then that’s what we’ll do.”
He heard the creak of the prison door easing shut, caging him in. Sweat broke out along his spine. “No.”
“Nai,” she whispered, glancing over at his frowning grandparents. “This is not the time to upset your grandfather.”
A clang ran through him as the prison door shut fast.
The limo swerved onto a well-remembered lane. A dusty, dirt-filled lane. A lane he’d paid thousands of dollars to have paved.
“Skatá.” He yanked himself upright. “What the hell?”
“Is that the farmhouse?” Her voice filled with pleasure. “It’s darling.”
The place he’d been determined to leave forever rose in front of him like a ghost. The gray slate roof was crumbling exactly as it had been seventeen years ago. The white paint on the bricks had turned even grayer with age. The old wooden door still leaned heavily to one side precisely as it had when he’d closed it for the last time before leaving for his new world.