by Cat Porter
“Jesus, Mom. You make it sound so easy.”
“It definitely isn’t easy, but you have to try. You must. Otherwise what’s the point of fighting to stay alive?” Her voice pleaded with me, her eyes searching mine. She was right; My mother was a fighter. So was I.
She let out a breath. “Have you ever been in love, Turo? Really in love?”
I shook my head. “Once I thought so, but this, this was so different. So much more.”
“Have you told her how you feel?”
“No. We both realized it was something—something that really mattered—but circumstances, reality got in the way and then I had to leave. She has a lot of family responsibilities and she’s stepping up—”
“Just like you’ve been doing.”
“I suppose. I didn’t want to interfere with her—”
“No.”
“No?”
“There’ll always be interference of some kind, but that’s where you shine. Fighting through it, clearing the deck. I had no illusions about James. He wasn’t a fighter. I did the fighting there for both of us. Never a good thing.” Her gaze drifted to the window. “It wasn’t an ideal relationship, but it worked in many ways.”
“I know,” I said tersely.
She pressed her lips together. “I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to ever settle because you’ve been hurt, or it seems like the practical thing to do. Real love only blooms if you risk, if you take a leap of faith. Love soars in that leap. It’s in that soaring that you savor its unique flavor and texture, the one only the two of you share.
“I need you and that’s a good feeling,” she said. “It tortured me these past ten years, but I deserved it.”
“Don’t—”
“It’s true. But now that’s over, and I’m letting myself actually enjoy needing you for a change and it’s sweet, not bitter.” She cleared her throat. “But now is your time to soar. Take a moment and give whatever it is you feel for Adri a chance to grow. That wistfulness I noticed when you first told me about her has turned into a workaholic denial. I know that shit all too well, and I’m telling you, don’t allow it to happen.”
“Is this a mother power play here?”
She squeezed my arm and held my gaze. “Take it as my simply pointing out an alternative direction to you.”
“And make a choice?”
Her face fell. “Turo—”
“It’s true. I need to make a choice. My choice.”
“Yes, yours. We both know there’s no time to waste in this life. This is new to you, and it may feel awkward and uncomfortable, but you need to try.”
That voice beckoned me, “Get uncomfortable with me.”
My mother leaned in closer. “I do need you, Turo, but I love you more.” A kiss on my cheek.
“I love you too,” I breathed.
She released me. “As current CEO, I’m officially transferring your title to “consultant.” Go to Greece and explore some new ingredients Chef Dean could use at Porto or old traditions he could put his spin on. Maybe a winery that hasn’t exported yet. Take your time.”
“Actually, I do have a new business idea I’d like to research in Europe.”
“Do you? Fantastic. Go.”
“Mom.”
She held my gaze. “You need to go, Turo.”
I rubbed my hand across my jaw. “She’s in London right now. Not Athens.”
“Marjorie can have the ticket changed.”
“Mom—”
“I’m fine. Go.”
I scanned the itinerary. “Jesus, the flight is tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow.”
“Such a tenacious bitch.”
“You and me both.”
London
57
Adriana
“David, I need to have that quarterly report on Khalid Enterprises before four today. Mr. Khalid just informed me that he’s flying in from Doha tomorrow afternoon instead of next week, and I have to be able to give him the specs he wants to see.”
“Oh, damn. I’ll start on it now.”
“Thank you.”
My assistant David was an efficient sort. My office was run efficiently. I was an efficient component of Lavrentios Shipping, Ltd., London headquarters. Efficient.
I let out a heavy breath as I hunted for the right file on my computer. The only thing that wasn’t “efficient” was my constant daydreaming, an electric flutter of memories that frequently interrupted my train of thought, derailing me over and over again. Turo’s brittle but hearty laugh, the brush of his lips on my skin. Waking up in the morning with him wrapped around me. That yearning for him that now twisted and pulled at my insides, the intense feelings he evoked in my body, in my soul.
Working here filled me with pride, and I heard that pride in Petros’s voice every time we spoke. In my mother’s voice. In the way my uncle, Petros’s older brother who headed the offices here, had discussed in great detail a new investment with me earlier this week. And it made me feel good that I gave them that.
I glanced at the framed photo on my desk of me and Marko on the London Eye just last week. His smile was huge. A rare smile after everything he’d been through. He’d started to tell me details of his capture, and I’d ground my jaw together at the new shudder in his voice, sentences that would often drift, his far off looks that were too frequent for my liking.
We lived together at the family flat in Mayfair. We did things together. Either cooking at home or takeaways from his favorite restaurants and snuggling on the couch in front of the telly, or going to movies, museum exhibits first thing in the morning, a classical music concert once, but the crowd and noise had proven to be too much for him.
He was quiet most of the time, and yet once our parents flew back to Athens weeks ago, he had become a bit more talkative and relaxed, mostly because their constant state of concern had seeped into the atmosphere no matter the smiles on their faces. Thankfully, he was enjoying summer school and would be entering a private school north of London in the Fall.
Our mother had wanted to stay with us, but I’d convinced her otherwise. “Please, go home, Mamá. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you telling me my own son and daughter don’t need me?” she said, her fatigued eyes tightening, lips pursing.
“No, God no. I’m telling you your son and daughter need each other now and please give us this time.”
She fell on me, hugged me, and for the first time in what seemed like a long time, neither of us cried. Just held on tightly.
Today the sky outside my bank of windows at the office was streaked with puffy gray clouds. Raindrops still streamed down the glass from a quick shower earlier today. Bloody hell, it was the height of summer and it was cloudy here with a chance of rain this afternoon. I stretched out my neck and lower back and went back to preparing for my meeting with Mr. Khalid.
“Miss Lavrentiou?” the receptionist’s voice rose from the intercom on my phone.
“Yes, Claire?”
“A man is here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he’s quite insistent.”
I groaned inside. Greek reporters still tried to talk to me at the office, but I didn’t go anywhere without my security team. To gain access to me at the office, you had to go through a two stage check and pat down.
“His name?”
“Marino Dandolo.”
My heart stopped then banged in my chest. My fingers tightened around the pen in my hands, and I let out a laugh. That perfect sense of humour of his. The Venetian lord of Andros had arrived. My conqueror, my crusader was at the castle gates.
“He says you know each other,” Claire said. “And that he’s just flown in from Chicago to see you.”
I tossed the pen on my desk. My insides ached, knotted. My mouth dried, my fingers suddenly cold as they pressed down on the intercom button. “Yes, Claire. I know Mr. Dandolo. Please send him through.”
I ran a hand through my hair. Checked myself in the tiny mir
ror in my top drawer and dabbed on a swipe of my favorite plum gloss. My once long hair was now a little shorter and still stick straight after my morning blow out. His beach naiad was gone.
I swept the folders, newspapers, pens, my cell phone into neat piles and stood up, my legs shaky in my heels. I smoothed a hand down my snug charcoal gray pencil skirt, across the chest of my silk, sleeveless, beige blouse.
I waited. My lungs burned. I burned.
The door opened.
Those sharp eyes of his held mine, taking me in. I could feel the swell and pull of them, and I took in a breath. That crooked smile broke over his lips and my pulse leapt. A dark suit. Crisp pale yellow shirt. Spotless leather shoes. And that fantastic scruff on his angular face.
That heat reverberated between us, created a buzzing thing that had a life all its own, sending groans, touches, kisses of another lifetime now dancing in my chest, trying to break free.
“Signor Dandolo,” I said, and my blood stirred to life at that dark look that passed over his features at the sound of my Italian. “Are you here to seize and conquer?”
He stood there, still, as if he were overwhelmed by the sight of me. “Have you missed me?” he asked.
Cheeky sod.
My fingers grabbed the edge of my desk. “I miss you all the time,” I replied.
His smile transformed into something wicked that filled the room, wrenched at my insides, swelled in my soul. “I miss you all the time too,” he said, his voice low. He smoothed a hand down his lapel. “Thorough security check.”
“Oh I do hope they didn’t muss you up too badly.”
“I’ll live.” His smile got huge, brilliant once more and my breath short-circuited. I couldn’t move.
“Your mother is well?” I managed.
“She’s very well and back at work.” His gaze returned to me, his eyes blazing with a dash of his signature wickedness. “She kicked me out, in fact.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s time for me to pursue my true passion.”
“Ah, and so you came to London?”
His gaze went to the model reproduction of the company’s first mega tanker encased in plexiglass. “Yes,” he said, his attention settling on me.
The silence between us crackled as we both drank each other in. Brisker, headier than any champagne.
My heart banged in my chest. “A haberdashery business? I know someone on Savile Row I could introduce you to—”
“No.” He stalked toward me.
He got closer. That cologne of his wafted over me and my knees quivered, my insides tightened.
“Ah, you’re opening a pub or a teahouse in Chicago and need to research the real thing?”
He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “No.” He stood before me, so close I could sense his body heat.
“Fish and chips?” I breathed.
He scented me, carefully, with his whole being. An animal taking in his mate. “You. You, Adri.”
My lips parted, no words came out.
“You came to the airport in Athens and told me you loved me,” Turo said. “You gave me that gift freely, not asking for anything in return, knowing you might never see me again. Your gift kept me warm and sane and inspired in that darkness.”
I reached out and cupped the side of his face. “I’m glad,” I whispered, my heart thundering in my chest.
He brushed my hand with his lips. “Now the time for battle and grieving is done,” he breathed. “You told me in that castle in Andros that you’ve always believed in love. I believe now, too. You made me believe. I love you, Adriana Lavrentiou.”
My breath shorted, my hand slid down to his chest to steady myself, to touch him. He covered it with his own, connecting us, and his warmth bolted through me.
“We shouldn’t be separated by continents, an ocean, a sea. We should be traveling them together,” he said.
His words rushed and swirled like a living, breathing thing between us. Expectation, anticipation, possibility.
My throat burned.
He tilted his head at my non-reply. “Maybe your parents already have a royal prince lined up for you?”
“That was the year before last,” I stuttered.
“Ah. Maybe now you’re dating an age appropriate Greek shipping heir?”
“No, no. Been there, done that, as you Americans say.” I touched the seam of his lapel. “There’s no one else. How could there be?”
The edges of his lips tipped up but the grin quickly faded into something almost delicate and shattering. He took my hand in his and placed a small, leather, purple box in my palm. “A gift for my lady.” A box embossed with Alessio’s medieval double “A” logo in gold on the top.
My heart knotted in my chest. “What’s this? The conqueror’s bargain?”
“A declaration. Especially designed for you.”
I snapped open the box, and my eyes flared at the spectacle in my hands. A ring. A ring unlike any other. A raw aquamarine stone, and wrapped around it as the band and setting was a gold dagger.
“Turo…”
“You told me that your great-grandfather threw his lover’s precious dagger in the sea because he had to let go and move on.”
“Yes.”
“Because the battles he’d fought and won with that dagger were finally over. But unlike Stefanos and Natalia, we aren’t lost to each other,” he said.
I nodded.
“You and me,” he said, his words a rush of liquid fire. “We’ve let go of the past, but we can keep our dagger, lovely. This is our declaration of love. This is our gift to each other, and it should shine like the brightest star.”
“I love it. I love the ring.”
“I figured you had plenty of diamonds.”
“Too many,” I said, my voice shaking.
“This is a jewel for my beach goddess. You need a piece of the sea and the sun on you all the time. Our piece.”
“Put it on my finger,” my voice shook, my hand shook. He slid the sea jewel on my ring finger and I stared at it, my heart pounding.
“Baby, do I need to fuck a response out of you?” he asked.
“I love you,” I said, my vision blurry. “I love you. I love you.”
“Adri, will you—”
“Yes!”
He got down on his knees, his hands skimming up my stockinged legs, inside my skirt.
“W-what are you doing?”
He shoved the material up my hips and found the soft bare skin of my upper thighs. “I want to seal this moment with a kiss.” His eyes darkened.
A cry escaped my lips, and I trembled, my pulse pounding at the feel of his heat over my suddenly very sensitive flesh.
“Ah, fuck,” he rasped, fingering the garters that held my stockings, the sliver of my rosy pink knickers covering me. “Here’s my Lovely—delicate and decadent pink hidden under all that crisp gray.”
Goosebumps rose on my skin under his careful caresses, the warmth of his breath on my sensitive flesh.
“Your skin is much too pale, baby.” His lips brushed a thigh and I quivered. “This northern climate is no good for you.”
My head fell back and I laughed.
His thumb breached the silk fabric of my knickers, finding my wet flesh. “Fuck, I missed you,” he breathed.
My hips twisted in his hold. “I missed you too. So much.” His thumb swirled gently. “Turo—”
“We belong together. Dwell with me in my underworld, Persephone.”
My core hummed with sensation, my every nerve ending on fire. “Will you be good to me all those months in your darkness, my Lord?”
“I will, baby. Always.” With his eyes holding mine, he yanked the damp fabric aside and his tongue lashed over me, a swipe of velvet, and my hips tilted to meet his mouth. I wanted him, ached for him. All of him. How long had it been? For-bloody-ever.
“Oh…Turo…Turo…”
His lips, his tongue turned hard, savage, a whirlpool of sensation throbbing inside
me. His mouth let go of me and he rose, lifting me onto my desk.
“Stásou—wait!” I blinked, pushing at his chest. “The door’s not locked.”
He unzipped his trousers, his hard length bounding free of his boxer briefs. “Then you’ll have to be quiet this time, Lovely. Do you think you can do that?” He pressed against me, his wet tip teasing my entrance.
I whimpered. “I don’t want to be.”
“Try, just this once. I’m too fucking impatient.” He thrust into me ruthlessly, and the two of us gasped.
Pure ecstasy.
His forehead slid against mine, and my insides shuddered. The world made sense again. Something shifted in my chest, tightening, erupting. Everything had led me here, everything; the bad, the screwed up, the frustrations, the tears, the fuckups. Turo was perfect. Perfect. My insides hugged his gorgeous, powerful cock as he moved inside me, groaning.
His thickness filled me, and he moved more urgently, cutting off my breath. “Yes, yes—”
“You were meant for me, Adri. Only me. All for me.”
My heart beat faster at his words, his possession. “All for you.” I kissed him, his taste lighting me on fire and soothing me all at once.
Turo’s fingers dug into my hair, pulling tight as he ground into me, filling me. My legs hooked around his waist, keeping him close. My fingers clawed at his taut arms, and he encouraged every scratch, hushed cry, and moan he elicited from me on his every harsh thrust.
The two of us, together. Inside each other. Claiming a new life, new dreams.
Against the hot, damp skin of my throat, he growled, “All for me.”
58
Turo
The Houses of Parliament towered regally across the Thames, the sun’s afternoon glow washing the old stone in dark brassy gold. The sun was setting upon London. People had gotten out of work and were swarming the roads, the bridges. It was Friday, there was excitement in their rush of activity. Off to shops, bars, restaurants, the theater.