by Marian Tee
“You don’t believe me, do you?” William’s tone was heavy.
No. She didn’t. Or at least she didn’t think he could be proud of the real her. What William was proud of was the shell that she was now. The Willow of the past few weeks was the exact opposite of who she had been, someone who was desperate to do everything right because she couldn’t bear if she were rejected…again.
And the greatest irony about it? She only had to have her heart broken to be the perfect daughter.
Willow pressed her hands down on her eyelids, hoping the pressure was enough to keep her from crying. “I gotta go…”
“Willow---”
She applied more pressure to her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Her tone was feverish. “I just…don’t think now’s the right time---” Her lungs felt like they were on fire, it suddenly hurt so damn much to breathe.
“Let me speak,” William interrupted harshly.
Willow froze.
Her father released another sigh, but this time it was a tired sound. “I’m neither blind nor deaf, Willow. And I’m certainly far from being stupid.”
Before she could speak, William continued in a strained voice, “Do you truly believe your own father wouldn’t know the real reason why you always come to the breakfast table with red eyes? Do you truly believe I don’t know why your music’s so loud at night? And do you truly think I have no idea about what happened between you and---”
“Don’t.” Willow hated the way her voice trembled, but she couldn’t help it. Even now – especially now, with her meeting with the motherfucker still so damn raw in her mind – she couldn’t bear to hear his name.
“You can talk to me about it.”
“I’m okay, Father, please---” She choked off.
“Oh, Willow.” The remorse in her father’s tone made Willow blindly grope for something to hold on to, something to keep her from falling, which she felt like she was about to do any moment.
“I’m sorry if I was ever too hard on you.” As her father spoke, she managed to get a hold of the back of a chair and practically collapsed into it.
“Since you came back, you’ve been the most dutiful, the most hardworking daughter any parent could ever ask for,” William said tightly. “But I don’t want you to be that if it’s not making you happy.”
Slowly, Willow’s fingers curled into fists.
“The only thing I’ve always wanted was the best for you. I never wanted you to change.”
If only. If only she could believe that.
Instead of answering, she mumbled, “I have to go, Father.” She ended the call. Determined not to dwell on her father’s words, Willow immediately replaced her Bluetooth earpiece with the headset connected to her cousin’s earpiece.
“Can you hear me, Warner?”
She watched Warner nod through the monitor. He was Shania’s son through and through, with the same arrogant tilt of their chins and heavyset frames. The only difference between mother and son was that Warner had better taste in clothes, his beautifully cut tux managing to make him appear impressively academic.
Her gaze strayed towards the crowd. Every seat was taken, every inch of space occupied by excited-looking guests. Pleasure swelled inside of Willow and, for the briefest moment, she forgot all about the motherfucker and just basked in the knowledge that Hamnet was about to score another big hit with tonight’s launch.
Eric put on his headset as he came to stand beside her. “Security, shut the doors, we’re going live in ten.” While Willow was in charge of the panel, Eric’s task was to coordinate with the rest of the staff outside.
From afar, the doors were slowly pulled shut.
Willow checked her watch. “Ready guys, five, four, three, two, one…”
The host – a former supermodel – stepped forward with a beam. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. It’s my honor to welcome you to the official launch of Greek Mythology in the Eyes of IT Girls.” Introductions were dispensed efficiently, and after just five minutes, the Q&A began.
How do you all feel about your book being touted as the next big thing in nonfiction?
When she saw her cousin open his mouth to answer, she said hurriedly, “No, Warner, let the authors answer that.” Through the monitor, she watched her cousin reluctantly snap his mouth shut.
We’ve heard about the movie deal you got. Do you think your book will translate well into film?
Warner opened his mouth again.
“Still for the authors, Warner,” Willow said quickly.
Warner scowled.
Another hand from the crowd shot up. “To the organizers, whose brainchild was it to have the event take place here?”
“My son, of course, Warner Somerset-Fotilas.”
Willow could feel everyone in the control room staring at her at Shania’s proud answer. Beside her, Eric’s jaw dropped, his head snapping towards her in offended shock. THE NERVE, her assistant mouthed wrathfully.
“And how long did it take to plan? The logistics must have been horrifyingly intimidating.”
“It was nothing.” This time, it was Warner who answered with a modest smile as he leaned back against his seat.
A reader asked, “I love the invitation design for the launch. Could you tell us your inspiration about it?”
“Oh, this and that.”
Expectant silence followed. Willow had half a mind to let Warner sink but then she thought about William, and she reluctantly fed her cousin his line.
Behind the crowd, Willow caught sight of the doors slowly opening again, and she looked at Eric in question.
Her assistant appeared clueless. “Security, is there a problem?” He listened for a bit before turning to her, muttering under his breath, “VIP.”
Oh. Willow frowned. Who could it be? Through the monitor, she watched with growing unease as the crowd seemed to stir in awareness of the latecomer’s presence. Maybe it was Damen and Mairi Leventis, coming to surprise her? They had said they wouldn’t be able to attend the launch, but knowing those two…
The questions being fired were all for the authors, allowing Willow to focus her attention on the crowd. They were parting now, like the damn Red Sea---
Willow paled as she saw who had come to take the last vacant seat on the front row.
Shiiiiiiiiit.
It couldn’t be him. He couldn’t be so cruel---
But it really was him, and damn if her heart didn’t stop hurting and beating fast at the same time, leaving Willow shaking in a mixture of pain and confusion.
Another reader came up to the stage to ask the next question. “For Mr. Fotilas, if you were to be a Greek god – something original and not based on those found in mythology – who would you be?”
Silence.
“Well, umm…” Warner coughed, the sound traveling to Willow’s headset like thunder.
But Willow might as well be deaf and blind. Head reeling, throat dry, and cold sweat bathing her skin, Willow could only stare as he took a seat, his every moment graceful, his beautiful face unreadable.
Warner began to pull on his bowtie. “Umm, well…”
Willow watched with a combination of dread and fascination as Stavros’ intense gaze took in the panel before moving up and looking straight at the dome camera pointed at him, almost like…he was looking at…her.
“Motherfucker.” The word slipped past her lips.
“Motherfucker,” Warner repeated unthinkingly.
Beside him, his own mother gaped while the four authors burst into laughter.
Warner’s face turned red.
Willow saw Stavros’ lips curve into the most gorgeous smile. Shiiiiiiit. She clutched her heart. The hole was getting bigger, but her heartbeat was also racing, faster and faster. No, no, no, she couldn’t find him beautiful just because he had smiled!
Seeing that the reader who had asked the question was struggling to keep her face straight, the host stepped in and murmured, “Thank you for that very original an
swer, Mr. Fotilas.”
Willow barely heard the host speaking, busy frantically denying the truth. She had to stop this insanity. She had to stop feeling this way---
The host asked, “I wonder what equally original powers a deity such as that could possess?”
On the screen, everyone saw Warner pulling on his bowtie again. “Original, eh? Well, if I were a deity…” His face scrunched, and he looked like a cross between someone with a hangover and bowel problems. “Umm…”
Stavros’ smile had turned into a smirk. A super sexy one, and at the sight of it, off Willow’s heart went, beating so fast it could have won a Guinness record. Shiiiiiiiit. She had to find a way to make herself immune---
The answer came to her then, and she started to pray fervently. Please God, please. “Make me gay.”
The words traveled down to a mind fraught with panic, and Warner repeated them right away. “Make me gay.”
Chapter Four
You taught me to love without the words.
You taught me to love with just a look.
Now, let me love you with every breath I have in me.
Love, Your Greek Billionaire
There was an earthquake. A second later, Willow realized it wasn’t so. It was just Eric, shaking her. “What are you doing?” He was laughing and moaning at the same time. Behind them, everyone seemed to be doing the same.
It came back to her then, every ludicrous second, and with her own moan, she fell to her knees. Wrenching the headset off her head, she let it fall down around her neck as she shook her head with numb disbelief. Shiiiiiiit. What had she done?
Not a moment had passed before the door burst open and her aunt came raging in, the answer to her question. Before Willow knew what was happening, her face had already snapped sideways at Shania’s powerful slap.
“You bitch!” Her aunt was screaming. “You set it all up from the start, didn’t you?” Shania slapped her again. “You will regret this! I’m going to show the world who you really are, and you will never want to show your face in public again.”
She tried to slap Willow again, but this time, everyone had recovered, Eric quickly putting himself between the two while two male editors pulled the older woman back.
“Let me go!”
“Your son needs you, Mrs. Fotilas.”
The ploy to distract Shania seemed to work but before leaving, she shot her niece one last baleful look. “I won’t let you get away with this.”
The moment the older woman left, Eric asked worriedly, “How bad is it? You want some ice? You want to call the cops?”
Willow managed a weak smile. “That’s overkill, even for you.”
“Get used to it,” Eric answered right away. “You want to be gay like me, right?”
Shiiiiiiit.
Willow squeezed her eyes shut. “Did I really make him say those things?”
“Kind of.” Her assistant’s words were half-amused, half-pitying.
“Oh God. I’m going to be fired tomorrow, aren’t I?”
Nothing.
Willow’s eyes flew open as she cried out, “You’re supposed to say ‘no’.”
“I can’t,” Eric cried back out. “You know I don’t lie! That’s why you hired me, remember?”
Willow covered her face. “How bad is it out there?”
Dismay flashed on Eric’s face.
She gulped. “Really? That bad? That quick?”
“Your aunt came prepared,” was the grim answer.
She tried to get up, but Eric forced her back down. “No, don’t watch or listen---” But it was too late, Willow shrugging him off as she struggled to get to her feet---
No.
The entire crowd was looking behind them, where photos of her and Stavros were projected on the wall.
With trembling hands, Willow put her headset back on. Switching the audio so she could hear what was taking place outside, the first sound that reached her was Shania’s distressed voice.
“Whoever’s responsible for those photos, please stop them! Please! I know what you all think. That my niece is whoring herself for money, but she’s still my niece!”
Her aunt’s gaze flitted to another direction…to him. “Mr. Manolis, I know you’re not behind this, and please know my family does not hold anything against you. It’s not your fault that my niece has certain needs a proper woman doesn’t have. She’s just sick, like her mother, and I’ll do my best to have her treated so nothing embarrassing like this will ever happen again.”
The photos disappeared from the wall.
“Oh, thank God.” Tears started to run down Shania’s face, but she valiantly wiped them away. “Please, let us pretend nothing’s happened. It’s the best we can do for my niece. Please. We must show her compassion. It’s not her fault she’s been raised…” Her voice caught and she sniffed, as if unable to say the rest because it was too ghastly.
Shania turned her back on the crowd. As she started towards her seat, she whispered into her earpiece, “Listen to me, you little whore. We’re going to continue with the program, and this time you’re going to make my son look like the smartest man in the world. One wrong move, and even your father will hang his head in shame---”
Willow whitened at the threat.
Claiming her seat, she faced the crowd again. As she smiled, she said between barely moving lips, “Do we have an understanding?”
“Willow?” Eric’s voice was pained.
For my father. For my father. For my father.
Life and death, Willow.
She whispered, “Yes.”
* * *
Stavros kept his face expressionless as he studied the man related to Willow by blood answer every question thrown at him with impressive aplomb. Could no one fucking see that the man was being fed his lines, with the way he always paused for a second before answering?
His gaze drifted to the dome camera, which was trained down on where he was seated. He would bet his entire fortune Willow had access to those cameras, and that in spite of what happened earlier, she would still be working behind the scenes. He knew her well, after all – well enough to know that her passion for the job – and her love for William Somerset - wouldn’t allow even the greatest humiliation to get in her way of making sure this launch was successful.
With every minute that passed and Willow didn’t come out to defend herself, Stavros knew that he would have to force himself to do the same. Even if his every instinct was to beat her cousin until he somehow found a way to grow himself balls and maybe brain cells to go with it, Stavros was determined to stay in his fucking seat and bide his time. He could always kill the son of a bitch later.
Or at least that had been his intention.
“Mr. Fotilas, has Ms. Somerset played any role in organizing this launch?”
“I’m afraid not.” Warner knew it was finally his chance to get his revenge, and he seized it greedily. Feigning a grimace, he murmured, “My cousin has problems, you see, and they interfere with her work.”
“What kind of problems?”
He coughed. “I don’t think it’s appropriate, but I’m also a man of truth, so…” He let out a deep sigh. “She’s sick. She craves for attention so much, to the point that she’d do anything---”
Stavros’ control snapped. That was fucking it. He stared hard at Warner Fotilas, then at Willow’s aunt. His agile mind sized the situation in five seconds flat, allowing him to figure out exactly how to extract vengeance on Willow’s behalf.
Coming to his feet with swift grace, he headed towards the side of the stage, murmuring to the attendant, “I’d like to ask the next question.”
The attendant’s eyes widened in awed recognition, and he started bowing as he mumbled, “Yes, sir. This way, sir.” He led Stavros to the start of the queue, knowing that one didn’t let a billionaire like Stavros Manolis wait for anything.
As he ascended the stairs, he made a call to his security head and gave the man his instructions. Pocketing
his phone but not ending the call, he took his place behind the microphone stand, silent satisfaction filling him at seeing Warner and Shania exchange looks at his approach.
“Good evening.” The seemingly innocuous words served as his security’s cue, and in an instant, the entire place was plunged in darkness. People screamed, but the sounds died down instantly as the backup generators kicked into gear and emergency lights blazed to life.
“We apologize for the inconvenience,” the host said right away. “We’ll have this sorted out, but for now, let’s please continue with the Q&A. Especially now that we’ve a very special individual gracing us with his presence. Good evening, Mr. Manolis.”
“Good evening, Irma. It’s nice to see you again.”
“If only you could smile while saying that, I’d be inclined to believe you, Mr. Manolis,” the host teased. “Your question, handsome sir?”
Stavros turned to Willow’s cousin. “I’d like to ask Mr. Fotilas about the theme used for tonight since this is his brainchild.” His voice took a pensive note. “Could you tell us more about the gold detail on the wall to your right? What is it supposed to depict?”
Silence.
“How about you tell us what you think, Mr. Manolis,” Warner blustered after a moment, “and I’ll let you know if it’s right or not.”
Touché. Warner might have a few brain cells, after all. Stavros answered in Latin, “I wouldn’t know about you, but it makes me think of the pattern of a motherfucking god’s underwear.”
Only one person nodded in understanding. “Ditto, Mr. Manolis.” It was one of the four authors, and the merriment sparkling in her eyes indicated that she spoke Latin as well.
Stavros slanted a glance at Warner. “You agree, sir?”
“O-of course.”
“Ah.”
The Latin-speaking author let out a gasp. “Why, Mr. Fotilas. Is that true? Does the gold detail remind you of the pattern of your underwear?”
The crowd burst into laughter as Warner’s face flamed with color.
Shania burst to her feet. “That was a cruel prank to play on my son---”
He cut her off, saying coldly, “---who should have just admitted he neither speaks Latin nor has any idea what the artwork on the wall is about.”