“I can,” Leonidas said huskily, looking down at her. He roughly pulled her into his arms.
As he kissed her, Daisy felt the sun on her bare shoulders, the warm wind blowing against her dress and hair, and she breathed in the sweet scent of flowers and the salt of the sea. She felt her husband’s strength and power and heat. He wanted her. He adored her.
Could he ever love her?
He’d told her once that he couldn’t. But then, hadn’t Daisy said the same after learning his true identity—telling him she could never, ever love him again?
And she’d been wrong. Because in this moment, as Leonidas held her passionately in this paradise, she felt her love for him more strongly than ever.
A voice chirped words in Greek behind them, and they both fell guiltily apart. Maria, the housekeeper, was smiling, holding a lunch tray. With an answering smile, Leonidas went to take the tray from her.
“We’ll have lunch at the table,” he murmured to Daisy.
The two of them spent a pleasurable hour, eating fish and Greek salad and freshly baked flatbreads, along with briny olives and cheeses. It was all so impossibly delicious that when Daisy finally could eat no more, she leaned back in her chair, looking out at the sea, feeling impossibly happy.
She looked at her husband. As he gazed out at the blue water, his darkly handsome face looked relaxed. Younger. He seemed...different.
“Do you have any drawing paper?” Daisy asked suddenly. He turned to her with a laugh.
“Why?”
“I want to draw you.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, now.”
He went inside the villa, and a moment later, came back with a small pad of paper and a regular pencil. “It’s the best I could find. It’s not exactly an art studio in there.”
“It’s perfect,” she said absentmindedly, taking it in hand. She looked at him as he sat back at the small table on the terrace. “Don’t move.”
He shifted uneasily. “Why are you drawing me?”
How could she explain this strange glow of happiness, this need to understand, to hold on to the moment—and to him? “Because...just because.”
With a sigh, he nodded, and sat back at the table. As Daisy drew, she focused completely on line and shadow and light and form. Silence fell. He sat very still, lost in his own thoughts. As Leonidas stared at the villa, his relaxed expression became wooden, even haunted. To draw him back out, she prodded gently, “So you grew up here?”
“Yes.” If anything, he looked more closed off. She tried again.
“You must have at least a few good memories of this place.”
“I have good memories of Maria. And the hours I spent on this terrace. As a boy, I used to look out at the water and dream about jumping in the sea and swimming far, far away. Not stopping until I reached North America.” The light slowly came back into his eyes. “The village is nice. The food. The people. I was free to walk around the island, to disappear for hours.”
“Hours?” She lifted her eyebrows, even as she focused on the page. “Your parents didn’t worry?”
“They were happy I was gone.”
Moving the pencil across the white page, Daisy gave a snort. “I’m sure that’s not true...” Finishing the sketch, she held it up to him with quiet pride. “Here.”
Reaching out, Leonidas looked at the drawing. Daisy smiled. It was the best thing she’d done in ages, she thought. Maybe ever. He looked younger in the drawing, happy.
He touched the page gently, then whispered, “That’s how you see me?”
“Yes.” She’d drawn him the way she saw him. With her heart.
Silence fell, a silence so long that it became heavy, like a dark cloud covering the sun. Then Leo roughly pushed the drawing back to her.
“You’ve got me all wrong,” he said in a low voice. “It’s time you knew.” He lifted his black eyes. “Who I really am.”