Truths and Lies Duet

Kostas’s hand lands on my thigh under the table and squeezes as he saves me from her line of questioning. “Talia was visiting with her father on vacation. We ran into each other in front of Bernini’s sculpture and debated the story of Proserpina.”

Nora’s face pales at his answer, making me wonder if she knows more about her dark little prince and her wicked king of a husband than she lets on. She nods, as though she believes her son is a romantic. But she’s half present and half lost in thought. Though her smile is steady on her face, it’s not as bright as it was initially.

“How romantic,” she finally says, regarding Kostas as though she truly believes that.

“Yes,” I grit out. “So romantic.”

I want to ask her if she thinks it’s romantic the way her son defends Pluto in the sculpture. The captor. The rapist. It’s on the tip of my tongue, my inner Nikolaides fire brimming to the surface.

Kostas’s grip on my thigh tightens to the point of pain, reminding me of my place. He leans over, his lips grazing my earlobe, and whispers, “We can discuss it more when we get home tonight, moró mou. I just might be inclined to show you what else I find romantic.”

A threat.

It coils around me and suffocates me.

Thankfully, the waiter comes over and saves us from this conversation. Kostas orders for me, which might normally grate on me, but I’m too flustered to care.

The rest of the dinner goes fairly smoothly considering I’m dining with a demon, a poor, unsuspecting woman, and Aris, who appears to be almost as much out of place as I am. The men discuss a new hotel they’re opening up on Crete island, and Nora gives her input when asked. I remain silent, lost in my head.

While this family chatters happily with one another, all it makes me do is long for the loss of my own. If I were at dinner with Mom and Stefano, he’d be proudly talking about some new securities he’s invested in while Mom gushes about a pair of shoes she recently bought. I’d order my own damn food and I’d join the conversation without fear of saying the wrong thing.

And what happens when I do step out of line?

I chance a quick glance at Kostas. His hazel eyes are sharpened as his dad speaks, but I have no doubts he’s got me locked in his side eye. I’d like to convince myself he’s civilized as he sips his wine and discusses potential property locations with his father.

But he’s not civilized.

He cut off a man’s foot and beat him to death with it, for fuck’s sake.

As though clued into my thoughts, his eyes slide my way, cutting me to the bone. I’ve never met a man who can say so little with his mouth, but scream everything with his eyes.

Behave.

You’re mine.

Buckle up, sweetheart, because this is your life now.

I tear my gaze from his and gulp down my wine, hating the way heat creeps up my neck. I’m embarrassed. A ridiculous sensation, but it’s the truth. Embarrassed I was born into a family who would sell me like a head of cattle. Sold to a slaughterhouse, no less. It can’t get any more embarrassing than that.

When dessert is finally brought out, Nora turns her attention to me. “I was thinking since we only have a week to plan your wedding, we could get started tomorrow.”

The spoon that was almost to my mouth, filled with custard, falls from my fingers and clangs against the ceramic plate. Holy shit.

One week.

One week and I’ll officially have been sold to the Devil.

Lovely.

Kostas mentioned the timeframe before, but it didn’t hit me until right at this moment. I’m about to become his wife in less than a week.

I think I’m going to be sick.

As if he can sense my freaking out, Kostas makes it a point to glide his hand up my thigh and under my dress. My hand flies under the table to stop him, and he glares my way.

Mine.

He doesn’t have to say it, because those beautifully horrible eyes do it for him.

I try to remove his hand, and he releases me, only to thread our fingers together. Like we’re a real couple. This is the same hand he used to kill a man.

“Have you seen the ring your son bought me?” I ask Nora, using my question as an excuse to take my hand back. Reaching over Aris, I extend my arm to show her the ridiculous rock that sits on my ring finger.

As soon as I realize what I’ve done, a cold dread settles over me. I’m practically leaned across Aris’s lap—a place I know for a fact Kostas doesn’t want me to be.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous!” Nora coos. “See, Aris, your brother can be romantic.”