It felt eerily like that moment when Serena had callously and without even an ounce of emotion told him that she was done with him, that she had no use for him without his parents’ fortune.
In just a minute, he had lost everything—his parents’ respect and trust and love, the woman he had given up everything for, and the worst, his belief in his judgment, his emotions, in his self-worth.
His entire world had collapsed.
Her shoulders ramrod straight, her eyes breathing green fire, her small breasts falling and rising, her skin glowing with anger—it was the Clio he had admired and lusted after a decade ago.
She was spectacular to behold, truly an equal to goddess Athena at that moment as she battled the obvious fear that shadowed her gaze.
But even above the fierce pride and admiration he felt on her behalf for finally putting Jackson in his place was the most insidiously ugly and eviscerating thought he had ever faced.
Her boldness in so publicly and irrevocably announcing their wedding in a week...
Had this been her plan all along? Had the distrust and fragility in her eyes, the way she had trembled under his lips, the shadow of the woman that made him want to protect her from everything, had it all been an act?
The minute the thought erupted, Stefan felt acidic distaste flood his mouth. Cursing, he drove his fist into the pillar next to him, attempting to ground himself, struggling to contain his volatile emotions and his mind’s poisonous thoughts.
Dio, he didn’t want to think along either lines about Clio. And yet the distrust in him was bone deep.
Even as he hated that she was changing his life, even as he couldn’t get a handle on his suspicions, he knew how much making a life here meant to her, knew how much she loved this city.
Reminded himself of the desperate courage that had shone in her eyes when she had shown up at his suite.
Running a hand along his brow, he looked back at her.
Jackson was nowhere to be seen and she was surrounded by well-wishers.
A little of the color was back in her cheeks as her gaze swept through the hall, looking for him.
She had more than surprised him, true. But she couldn’t be allowed to indulge in it again, couldn’t be allowed to warrant this much emotion from him—whether surprise or fury or this want for her that was becoming a force he couldn’t fight.
If she wanted him to marry her, there was only one way that he could do it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN CLIO HAD moved a decade ago to study at Columbia, New York, the young, handsome playboys she had become friends with had captivated her. Even through the hardest times over the past decade, she had never once considered returning home to England. She had had such spectacular plans for when she would marry, where she would live for the rest of her life.
But she had never meant to make her dream come true this way. Catching back the sigh that wanted to escape, she looked up at Stefan, streetlights and huge ads bathing his face in strips of light.
The hardest New York winter held less frost than Stefan’s gaze in the interior of the limo. For the rest of the evening and the drive back to Manhattan, they hadn’t exchanged a single word.
Gazing out through the windows, he kept his phone glued to his ear the entire length of the drive. And judging from his conversation, Clio realized he was handling a crisis with his holdings in Asia.
It was a small comfort that he wasn’t freezing her out intentionally as she waited on tenterhooks for his reaction.
If he had snarled at her, if he had called her a hundred names, if he had let that fiery temper explode and lashed out at her, Clio would have had some estimate of his reaction.
But this silent chill that he seemed to radiate from every pore, for the first time since she had seen him standing on the terrace of the Empire State Building, arrogance and power emanating from him, left Clio afraid.
Even the ruthless stranger she had come to know this past week would have been welcome.
Feeling a lead weight in her chest, Clio followed him through the gleaming entryway into the soaring luxury hotel steeped in tradition. Every inch of the plush interior screamed over-the-top opulence and extravagance.
Nothing but the best for Stefan Bianco.
But every time she walked in through the doors of the Chatsfield, saw the eager staff greet Stefan, Clio was reminded of the fact that Stefan didn’t own a home. Anywhere in the world. He lived aboard his private jet, flying across the globe as his business dictated, without any connection to the world.
And here in New York, of all places, he hadn’t even intended to stay past the week.