A Diamond Deal With the Greek

‘Whether I have or not isn’t the question here. It is whether the visual...situation is my choice, or whether it’s imposed on me.’

‘I see you’ve regained your smart mouth. If nothing else, I suppose it’s better than your sullen mood this morning.’

Draco watched her eyes dim as if a switch had been turned off. For the first time in his life, he wanted to curse himself for stating a truth when discretion would’ve been the better part of valour. Truth be told, he hadn’t enjoyed sharing space with a silent Arabella. He hadn’t on Wednesday night either on the drive back from dinner. But then, he’d been reflecting on their dinner conversation, a part of him wondering whether he’d taken leave of his senses somewhere between the first and second courses. No other explanation made sense as to why he’d divulged intimate details known only to his closest family. Even the trial he’d mentioned had been held behind closed doors to protect Maria.

He’d eventually reasoned his behaviour away as a necessary evil in the task he’d undertaken. In the grand scheme of things, what did it matter if Arabella knew a few more details about him than he was comfortable with? He seriously doubted that she would step out of line with the threat of criminal charges hanging over her head.

He’d expected things to resume as planned, only to be met with a woman who, while he’d felt a modicum of satisfaction that she wasn’t jumping at his touch any more, didn’t seem inclined to engage with him on any level whatsoever.

And that had been before he’d seen the heavy traces of anguish shadowing her eyes this morning. He’d spotted the evidence of tears beneath her cleverly applied make-up the moment she’d stepped on the plane that not even the sunglasses had been able to disguise. Her mournful posture when she didn’t think she was being observed had added to the mounting evidence that something had happened between Wednesday night and this morning.

‘Arabella? Is something wrong?’ he prompted when she remained silent.

A burst of laughter tripped from her lips but her gaze refused to meet his. ‘Right at this moment, nothing that a quick chat about our sleeping arrangements won’t fix.’

She was being evasive, but, short of shaking the truth out of her, Draco had no choice but to bite down on his frustration. ‘You’re that concerned about sharing?’ He glanced at the bed. ‘The bed is big enough for two. Or are you afraid you’ll attack me in the middle of the night?’

She shrugged. ‘I already have a few black marks against me. I’d rather leave grievous bodily harm off my list of sins.’ Her tone was light but held a brittle edge that sliced at him. He searched her expression, his fingers itching to catch her chin and make her look at him so he could see beneath the snarky surface.

Draco wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t. Perhaps he was wary of exposing a different set of problems. Where Arabella was afraid of close contact with him, was he craving it with her? More than that, was he craving more of the closeness he’d felt when he’d opened up to her about his past?

He stepped back abruptly. The questions were absurd in and of themselves. They were both playing a part. Closeness was a given. But not to be mistaken for anything he needed, never mind craved.

‘If you’re that worried about it, you take the bed. There’s a living room through there with a comfortable enough sofa.’

He tugged his polo shirt over his head and returned to the dressing room to don his loafers.

‘Do you want a tour of the training facilities?’

Her nod held relief. ‘If you hang on a sec, I’ll change into my trainers.’

When she joined him a few minutes later, she’d tied her hair into a ponytail. Stefano showed them where several golf buggies were parked in a neat row after Draco refused a personal escort.

He took the path that curved west of the villa, then aimed the buggy towards the domed building that sat atop a small hill. ‘You seem to know your way around.’ Her tone was neutral, as if she didn’t care whether he answered or not.

When he glanced her way, her face was angled away from him.

His jaw clenched for a tight second. ‘Yes. I’ve been here a few times. I advised Olivio during the training-facility build five years ago.’

She frowned. ‘That implies a friendship. But you don’t react to each other as friends do.’

‘Probably because over the years we haven’t seen eye to eye on a few issues.’

Her gaze flitted to him, speculated, then drifted away. ‘But he still wants you to marry his daughter.’

Draco shrugged. ‘Purely for dynastic reasons.’