Her brown hair is down in waves, and her lips are painted a bright red. She’s dressed in a gorgeous black cocktail gown with a matching pair of stilettos. She looks like the female version of Aris, and I know right away, she’s their mother. She gives each of them a kiss on their cheek, and then she places her attention on me.

“I’m Nora,” she says, giving me a kiss on each cheek before she steps back. “And you must be Kostas’s fiancée.” She beams. “I’m ashamed to admit that while I’ve heard about you, Kostas and his father neglected to tell me your name.”

“Oh, my dear wife,” Ezio purrs in a somewhat condescending tone. “I was going to wait until we were all seated to make introductions.”

He’s dressed in a black suit similar to the one he wore this morning. He wraps his arm around her waist and grins wide. Unlike Kostas’s smile, which comes across dangerous with a hint of seductiveness, or Aris’s, which gives off a playful vibe, Ezio’s smile screams barely hidden malice. It’s the kind of smile that sends chills up your spine and leaves you afraid of what’s to come.

“This is Talia…Talia Nikolaides.” He draws out my last name slowly, and his grin grows wider, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

Nora’s bright smile falters for a split second before it’s back and even brighter than before. “It’s nice to meet you, Talia,” she says. “Shall we go in?” She nods toward the restaurant. “We can get to know each other over dinner.”

What’s there to know?

I’m a captive on this island, forced to marry a monster.

The end.

Happily fucking ever after, lady.

Rather than going off on this poor woman who doesn’t fit in with these malevolent men, I plaster on a fake, polite smile that would make my grandfather proud.

“Come,” Kostas instructs, his voice low and commanding.

Placing his palm against my lower back, Kostas guides us through the door and past the hostess stand. Like everything else at this hotel, the restaurant is over the top gorgeous. The walls are an off white with wrought iron lamps hanging every few feet apart, casting yellow and orange hues onto the walls, making it appear as if the walls are on fire. There’s a large stone fireplace that takes up the entire back wall. The tables are a soft white, and the chairs are all black leather and wood wingback with orange cushions. The floor is made up of red and orange swirls.

Like fire licking up from Hell.

Who knew Hell could look so pretty?

The Devil sure is…

I know without asking he had something to do with designing this restaurant.

When we arrive at our table, Kostas pulls my chair out for me. “Thank you,” I whisper, still in awe of my surroundings.

“I thought you might like this restaurant,” Kostas says, sitting next to me.

For one moment, he seems as though he might be genuine. As though he’s a dutiful boyfriend who knows what his girlfriend likes. But he doesn’t know. He’s an actor. Not unlike Alex. Difference is, Alex really was the dutiful boyfriend who cared.

Was.

Sickness roils in my belly, and tears threaten, but I push them back.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, plastering on a fake smile, because apparently, I too am supposed to play a part. And I’m fearful of the consequences if I don’t. “Did you help design it?”

His mother seems unaware of the awkward vibe hissing in the air. Pride shines on her pretty face.

“It was both of us,” Nora admits as her husband pushes her chair in and sits next to her, on the other side of Kostas. We’re at a round table that seats five people, so Aris sits in the empty seat to my right, which happens to be between his mom and me. “Do you enjoy Greek mythology?” she asks.

One quick glance at Kostas and I try not to shudder. His intense, calculating glare is on me, daring me to bark out what I want to say.

What does it matter anymore what I enjoy?

“I do.” I place my napkin on my lap, forcing another smile for her. “I’m studying art at the Florence Art Institute. I prefer the performing arts, but I’ve taken several art classes and have taken a liking to classic mythology.” Too bad I’ll never get to go back and finish.

The waiter comes over and pours us each a glass of water, and Kostas orders a bottle of wine for the table.

“Florence?” Nora questions. “How was it you met my son from all the way over in Italy?” She tilts her head to the side slightly, and it hits me that she really has no clue as to why I’m here and engaged to her son.

I shift in my seat, shooting Kostas a questioning look. I may have studied theater, but I’m not a liar. Am I supposed to just make up some romantic story of how we met?

Tags: K. Webster, Nikki Ash Crime
Source: readsnovelonline.net