Erebus spoke English, but preferred Greek, stretching her to recall a vocabulary she hadn’t tested in nine years—something he gently reproached her over. It was a pleasant meal that could have been any “Meet the Parents” occasion as they politely got to know each other. She had to keep reminding herself that the charismatic old man was actually a notorious criminal.
“He seems very nice,” she said after Erebus had retired for an afternoon rest.
Mikolas was showing her around the rest of the house. They’d come out to the pool deck where a cabana was set up like a sheikh’s tent off to the side and the Ionian Sea gleamed into the horizon.
Mikolas didn’t respond and she glanced up to see his mouth give a cynical twitch.
“No?” she prompted, surprised.
“He wouldn’t have saved me if I hadn’t proven to be his grandson.”
Her heart skipped and veered as she absorbed that none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t be here and neither would he. They never would have met. What would have become of that orphaned boy?
“Do you wish that your mother had told your father about you?”
“She may have. My father was no saint,” he said with disparagement. “And there is no point wishing for anything to be different. Accept what is, Viveka. I learned that long ago.”
It wasn’t anything she didn’t see in a pop philosophy meme on her newsfeed every day, but she always resisted that fatalistic view. She took a few steps away from him as though to distance herself from his pessimism.
“If I accepted what I was given, I would still be listening to Grigor call me ugly and useless.” She didn’t realize her hands became tight fists, or that he had come up behind her, until his warm grip gently forced her to bend her elbow as he lifted her hand.
He looked at her white knuckles poking like sharp teeth. His thumb stroked along that bumpy line.
“You’ve reminded me of something. Come.” He smoothly inserted his thumb to open her fist and kept her hand as he tugged her into the house.
“Where?”
He only pulled her along through the kitchen and down the service stairs into a cool room where he turned on the lights to reveal a gym.
Perhaps the original plans had drawn it up as a wine cellar, but it was as much a professional gym as any that pushed memberships every January. Bike, tread, elliptical. Every type of weight equipment, a heavy bag hanging in the corner, skipping ropes dangling from a hook and padded mats on the floor. It was chilly and silent and smelled faintly of leather and air freshener.
“You’ll meet me here every morning at six,” he told her.
“Pah,” she hooted. “Not likely.”
“Say that again and I’ll make it five.”
“You’re serious?” She made a face, silently telling him what she thought of that. “For heaven’s sake, why? I do cardio most days, but I prefer to work out in the evening.”
“I’m going to teach you to throw a punch. This—” he lifted the hand he still held and reshaped it into a fist again “—can do better. And this—” he touched under her chin, lifting her face and letting his thumb tag the spot on her lip where Grigor’s mark had been “—won’t happen again. Not without your opponent discovering very quickly that he has picked a fight with the wrong woman.”
She had been trying to pretend she wasn’t vitally aware of her hand in his. Now he was touching her face, looking into her eyes, standing too close.
Somehow she had thought that giving him pleasure would release some of this sexual tension between them. Now everything they’d confessed made it so much worse. The pull was so much deeper. He knew things about her. Intensely personal things.
She drew away, breaking all contact, trying to keep a grip on herself as she took in what he was saying.
“You keep surprising me. I thought you were a hardened...” She cut him a glance of apology. “Criminal. You’re actually quite nice, aren’t you? Wanting to teach me how to defend myself.”
“Everyone who surrounds me is a strength, not a liability. That’s all this is.”
“Liability.” The label winded her, making her look away. It was familiar, but she had hoped there was a growing regard between them. But no. He might be attracted to her sexually, last night might have changed her forever, but she was still that thing he was saddled with.