Ilona always paused to tell them, having accepted her infamy. In fact, she had turned it into a strength when these hounds had made their first appearance after their honeymoon. Facing a gauntlet of paparazzi and speculation, she had answered the question about her gown, then joked, “I wanted to look my best, in case I’m arrested again.”
“Look your best for your arrest” had become a meme overnight and was regularly pasted over her photo in whichever glamorous gown was her latest. Anticipation and mystique had grown over what she would wear next, the furor so intense that top designers were now sending her gowns in hopes of gaining exposure.
This evening would have been yet another rousing success if two things hadn’t happened. The first was that Odessa was intending to be here. Leander had learned she was on the guest list and would have had her removed—or would have refused to attend—but Ilona pushed his concerns aside.
“We have to cross paths at some point.”
Leander still would have kept Ilona on the far side of the ballroom, but it happened that Odessa came onto the dance floor as he was circling with Ilona. It was a deliberate ambush, he suspected, since Odessa spoke loud enough to turn heads.
“That slut.”
Leander instinctually angled his body to shield Ilona while glaring a warning at the woman, but Ilona brushed him off and turned to confront her stepmother.
“You raised three children, Odessa. At least one of them turned out very poorly. Any blame for that child’s behavior lies with you.”
An amused murmur went through the crowd and someone guffawed. Leander was pretty damned impressed himself.
“Would you excuse me?” Ilona asked Leander and disappeared to the powder room.
He waited near the entrance for her return to the ballroom, worried the confrontation had taken more out of her than she had let on, especially when she appeared only to say she would rather leave.
“I should have told them to remove her from the list,” Leander said in the car.
“Hmm? Oh, I don’t care about her.” Ilona flicked her wrist in dismissal.
“But you’re upset.”
The corners of her mouth went down. “I had a backache earlier and hoped I was wrong, but... I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” He was, but the words were stupidly inadequate, especially because this was the second time she was disappointed on that front. The first had been while they’d still been sailing. She’d been philosophical, saying the timing wasn’t right, but this time he could see she was genuinely saddened.
So was he, more sharply than he expected, but he didn’t say so. He reached for her instead, drawing her across and into his lap.
But as he held her, the ache of something lost or a chance missed became so unbearable, he did what he always did, rather than dwell on the pain of everyday life. He turned his mind to his revenge.
The board meeting was two weeks away. Soon, he kept promising himself. All the pieces were coming together and soon he would swing his final death blow and everything would feel right again.
Ilona had begun to believe happily-ever-after was real and that she was living it.
After steeping in the harmony of their honeymoon, they had returned to Athens where she took full custody of her company. It was thrilling! No more Midas poking his nose in, questioning her decisions. She didn’t even have to take his calls, not that he tried to reach out. He seemed preoccupied with keeping his name out of unfavorable headlines which suited her beautifully.
Ilona had half expected a call from Odessa after her performance at the gala the other night, but according to Feodor, Leander and Ilona were more coveted guests than Odessa was. The word was out that Odessa had seriously misbehaved. Her invitations had dried up overnight.
Ilona was neither pleased nor sorry. She was indifferent and that, too, was thrilling. She and Leander rarely spoke of any of that old, painful business. He had told her he was keeping a wall between her and his actions as a sort of protection against Midas retaliating, but she had actually started to believe they were both putting all of it behind them.
Not so, apparently.
“I had lunch with Hercules today,” she told Leander with concern when they were sitting down for a rare dinner at home. She had served the meal the housekeeper had prepared and had sent the woman home early so they could have some privacy for their discussion.
“Why?” Leander’s shoulders tensed and his voice became lethal.
“Because he invited me.” She poured the wine because he was only sitting very still, staring at her through narrowed eyes. “Have you really stolen his entire show?”
“No.” He picked up the glass she filled and took a healthy swallow. “I stalled it.”
“Leander—”
“Do not defend him,” he warned. “He has benefited off my father’s work, same as the rest of them. He has to pay.”