Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

‘W HERE ARE WE GOING ?' Odessa kept her gaze fixed ahead, her poise admirable as they drove through the absurdly ostentatious gilded gates that guarded the entrance to the Santella estate.

It was a reasonable question, and Ares was surprised she hadn't asked before now, but now that she had it irritated him a little. He wanted to ask why she cared. Surely anywhere else on earth was better than what she'd just left behind.

He wondered if she would've lobbied any other man for opportunistic deliverance if he hadn't been present.

The very idea shot icy repugnance through his gut.

From the corner of his eye he watched her nurse her sore wrist, anger and that spurt of disquieting protectiveness unsettling him all over again. He tightened his fist, stamping out the urge to take her hand in his, to soothe the bruise. For one thing, his father's speculative glance was growing heavier by the minute.

While he mostly confided heavily in his father, he was curiously reluctant to divulge his innermost thoughts to his parent just now.

Perhaps because he still wasn't sure just what his intention was? Or because the very idea of it unnerved him in the extreme and yet he couldn't rid himself of it?

He shifted in his seat, eager to dislodge the knot that had anchored itself to his chest, resisting the urge to grit his teeth when it refused to budge.

‘We're flying to Rome,' he answered eventually. ‘I have business to take care of there tomorrow. Then we're heading home to Athens. After that...we'll see.'

Eyes widening a touch, she nodded serenely, her posture almost regal. ‘Okay, but...' She paused, her gaze darting to Sergios.

Ares knew why she'd hesitated, and was glad of his father's presence. It bought him time to deliberate over this rash decision. To decide whether the prime piece of real estate in Porto Novo he'd handed over to Flávio Santella—warehouses worth two million euros—was worth the headache he'd just landed himself with. Quite apart from that, and more concerningly, the absurd, unconscionable notion that had rocked him just now was one he needed distance from as quickly as possible.

‘We'll discuss the details later...when we're all rested.'

Irritation sparked across her face, curiously making him want to laugh. True, he wasn't usually one to crave rest with deals waiting to be made—especially when it was barely mid-afternoon. He'd closed more deals in the hours between when most people clocked off for the day and midnight than he could count. But he wasn't about to dissect his decision now.

He watched her glance out of the window, then shift her whole body until she was looking through the rear-view mirror at the gaudy, oppressive mansion where she'd grown up.

Before he could stop himself, he cupped her chin, redirected her focus to his. ‘No looking back,' he said. ‘You will look forward from now on.'

He'd meant it as an order, yet it emerged gruff and low, as if infusing her with a strength he didn't owe her. And, like in the bedroom, her wide silver eyes darted to his and held. The punch those eerily beautiful eyes packed sent an alarming jolt through him.

He removed his touch before he did something insane...like caress her smooth skin one more time.

He'd done enough of that today.

His father's smug look once she'd faced forward sent tingles through Ares's body. Tingles he ignored, thankful that Sergios, for whatever reason, was choosing discretion over his usual exuberance. But he couldn't forget the vehemence with which Sergios had demanded to come to Elio's funeral, his eagerness to search out his ex-boss's daughter.

The journey to the private airport was thankfully short, but the breath of fresh air when he stepped out did nothing to uncoil his tension or remove Odessa's alluring fragrance from his senses.

He stalked away towards his plane, leaving his father chatting to her as he boarded. Choosing a solo armchair, he drew out his phone and busied himself with business as they took off and winged their way towards the Italian capital.

Ares knew his tension wasn't making things better, but he couldn't help himself.

Thee mou , it grated to remember that he'd never been able to help himself all those years ago, when infatuation had led him down a dangerous path. But he was his own man now.

And this time she would dance to his tune.

Two hours later, he stopped out of the shower in the penthouse suite at the Bella Regenciana on Via Labicana. The iconic building that overlooked the Colosseum held a particular significance to him. It'd been the first substantial deal he'd lost to a more ruthless competitor when he'd first tried to acquire it. Five years later he'd bought it for cents on the euro, when the greedy, severely over-extended mogul had lost everything.

These days he was used to having the last laugh.

He didn't feel like laughing when he entered his bedroom and saw his father lounging on the plush sofa opposite the bed.

Ares stifled a groan. ‘What are you doing here? You should be resting.'

‘Ah, this "resting" thing seems to be going around a lot today.'

He cringed at his father's air quotes.

‘Is there something on your mind, Baba?'

‘I'm more concerned about what's on yours,' Sergios replied.

He could pretend he didn't know what his father was talking about, but they'd long passed that stage of their relationship. They'd needed to stop hiding behind walls and fa?ades a long time ago, when rejection, cruelty and grief had bound them together in an unbreakable bond.

Decades later, Ares still couldn't stem the searing pain when he thought of his two-year-old sister Sofia and the mother who'd selfishly broken their family apart. Her last resort—claiming Sofia wasn't his father's—had been particularly cruel, a vicious retaliation for her husband's supposed neglect.

It hadn't mattered to her that Sergios had been bending over backwards to give her the life she craved. Or that Elio Santella was a devilish taskmaster who'd demanded unreasonable loyalty. His mother's unhappiness had unfolded in the worst possible way, starting with her desertion and ending in tragedy.

Her death a mere six months later in a fiery car crash, along with Sofia and her new lover, had almost destroyed Sergios, and Ares knew he'd never forgiven himself for the mistakes he'd made.

Ares had grown up knowing his father wanted more than one child. And Sergios had been overcome with grief at losing the daughter he'd barely had a chance to know. But he'd buried it for Ares's sake.

Ares had never forgotten that.

But, as much as he was still to decide on the final outcome of his actions, he didn't want his father disillusioned. The old man had suffered enough at his mother's hands.

‘I know it seems sudden, but I know what I'm doing,' he said.

Sergios's brows rose. ‘Do you?'

Ares strode towards his dressing room, avoiding his father's stare. ‘If you're concerned about how things have turned out today, don't be.'

‘Oh, I'm not. On the contrary, I think she's perfect for you,' his father mused.

Ares stiffened, and a punch of something closely resembling panic slammed into his gut as that tingling from earlier returned. ‘Was that why you insisted on attending the funeral? Because you'd hoped for this outcome?'

‘What outcome?' Sergios returned, his eyes probing deeper. ‘Are you referring to the unfinished business between you two? The thing that's been holding you back from true happiness?'

Hot and cold chills danced over him as the weight of those words pressed down on him.

‘True happiness is a myth,' he growled. ‘And no one's perfect, Baba. You know that.'

He kicked himself for the flash of pain that flitted across Sergios's face at the despised reminder that they'd both been deserted in the cruellest way possible, and then visited with unspeakable tragedy while they'd still been licking their wounds.

Ares's fingers gripped the cotton shirt he'd plucked from a hanger, his thoughts rearing back in time, even though he didn't need any mental gymnastics to work out that his sister would've been turning thirty this year if she'd lived.

Silence thickened behind him as he dressed, then pressed more heavily when he returned to the bedroom, his cufflinks in his palm. ‘I know what I'm doing, Baba. And please don't get your hopes up, okay?' he implored.

His father stared at him through unusually pensive eyes. Then he rose. He stopped long enough to tap Ares lightly on his hard cheek, then headed for the door.

‘You're a strong powerful man, but even you can't stop me from hoping, yios . For both our sakes, don't make the same mistakes I did.'

Ares's tension remained long after the door had shut behind his father...long after he'd secured the cufflinks and shrugged on his jacket.

He was straining to switch himself into business mode when he stepped into the living room and saw her on the terrace. She'd changed into a pair of jeans that did infuriatingly delicious things to her backside and her long, shapely legs. From this angle he couldn't ignore the way her top moulded firm, high breasts and a flat stomach, or the fact that her hair was down, skimming her lower back and almost touching those firm globes.

He'd felt that heavy mass of lustrous curls more than once...knew the very real temptation it held for a man to bury his fists in it. To draw those curls to his nose and luxuriate in her scent. To picture those tresses spread across his pillow.

Ares cursed under his breath when his body rudely awakened. He took an involuntary step towards her before he caught himself.

No, his misguided moments of dancing to this princess's tune were in his past.

Reversing direction with another pithy curse, he exited the penthouse, his father's words ringing in his ears.

The first morning of her freedom.

Odessa stood on the balcony; her face raised to the sun.

Like yesterday evening, the air smelled fresh and crisp, with a tang of lemons that drew a smile. The distinct absence of a sea breeze pressed home the fact that she was no longer in Alghero. That her bold strike had succeeded in removing her from under her uncle's thumb. That, despite the unanswered questions hanging over her head, she'd slept more soundly than she could ever remember sleeping.

‘Enjoying your liberation?'

She tensed, then turned around to find Ares lounging against the door.

Despite it being barely seven o'clock, he was dressed in formal business attire, his clean-shaven jaw and the slight sheen to his hair drawing attention to his chiselled face.

The espresso cup in his hand next drew her gaze to his long, elegant fingers. Her breath shortened, her traitorous body rousing in appreciation of the virile, sophisticated picture he made.

Odessa gripped the railing tighter to ground herself. ‘Enjoying the morning air, si .'

His gaze lingered. The thundercloud of displeasure he'd exhibited during their plane ride from Alghero to Rome had seemingly dissipated sometime between their arrival at the hotel and now. Her next breath came easier, because while squaring off with him was strangely invigorating, she welcomed the respite.

‘Have you ever been to Rome?' he asked, almost conversationally, stepping onto the terrace.

She shook her head. ‘Capri for the summer still remains the extent of my travels. Until now, at least.'

Capri was where her father had decreed that the family would vacation. He hadn't liked going where he wasn't known, or where he couldn't effectively lord his status over everyone else. During her late teens she'd been constrained, when most women her age, with the kind of means she'd grown up with, would have been exploring the world. His grip had only tightened in the years after Ares left, with her heartbroken defiance sealing her fate.

She swallowed down the rising bitterness.

As if Ares sensed her thoughts, his lips firmed. A second later he threw back his beverage and set the cup and saucer down on a nearby table.

‘The day is yours. Feel free to explore. We'll go out to dinner tonight. Rome at night is not as special as Athens, but it's still quite spectacular.'

Her grip tightened. She knew she couldn't succumb to the awed sensation attempting to sweep her away. There was a catch. There was always a catch.

‘You didn't bring me here to play tourist. Are you going to tell me what you want in return for helping me or is it going to hang over my head like the sword of Damocles?'

He strolled closer, his hands sliding into his pockets. The movement threw the breadth of his shoulders into relief, inviting attention to the muscle play beneath his shirt.

‘I thought we already settled that, agapita ? We're getting married.'

Her jaw dropped, and then, after the tiniest wild agitation, her heart along with it. ‘But that's... No. You just said that yesterday to throw Uncle Flávio and Vincenzo off. It was never meant to be real. I was thinking more along the lines of a fake engagement for a while, maybe a few months, then calling it off...' Her words trailed off when his expression grew sardonic.

‘Were you?' he drawled.

Heat filled her face. ‘Don't mock me, Ares.'

His amusement evaporated. ‘And don't presume you have any power to dictate how things proceed. You handed that over, remember?'

‘Actually, no. I didn't.' She swallowed the knot in her throat. ‘I said anything you want. Not everything,' she ventured, even while that ‘we're getting married' continued to ping wild desires through her blood.

Santo cielo , what she wouldn't have given to hear that years ago. But it was a pipe dream. Remember that...

He stared at her for a short stretch before glancing down at his watch. ‘I'm going to be late for my meeting. You'll have the day to yourself, but be ready to go out when I return at seven.' He started to turn, then paused. ‘Make no mistake, agapita . You will marry me, as per your request. And you will also give me that anything I want .'

She watched him leave, her insides a sickening mess of wild agitation and shock.

Ares wanted to marry her?

Why?

It sure as hell wasn't because he wanted her. He'd stated plainly yesterday that he wasn't there for her. And hadn't he responded with a cold hard no when she'd first made the ludicrously hopeful suggestion?

What on earth could've changed between then and now to make him want this? Surely not the kiss ?

Questions dogged her, sending her pacing through her suite after breakfast with Sergios. He tried to coax her into going for a walk with him afterwards, but she was too riled up about his son's announcement to be tempted to stretch the boundaries of her freedom for the first time.

Her rollercoaster of agitation only intensified when the concierge rang at four p.m. to say there was a couturier heading up to the penthouse. The elegantly dressed middle-aged woman swept in with two assistants, one tugging a gold porter's trolley bearing three sleek garments bags and boxes of matching accessories, and the other carrying a large case that turned out to contain the very best in luxury make-up.

The folded note bearing her name attached to one garment bag was short and succinct.

Choose a gown. I prefer the red. A

On the heels of spending hours in the grip of confusion, Odessa's first knee-jerk reaction was rebellion. And that spurt of rebellion hardened when the garment turned out to be a sleeveless floor-length blood-red satin sheath with a plunging neckline and no back at all.

Heat flared in her cheeks as she imagined herself in it with no underwear—because there was no way she could pull off wearing panties, never mind a bra, in this dress.

‘Diavolo, no!' she snapped under breath, ignoring the looks that passed between the other women.

Thrusting it aside, she reached for the next bag, somewhat mollified when she saw an off-white dress. It was better, but still a little too risqué, with its thigh-high slit and geometric gaps beneath the bust and at the hipline. She wasn't in the mood to show so much of her midriff and hipbones, thank you very much.

The last garment made her exhale in relief.

Ice-blue, with a waterfall skirt in soft chiffon, the halter neck design would leave her arms free in the cool early autumn air, and while a slit in the back negated wearing a bra, it was still tasteful enough that she reached eagerly for it.

‘This one.'

The couturier snapped her fingers. Within minutes, matching accessories had been laid out. A quick shower later, and she was in front of the mirror in her dressing room, the experts barely intruding as her hair was blow-dried, curled and styled in an up-do with tendrils framing her face. The make-up accentuating her eyes in dark and silver shadow was understated, and yet dramatic enough to make Odessa's mouth gape in astonishment.

All three women gushed compliments, and once her dress, shoes and clutch bag were in place, they were spirited away as dramatically as they'd arrived.

It wasn't the first time she'd dressed up to meet a man. Her father had paired her up and dangled her in front of friends' sons and acquaintances more times than she could count. But this was the first time she'd dressed for Ares Zanelis. And as much as she despised the nerves chewing her up, she couldn't stem them.

She rose from the sofa when he entered, and watched him grind to a halt, his eyes wide with something heavy and profound that restarted the rollercoaster all over again. She withstood his intense scrutiny, feeling every second of the thorough, almost obsessive head-to-toe inspection, and his utter fascination with looking into her eyes.

She knew the make-up made her eyes look saucer-wide and almost haunting, but...

‘If you're going to make a big deal about me not wearing the red dress, save your breath. I'd rather wear nothing at all than wear that thing .'

She only realised what she'd blurted a moment later and groaned under her breath.

Ares prowled closer, his fingers undoing his suit jacket before he shrugged it off. Odessa hated it that she had to fight to drag her gaze away from the chiselled perfection he revealed.

‘Is that so? Well, far be it for me to subject the public to the scandalous spectacle of your nakedness.'

The smile teasing his lips sparked a suspicion that drew a gasp. ‘The red wasn't your real choice at all, was it?'

His amusement deepened and she knew she'd been played. ‘I suspected you would want to show your claws. You always were your fiercest when given an order.'

The recollection of him saying something similar years ago landed sharp and raw between them, making her pulse race. But his amusement evaporated a second later, indicating that he hadn't meant to bring that up. Hadn't meant to share that memory with her.

‘I'll be ready in fifteen minutes,' he clipped out, then strode off, leaving her stomach churning once again.

She'd barely got her runaway pulse and scattering senses to calm when he returned. His business suit had been swapped for a black dinner jacket and matching trousers with a thin strip of black satin down the side seam that accentuated his lean athleticism. The first few buttons of his midnight-blue silk shirt were undone, baring his strong throat and the faintest wisps of chest hair.

Odessa was immediately thrown back to a younger Ares, rising out of the sea after an illicit midnight swim. Even back then she'd been in complete girlish awe over his chiselled form. Now every womanly cell in her body heated at the erotic sight of all that raw male perfection, barely restrained by the trappings of sophistication.

‘Shall we?' he rasped.

Blinking to drive away the lascivious thoughts, she glanced past him. ‘Is Sergios not coming with us?'

He shook his head. ‘No. He needs to rest. Besides, this evening is just for you and me.'

She wasn't going to apply any deeper meaning to that. He'd all but said outright this morning that he'd be finally stating his demands.

Her insides continued to twist into knots as he ushered her into the lift. Strained silence ticked between them, with Odessa grasping and discarding subjects she'd once been able to freely discuss with this man who was a complete stranger to her now.

She stepped out in relief when the doors opened—relief which was immediately shattered when he caught her hand in a light hold.

She glanced up and saw the pointed look in his eyes.

Right. To the outside world, they were getting married. Because she'd asked him and, for soon-to-be-disclosed reasons, he'd obliged.

And now what? They must pretend to be happily about to be engaged?

She swallowed a snort before it could escape, eager to get outside, where hopefully a dose of fresh air would clear her head. But awaiting them were eager staff who jumped when they saw him coming, hotel guests who eyed them with wide-eyed speculation, and the latest model Ferrari supercar idling kerbside. She knew it was worth over a million, because Flávio had greedily and openly coveted it for the last six months.

Sliding in, she felt her senses immediately latch on to Ares's unique scent, seemingly imprinted in the space. It only intensified when he dropped into the bucket seat beside her, his large frame shrinking the interior until it felt as if he was all she could see, all she could breathe.

In a wild bid to dissipate the charged atmosphere she revisited the subject they'd skimmed minutes ago, as Ares gunned the engine and accelerated into the Rome night.

‘What you said about Sergios... Is he all right? Did the accident—'

‘How do you know about that?' he demanded sharply, his body stiffening.

‘We have TVs in Alghero, you know. Besides, I could hardly miss it. You seem to be a big deal these days.'

He eased the car into the road, the clench-unclench of his thighs playing in the strobe of passing streetlights. ‘Am I?'

‘Self-effacing doesn't become you.'

A layer of tension released and the corner of his lips quirked. ‘You'll be hard pressed to find anything that becomes me, agapita ,' he murmured evenly, but she heard a slight bite behind the statement.

She wondered again what had been involved in his meteoric rise to the top in just a short decade. Before she could ask, he was continuing.

‘My father likes to pretend he'll live for ever. And as much as I'd like that...'

His lips pursed and she saw a flash of bleakness that was stark and stomach-hollowing under the next passing streetlight.

‘They discovered a heart condition during his recovery.'

Her heart squeezed. ‘I'm...I'm sorry. Is it serious?'

He remained silent for a tight stretch. ‘Most heart conditions are—especially at his age.'

It was said in a finite way that didn't invite more speculation or questions. But she was reluctant to return to the charged silence...reluctant to probe her own feelings too closely.

‘And you? You were in a coma for a while.'

She felt his probing gaze when he pulled up at a traffic light.

‘You were paying attention that much, agapita ?'

That edge was present in his tone, but there was something else. Surprise? Curiosity? The tiniest softening? Or was it wishful thinking?

‘No matter what happened between us, I never wished you ill, Ares.'

His chest moved and her heart lifted with...hope? But his lips had tightened again.

‘That's good, because in the telling of our brief story you would've been hard pressed to come out the victim at any point.'

Her insides twisted hard, but she pushed the anguish away. ‘I don't think of myself as a victim. But neither am I a villain. Our past is—'

‘In the past,' he interrupted. ‘Tonight is about what comes next for you and me.'

Before she could respond, Ares was pulling up in front of one of the many centuries-old buildings the city was known for. It looked nondescript from the outside, but even its act of attempting to look plain hinted at hidden delights.

She wasn't mistaken.

The moment Ares alighted, a smartly dressed young man approached, took his car keys, and waved them through the ordinary-looking doors.

After a dozen steps on a black carpet they came to dramatic red double doors and a stone-paved corridor lit with large medieval fire lamps thrust into the walls high above their heads. It was so evocative of a bygone era that she stared around her, her mouth agape.

‘Where are we?'

‘Teatro Romana di Caracalla. A private exclusive theatre owned by a friend. It was a rundown apartment building when I sold it to him two years ago. He's turned it around admirably. At any other time I would've preferred for us to have the place to ourselves, but tonight calls for a curated audience.'

Her breath snagged in her chest. ‘What's special about tonight?'

One eyebrow arched in a satirical mockery. ‘You do want the message reinforced, don't you? Or would you rather leave Bartorelli with the impression that he still has a chance?'

A cold shudder went through her. ‘No, I wouldn't.'

‘Good.'

He tugged her hand onto his sleeve and escorted her to the end of the corridor, which opened up into a wide balcony. Below the balcony a semi-circular theatre was set out not with rows of seats but with twelve semi-circular dining tables with chairs facing the stage. The whole theatre rose three storeys high, with more fire torches fixed along the walls up to the ceiling.

It was spectacular, and she would've loved to explore, had Ares's intentions not been uppermost in her thoughts.

He led her to a table clearly set out centre stage, briefly acknowledging the occupants of the other tables. Odessa was keenly aware that they were the cynosure of every pair of eyes, and murmurs of interest were flaring.

Vintage champagne set in a silver bucket was poured into crystal flutes as the lights went down. Then the first haunting strings of a familiar opera drew fresh tingles down her spine.

Her gaze darted to Ares. ‘Tristan and Isolde?'

A ghost of a smile drifted over his lips as he clinked his glass against hers. ‘Your favourite story, ne ?'

Her breath caught. ‘You remember?'

‘The curse of having a steel trap memory,' he said with a throwaway shrug, his face shuttered in a way that made her heart drop.

The first act of the twisted, heart-tugging love story was accompanied by a superb lobster salad and then sublime gnocchi, salmon and truffle cheese served by unobtrusive attendants trained in the art of melting into the background.

By the time the lights came up on first intermission, Odessa's emotions were threatening to strangle her. The reasons behind Ares choosing an opera that celebrated a fierce forbidden love that ended in tragedy had triggered higher emotions and put her on fierce alert.

Was it a metaphor for them? A warning against reading anything into his actions?

Her gaze dropped to the table, to the expensive-looking square velvet box he was sliding across the table, and a loud gasp erupted through her jagged emotions. ‘This is... You can't—'

‘Open it,' he commanded, and there was a hoarse roughness to his voice despite his carefully neutral expression.

Her brain shrieked at her not to, but that foolish sliver of a doe-eyed girl lurking deep within her compelled her to reach out a trembling hand.

The blush-pink diamond was surrounded with two rows of tiny, flawless cushion-cut white diamonds mounted on a platinum base and narrow band, each one glinting and sparkling beneath the candlelight.

A gasp echoed somewhere to her right, and within a minute wild applause broke out, their audience cunningly pulled into this seemingly euphoric moment.

On cue, Ares rose, closed the gap between them, lifted the ring from its plush velvet cushion and slipped it onto her finger. All the while Odessa's mouth gaped in what might be construed as romantic shock but was in reality astonishment at how expertly she'd been played.

Under the pretext of brushing her lips with his—an act which left her mouth tingling and heat arrowing sharply between her legs—Ares took her chin in his hand, his eyes gleaming as he murmured, ‘I would get down on one knee, but since we've been forced to put the cart before the horse I feel that moment has passed, no?'

Words failed her—both at the sheer magnificence of the ring and the image of Ares on one knee, playing out the secret impossible fantasy she'd harboured for far too long during her teenage years.

‘When did you do this?' she asked, pushing away the more pressing questions she wanted to blurt out. Like why he was pushing this ruse. Why was he going to such great lengths for something neither of them truly wanted?

Are you sure?

‘Does it matter?' he drawled dismissively, as if a proposal that would've made an enormous swathe of women swoon was merely an item he'd ticked off his list tonight.

‘You're right. It doesn't matter,' she forced out.

Theirs wasn't a reunion filled with breathless proclamations and the obsessive need to tabulate every single moment of their for ever pledge. She'd made a desperate request and he'd grudgingly obliged, with conditions of his own he'd yet to make fully known to her.

‘Are we going to get the suspense over with now?' she rasped, aware that they were under even more intense scrutiny.

Hell, that diamond on her finger commanded an audience all its own.

He took his seat, and she noticed he'd moved much closer to her. With their table distanced from the other tables, they were out of eavesdropping range. The enforced proximity ramped up her tension, her stomach churning as he watched her for an age before he spoke the words she suspected would turn her life as she knew it inside out.

‘In return for keeping you out of the clutches of your uncle and that bastard,' he started, his eyes glinting hard as his gaze dropped to the faint yellow marks on her wrist, ‘you'll stay married to me for five years, or however long it takes for you to give me two children—minimum. If we're blessed with more in those five years, then they will be well received. After that, you'll be free to live your life however you want.'