Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

I N THE DUMBFOUNDING seconds that followed his words—words that should have arrived with cymbals and trumpets and exploding fireworks, considering the impossible utter insanity they evoked—Odessa fully grasped why Ares had chosen to do this in public.

Just like with the proposal, he'd sought to contain her response. And, oh, was he clever in doing so...

Because she only managed to keep the predictable screech of disbelief and outrage trapped in her throat by the most valiant fight with her willpower.

The hooded look in his eyes said he knew it.

He watched with avid interest as her heart raced madly and her hands bunched on the table, shaking with the force of suppressed emotion and causing the ring to sparkle in its mocking presence even brighter.

She felt the blood drain from her head and take her belly along with it to her toes.

Her lips parted but no words emerged.

Was it even worth reacting to this absurdity? Yes , her frantic senses screeched. Because the steely determination in his face screamed that he was serious.

Dio mio.

‘Before you express anything other than complete ecstasy at my request, remember our audience,' he warned under his breath.

‘This is why you brought me here? To corner me so I couldn't tell you how utterly crazy you are?' she hissed.

Despite the twitch of his lips, his eyes remained deadly serious, without a trace of insanity. ‘My reasons are exactly as I stated. You get to enjoy your favourite opera, be offered the requisite diamond ring, and more importantly get your unwanted suitor off your back. In return, I've stated my demands. That you find it insane doesn't change the fact that those are my wishes. If you want to continue this conversation elsewhere, I'll be happy to oblige.' He looked around, his eyes gleaming with triumph. ‘I think we've satisfied our objectives.'

He finished speaking just as a rotund man with a booming voice who introduced himself simply as ‘Armand' approached. He expressed congratulations in Italian, to which Ares responded, speaking in a perfect accent that reminded her he spoke her mother tongue fluently.

Somehow Odessa managed to smile and respond, to hold out her hand when his wife arrived to gush over the ring. In minutes, they were inundated with other well-wishers.

Ten minutes after that Ares was firmly but good-humouredly announcing that they were leaving to celebrate in private. Odessa was still reeling as he escorted her out to their waiting car.

‘That should take care of the publicity side of things. Armand's wife alone will ensure our news spreads across the continent before morning.'

She turned on him, her heartbeat still roaring in her ears. ‘You... Tell me you were joking back there!'

‘No. I was not.'

‘Ares...'

She saw him tense at the whisper of his name, his fingers tightening briefly around the steering wheel before he relaxed them.

‘We will be married long enough for the two children I require to be born or for five years—whichever comes first,' he reiterated, his voice like rumbling boulders that dropped onto her shoulders. ‘And they will be born in Greece,' he tossed in, as if geography mattered one iota when she was grappling with his ludicrous demand.

‘If all you need is a womb for hire, why do you need marriage at all? Surrogates are a dime a dozen these days.'

A muscle rippled in his jaw for a moment before he rasped, ‘Because I wish to do things properly. For my father's sake. I'm sure you remember he's old-school in most ways?'

It was the last thing she'd expected him to say and it robbed her of speech, right along with the shock of the moment before. Because in some baffling way it made sense.

‘Right. I see.'

And she truly did. In father and son she'd witnessed an unbending devotion that had sparked both yearning and envy. It had been the model she'd based all the foundations of her relationship goals on. Still...

‘Why go through this...subterfuge? Isn't he going to be upset when he finds out?'

Tension clearly still riding him, he zipped them through traffic for a full minute before he replied.

‘He'll never find out. As far as he's concerned every aspect of this marriage will be real. If I remember correctly your acting skills are impressive. You'll do everything in your power to convince him that our reunion is real. And if...' He paused, a flash of something resembling bleakness darting across his face before he neutralised his expression. ‘And when the time comes for us to separate, I'll break the news to him in a way that minimises the damage. Hopefully by then he will be too preoccupied with his grandchildren to care.'

‘You don't need to count on any imaginary acting skills you think I possess. I'm not participating in this...sham. Not for one year. Never mind five...or...' She waved that absurd thought away, the layers of shocked pain settling over her shoulders like an unwanted cloak as her brain struggled to grasp the unthinkable scenario he was drawing up. ‘Are you really okay with pulling the wool over his eyes like this?'

‘The eventual benefits will far outweigh the means of achieving my goals. It's salutary advice you'll do well to apply to your own circumstances.'

She swallowed a bark of hysterical laughter before it leapt free. He was really serious about this.

‘Why five years?'

‘Because it's the right age for a child to relinquish dependence on an absent parent. Any later and the damage could be irreparable.'

‘How do you know this?' she asked, and then stinging recollection made her inhale sharply. ‘Your own mother left when you were seven,' she murmured, almost afraid of voicing the reason he was pushing for this. ‘Is this about...? Do you wish your mother had left earlier?'

His expression morphed into granite. ‘This isn't about me.'

Of course it was. His whole being screamed it. But Odessa wisely didn't belabour the point.

‘So I give you a child...children...and we divorce in five years?' Why did the words sear a path of pain in her throat?

Fully expecting him to agree, she was stunned when he shook his head. ‘No. We will stay married for a minimum of five years. But if...when you decide to leave, you will relinquish full custody of our children to me. We won't divorce until my father is...' He stopped, expelling his breath in a rush.

Again absurdly, considering the utter lunacy of this conversation, Odessa's heart cracked for him, sympathy filling spaces long left wanting and hollow. She didn't need him to spell it out. Her mother's passing might have happened long ago enough for her only to recall hazy moments with the woman forced to stay in her husband's shadow, but deep in her heart the pain of losing her parent lingered.

She pushed back the memories to find Ares watching her.

‘Five years is also a good age to ensure a child's memories fade sooner rather than later,' he tossed in.

The pang was sharper this time, lancing hard enough to make her gasp. ‘Ares, this is insane!'

‘And yet these are my terms. Take it or leave it.'

It didn't even register that they'd returned to the hotel's underground car park until the silence pressed in on her. The finality of his statement battered at any hope of getting him to rethink this streak of insanity, but she wasn't about to be cowed into submission.

‘You don't really expect me to bear your children and then simply walk away when this sham marriage you fully expect to fail falls apart, do you?' she demanded, firming every sinew in her shocked body.

The faintest hint of something almost resembling compassion flashed across his face. Then it was gone so swiftly she wondered if she'd imagined it.

‘Don't pretend it will be a hardship for you,' he said.

Anger at the cavalier way he dismissed her feelings bunched her fists. ‘How can you say that? Of course it'll be a hardship for me! It'll be impossible. How dare you imply this is a decision to be taken lightly?'

His nostrils flared. ‘We both know how flighty you can be. You say one thing and mean another. Do I need to remind you that I have first-hand knowledge of that? That you went straight from my arms into another man's with barely a pause in between? After you assured me that Paolo Romani meant nothing to you?'

The accusation stung, even though she knew the full truth behind it. The very real threats from her father...the vicious examples he'd made her witness. Her fear that he'd make true on them.

‘Am I to bear punishment for one mistake for the rest of my life?'

The smile that curved his sensual lips was all cynicism, no mirth.

‘But it wasn't just the one mistake, was it, agape mou ? You knew I was there, listening, when you denigrated me to your father,' he accused, citing the awful night when they hadn't covered their tracks as well as they should have.

In her eagerness to meet with Ares in their secret spot, a few nights before her eighteenth birthday, she'd failed to ensure her father was otherwise occupied. Elio had found her in the orange grove. Her quick actions had thankfully ensured she seemed to be alone, but she'd been aware that Ares remained nearby, a protective presence but privy to every caustic put-down her father had unleashed upon her.

She'd remained silently defiant...until her father had whispered a vicious threat against Ares and Sergios. One so low and deadly she'd been certain Ares hadn't heard it.

Terror and panic had pushed her into responding regrettably, in the only way her young mind had offered.

She'd hotly denied her attraction to his chauffeur's son, and then gone one better and sworn he wasn't her type, that she'd never be attracted to him.

Even from his hidden spot, she'd felt the force of Ares's affront, the blow to his pride. And his cold rejection of her next day—the day she'd planned to go several steps further than the light kisses they'd so far shared—had hurt. Nevertheless, she'd understood.

She had hoped to explain that she'd said what she had to prevent the serious bodily harm her father had threatened Ares and his father with. She'd seen first-hand how Elio treated his enemies. The last thing she'd wanted was for him to act on his threats.

Until she'd discovered Ares's own plans.

Ares Zanelis had always planned to leave her behind. To shatter the foolish, girlish dreams she'd woven around him.

Having secured a string of near-dilapidated buildings with the nest egg his father had given him, he'd made plans to leave Alghero—information she'd discovered through the servants' gossip the day before he'd left.

Thankfully, he'd never witnessed the extent of her devastation. How she'd cried herself to sleep for months afterwards, with her father's cruel jabs at her clear unhappiness driving the knives in even deeper.

Tell him now. Set the record straight.

‘I knew you were still in the orange grove that night, Ares. I said all those things to take my father's interest off you. I was protecting you. He threatened to have you beaten. Or worse.'

His mouth twisted, scoffing at the idea that a man like him would need someone to save him, even back then.

‘Considerate of you. But I've never needed anyone to fight my battles for me. Bravo for trying—and you were shockingly convincing. Enough to make me wonder if it was your subconscious speaking the truth on your behalf.'

‘No, it wasn't,' she protested hotly. ‘I never thought you were beneath me.'

‘You moved on very quickly after that. Or were you also protecting me when you kissed your father's lieutenant's son the very next night, in the same spot where you'd let me touch you?' he seethed.

Regret and shock ripped a gasp from her throat. ‘You saw?'

Censure etched into his face. ‘Oh, yes. But then I always saw you, didn't I? You made sure of that.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘It means we lived at opposite ends of your father's estate and had no business crossing paths—and yet there you always were.'

‘You pursued me too!' she protested hotly, her face flaming.

He shrugged. ‘You were as beautiful then as you are now. Perhaps as irresistible to me as you pretended I was to you. But you also proved to be fickle, didn't you? Maybe for once I shouldn't have ignored your father when he said you were meant for another. That I was a dress rehearsal for the real thing.'

She inhaled sharply. ‘He said that to you?'

His sardonic smile widened. ‘That and much more—including those threats you believed you were protecting me from. He never missed an opportunity to warn me away from the precious daughter he intended to marry off to Paolo Romani. The same bastard I saw you kissing, agapita ,' he accused icily.

Odessa shook her head, choosing to remain silent. How could she tell him that it had been a misguided effort to forget him without sounding pathetic? That he'd been imprinted so deeply on her that she'd feared she would remain lonely for ever in the face of her father's determination to keep them apart? The formidable man beside her now would deem any excuse a weak protest, his judge-and-jury conviction of her character one she suspected he'd cemented a long time ago.

And more than his damning indictment it was the mocking endearment that threatened to flatten her. Because where it was all cynical now, he'd meant it once upon a time. Or had he? Had he, even back then, been skilfully adept at this level of hypnotic charm? Had she been so starved of care and affection that she'd seen only what he'd wanted her to see?

That cold wave of possibility made her stare harder, desperate to find the truth, or at the very least an inkling that she was wrong in her fears. She refused to be drawn back to the past. Not when this remarkable present demanded every atom of her concentration.

‘I'll take your silence as an admission of guilt, shall I?' he asked.

She shook her head. ‘No, it's not. I made a mistake. But whatever you think about me, I never misled you.'

Surprise flashed in his eyes, but again it was gone a nanosecond later.

This man's ability to master his emotions was almost fascinating to watch. Almost. Because Odessa would have given her eye teeth for a glimpse of lasting emotion. For some hope that the future he painted for her wasn't as terrifyingly bleak as it sounded. Not having his children. Oh, no. That had formed a big chunk of her teenage daydreams—the deep yearning to lovingly craft the antithesis of the family she'd been born into, always with Ares as the husband and father figure.

Hell, she'd foolishly confessed those dreams to him once, as they'd lazed under a lemon tree in one of those stolen summer nights when she'd sneaked out to meet him. That was why she wasn't surprised he wanted more than one child. He'd confessed that back then too, and they'd shared their antipathy to the loneliness of growing up without siblings. It was something they didn't wish on their children—especially Ares, who'd known what it was like to have a sibling only to be robbed of her in the cruellest way possible.

God, had she supplied him with the very weapons to destroy her?

Sucking in a shaky breath, she opened her mouth to demand an answer to that horrifying possibility.

But he was exiting the car, his towering frame blotting out the light and throwing him into shadow as he came around, opened her door.

‘Delving into our innermost feelings isn't why we're here. The clock is ticking, Odessa. What's it going to be?'

One night.

She'd insisted on one night to grapple with the most profound decision of her life, and already the hours were slipping through her fingers like wispy clouds burning in the sunlight.

Ares hadn't been happy with her unwavering demand. But she'd stood her ground, the stubborn defiance that had got her into trouble with her father more often than she cared to count asserting itself.

And holding firm had been bolstering. Perhaps even exhilarating.

Now, as she tossed and turned, the sheets twisting around her legs almost as tangled as her thoughts, her mind wasn't firm at all. Her thoughts veered from an outright no to his insane proposal to skirting the very edge of Ares's demands.

Could she...?

Her instinct shrieked a resounding no .

But the alternative...

She shivered at the thought of Ares throwing her back to the wolves. One wolf in particular—Vincenzo—who wouldn't hesitate to make her pay for the trick she'd pulled.

She could run. Get up, grab her small case and just...run.

And prove Ares correct in his denigration of her character? He already thought the worst of her. For unfathomable reasons, proving him right made her chest tighten unbearably.

She'd given her word.

And, yes, she'd landed herself in this situation with that ‘I'll do anything' she'd stupidly blurted out.

Because she'd never thought he'd ask her for this !

But the alternative...

The shiver that gripped her now was colder, more ominous in a way that she couldn't overlook. Going back to Alghero would be akin to a death sentence, with her uncle choosing to look the other way despite being fully aware of Vincenzo's intended treatment of her. The alternative—walking away from Ares and striking out on her own—would mean her looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life. Maybe even worse. Because no amount of defiance would keep her safe from Uncle Flávio or Vincenzo. And once she was caught, Vincenzo, like all men of his ilk, would force her to breed, just to prove his manhood.

Wouldn't she be better off staying here? Bearing Ares's children?

The very idea that she was even considering it made her squeeze her eyes shut, smashing her face into the pillow until the scream trapped in her throat ripped free.

The picture that formed in the aftermath of that tiny catharsis didn't repulse her, like thoughts of Vincenzo did. Hell, it was the opposite. She'd dreamed of bearing Ares's children once upon a time.

But that had been the daydream of a forcibly sheltered girl on the cusp of womanhood, whose only true exposure to the opposite sex had been the tall, dark Greek with brooding, hungry eyes. Hadn't it?

She exhaled, her eyes flying open, in a wild bid to dispel the thoughts weaving so seductively in her head. The whispered what ifs that pressed so heavily on her, demanding attention. Ares's terms said five years, after which they would separate... if she wanted to leave. That meant the option to stay was hers. Wasn't it?

What if she agreed to his terms—for now—with a view to altering them later?

Odessa gulped down a rising bolt of unease. But it wouldn't diminish.

She'd requested his help on a wild whim that had saved her from a fate worse than death. Dared she risk gambling again, on making this work too?

Her thoughts were still spinning when she finally fell into a restless sleep.

Alarmingly she felt stronger when she woke, showered and dressed a few short hours later, and then went to find the man who'd put his ring on her finger last night, and tossed her world into pure chaos.

The sun was barely peeking through the ancient Roman buildings, but Ares was already up and dressed, sipping an espresso on the same terrace Odessa had used yesterday.

He rose from the pristinely set table the moment she stepped out, dressed once more in her jeans and another simple top, and she couldn't fail to see the contrast between them.

But for all his suave exterior and iron composure, his neatly combed hair and polished shoes, there was a coiled tension within him, an intensity in his eyes, that said her answer mattered to him. That perhaps he'd donned this bespoke armour because there was a chink he was determined to guard.

Delusional, perhaps, but Odessa ruthlessly clung to that, the same way she'd excavated pockets of defiance to fight her oppression over the years. She'd lost more than she'd won, but fighting had kept her spirits alive. And as long as she had breath in her body she'd keep fighting.

Especially if she was fighting for her children.

Because somewhere in the early hours she'd reasoned that if Ares truly was doing this for his father, and he wasn't completely heartless in his endeavour, then perhaps at some point down the road she might sway him into accepting a different, better role than full custody.

And if he didn't?

She shrugged inwardly. Then she'd just fight harder.

She'd persuaded him into granting her a lifeline out of the hell she'd faced in her father's house, hadn't she?

‘Odessa.'

Her name was a command. And, really, wasn't she just torturing herself by withholding the answer she'd decided to give?

Slicking her tongue over dry lips, she stepped forward. The vital need to look into his eyes and see something...anything that would give her hope...was too compelling to deny.

‘It's a yes, Ares. My answer is yes.'

She saw it then. The quiet exhalation. The release of tension. The flash of relief in his eyes.

She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to speak.

‘But before you celebrate, you should know this. I won't abandon my children. Ever. No matter what.'

His eyes glinted fiercely with layers of triumph, then surprise, before settling on heavy scepticism. ‘We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?'

He might deny them, but she intended to remind herself of those vital tells. Frequently.

Ares wasn't inhuman.

She would change his mind down the road.

Anything else was unthinkable.

She raised her chin, met his gaze. ‘Hold your breath if you want. Or don't. I won't even bother with I told you so when the time comes.'

They landed in Athens later that afternoon to frenzied tabloid interest.

One of their own—powerful and influential, the shining epitome of rags to riches—had snagged himself a beautiful bride. A woman he'd apparently grown up with, they breathlessly reported. Perhaps even a childhood sweetheart?

Ares held her hand, kissed her knuckles and brushed his lips over her temple. His eyes locked hungrily on hers. And he ignored the shouted questions.

Beside them, Sergios beamed, his approval clear despite the sometimes circumspect looks he levelled at Odessa.

For her part, she kept her mouth shut, for fear she'd blurt something untoward or reveal that, contrary to the paparazzi's view, it wasn't a fairy tale marriage. Hell, they hadn't even discussed when or where they'd be getting married.

‘First things first,' Ares drawled when they were ensconced in another sleek limo, his fingers flying over his phone screen.

‘What?'

‘You need a new wardrobe. Would you prefer to go shopping or shall I have a selection brought to you?'

She frowned. ‘I don't need new clothes.'

‘You intend to wear those jeans on every occasion until they fall off you?'

She opened her mouth to argue, then pursed them again when she accepted that he had a point. ‘Fine, but I can buy my own clothes.'

As Ares Zanelis' wife, and soon-to-be mother of his children, she clearly had an image to project. The full scope of his existence had only just come into focus for her in the last day.

There would be no enforced seclusion on a cliff-front estate the way her father had hidden her away. The thought was at once freeing and mildly panic-inducing.

The hand that reached for hers and patted it gently was surprisingly not Ares's. She glanced up at Sergios's benign smile.

‘My son can be overbearing at times. He can't help himself. But you deserve to be spoilt, mikros . And besides, all women enjoy shopping, ne ?' Leaning forward, he stage-whispered, ‘Or you can get your own back by dragging him along with you while you spend his money. I'm told it's a fate worse than death.'

Aware of Ares's sharp gaze—and with the reminder that they were pretending at the very least to be wildly attracted to each other with a view to starting a family—she summoned a smile in return. Then her gaze caught on the landscape whizzing by, in the very first country she'd ever visited outside Italy.

‘I'll choose my clothes, thanks,' she answered.

‘ Kalos. I've cleared my calendar for the afternoon,' Ares said.

Surprise widened her eyes. ‘You have?'

‘ Ne. And while we're out we can discuss wedding plans.'

That combination of panic and excitement fizzled harder. ‘Already?'

His eyes gleamed, sweeping over her face in a blatant appraisal that made heat pummel her. ‘I don't see any point in waiting. I want us to start our lives together. Don't you?'

The pointed question was a veiled reminder of their agreement.

Exhaling for composure, she replied, ‘Yes, I do.'

Satisfaction darkened the gleam.

Across from her, Sergios's smile widened.

Her heart thumping wildly in her chest, Odessa gazed out of the window, where the vibrant streets of Athens impressed upon her the fact that her life was well on course to change irreparably.

Ares finished the next call on his list, tuning out the sales assistants' excited chattering as they flitted around Odessa. He sat in the waiting room of a luxury boutique, an untouched glass of Dom Perignon ignored at his elbow, as he continued to make plans as if the devil himself were snapping at his heels.

His father had been right. This was torture. But not in the way Sergios had meant. It was torture because Ares couldn't seem to find the willpower to get up and walk out. Leave Odessa to her own devices.

He'd thought he'd be satisfied once she'd agreed to his demands. Instead, that peculiar sense of urgency had only escalated. He wasn't sure whether it was a good or a bad trait he possessed that meant once he set his mind to a thing he tended not to rest until his goal was achieved.

Pausing on his next phone call, he examined his true feelings for a minute, in the wild hope that it would clear his mind of this idiotic urgency.

Even now he could hear the assistants cooing over the engagement ring he'd procured yesterday with that same driving agitation.

Was it the five years already ticking down? Was he so eager for this project to be underway? So he could see if he was dealing with the same kind of situation his mother had put him through? Or was it more that since Odessa's vehement protests in the car last night he'd yearned for a crystal ball, to see whether she would stay true to her word? If she would deliver on some of the foolish, forgotten promises she'd eagerly made all those years ago.

And wasn't that a hell of a thing to crave? Especially when he knew better...

And... mummy issues ? Really?

He wanted to scoff at the thought, but he couldn't deny that it was there, a glaring black hole in his life he'd never been able to distance himself from.

While he was sure some therapists would lay the blame of his reluctance to marry on his tragic situation, Ares knew it was a series of events, ending with the woman currently hidden behind heavy curtains, trying on the clothes he intended to grace her stunning body with, who'd cemented his decision never to encumber himself with a wife.

Or at least he'd believed that until her impassioned protest that she'd been attempting to save him. To place herself between him and her vicious father.

Ares shifted in his seat, the recollection dragging an unfamiliar uncertainty from him. But even if she'd meant that, he couldn't ignore her other actions. How swiftly she'd turned away from him and into another man's arms.

His mother's desertion and cruelty had taught him that he didn't need a wife or a so-called life partner to enhance his life. Hell, the lack of one would remove any threat of rejection altogether for his future offspring. Better to start off with zero expectations than harbour foolish notions, right?

Ne.

Control reasserted, he straightened as Odessa stepped out. ‘Leave us, please.'

The assistants scurried away immediately, but it took him another handful of seconds to drag his gaze from her stunning body and the control-wrecking things the black lace dress did to her figure.

He pulled up the images on his phone and turned the screen to her, watching closely as she swiped through the pictures, her breath catching as she glanced up.

‘It's breathtaking. Where is that?'

‘Ismene—my private island. We'll get married there a week from today. Does that work for you?'

He expected her to protest, or the very least make a show of unhappiness. To his surprise, she handed his phone back and shrugged.

‘Sure, why not. It's not like I have any pressing engagements. It looks like a perfect place for a wedding.' She looked over her shoulder. ‘Is there something else you want to discuss, or shall I get the assistants back?'

His fingers drummed restlessly on his thighs. ‘No, that's all.'

She turned immediately, dismissing his presence. He bit back a growl.

‘Odessa?'

She paused, silver eyes flicking to his. ‘Si?'

He nudged his chin at the black lace dress. ‘Keep that dress. I like it.'

Satisfaction at her blush was short-lived. And for the life of him Ares couldn't understand why his grouchy mood persisted as the hours passed.

Perhaps it was because, unlike women he'd known in the past, she didn't gush with joy at being lavished with hundreds of thousands of euros' worth of clothes and jewels. Or because she mostly ignored him, chatting happily to Sergios during dinner and at breakfast the next morning.

He'd saved her, damn it—in a twisted knight in shining armour situation he was almost convinced had been orchestrated by his father.

Where was her gratitude? Her hero-worship?

Hell, she'd been insultingly eager when she'd excused herself to meet with the wedding co-ordinator he'd lined up to visit before they left for Ismene. And she was equally perky on the way back home now, her interest in the local landmarks reminding him of how cloistered she'd been in Alghero.

Ares stopped himself from playing the tour guide—from postponing their imminent departure to Ismene so he could take her on an extended tour of his beloved Athens.

She wasn't here on a sightseeing trip.

She was here to take his name, to bear his children, and then to be monitored with eagle eyes if she so much as hinted at taking a leaf out of his mother's book.

‘Hold your breath if you want to. Or don't...'

Challenging words. But she didn't know him well if she thought he wouldn't accept that gauntlet.

He would be right there when she failed. And this time if she betrayed him he'd dispatch Odessa Santella and there would be no going back.

Goals reaffirmed, he grabbed his tablet, ignoring the woman whose head was now whipping back and forth, who gasped delightfully at her first sight of the Acropolis, her neck craned with almost endearing eagerness until the iconic landmark was out of view.