Page 58 of Reclaimed By His Billion-Dollar Ring

He got out, and Calanthe did likewise. She was aware that her heartrate had quickened a little.

‘It’s very pretty,’ she said, politely and truthfully.

‘I grew up here,’ Nikos said. ‘It was just my grandmother and me. After she died—three years ago—I kept it. It needed doing up a bit... She always refused to modernise, even when she knew I could easily afford it. Nowadays I let it out—it’s marketed as a “rustic retreat”, for those wanting to get away from it all and experience what’s left of authentic rural life.’

‘It suits that perfectly.’ Calanthe nodded appreciatively.

‘A neighbour looks after it—sees to the garden, cleans inside and so on. There’s no one staying at the moment, though.’

He stooped to retrieve a large, old-fashioned key from under one of the flowerpots, and opened the door. It was cool inside, because of the thick walls, and simply decorated, in keeping with the building’s style. Calanthe could not help but like it.

How strange to think of Nikos as a young boy, growing up here.

She frowned. How had he come from being here—a local lad, helping out with the olive harvest, part of a village community with traditional values—to behaving as he had. Being paid off by a rich man...paid to desert his infatuated daughter...

Was the temptation too great for him to resist? He was putting himself through university...working on building sites during vacations. When my father offered him so much money could he just not bring himself to refuse it?

And if that were so...her frown deepened...was that excuse enough?

She thought back to her own upbringing. OK, she had always known that she had a rich father in the background—had experienced the luxury he enjoyed when she visited him during school holidays—but her mother had raised her with sound principles that befitted their modest circumstances.

What if our roles had been reversed? What if Nikos had been an infatuated young man and his rich father had thought me a scheming gold-digger...tried to pay me off?

Would she have taken the money?

She knew the answer. Knew it clear and confirmed. No, she would not. There were things decent people did, and things they didn’t. What Nikos had done was one of them.

Her expression hardened.

He was heading into what was clearly the main room, with a fireplace set in one wall, flanked by comfortable-looking traditional-style seating, and with a wooden dining table and solid-looking chairs at the far side, next to a door going through to what she could see was the kitchen.

The whole room had a welcoming ambience, and she liked it instinctively. There was a large, handsome armoire against another wall—made out of olive wood, she guessed, and beautifully painted with ornamental flowers and scrolls in ultra-traditional style. An original piece, she reckoned, and felt drawn to it automatically.

‘This is beautiful!’ she exclaimed.

‘Part of my grandmother’s dowry when she married. It had been her grandmother’s before. There is some similar painted furniture upstairs—one of the old beds and another armoire, and some smaller pieces too.’

‘How lovely that they’re still here,’ Calanthe could not help saying.

She looked around her. There were some paintings on the wall, in a rustic style. One showed an ancient ruin and a girl sitting in traditional Greek costume from several hundred years ago. Another showed a large, handsome goat—presumably a prized animal from long ago. Yet another was a still-life, of a ceramic jug full of flowers.

She heard Nikos opening the armoire and turned. He was extracting a box file, and after closing the door he crossed the room to deposit it on the table. Calanthe watched him, half curious, half frowning, conscious that her heartrate was still raised.

Wondering why, exactly.

Her eyes rested on Nikos. She tried to see him as he must once have been, growing up here, a strong lad, tall for his age—already showing, she was sure, the devastating good-looks he would have as a teenager.

Had he broken local hearts? she wondered.

As well as mine?

‘I’d like to show you something.’

Nikos’s words were a welcome interruption to thoughts that were pointless to have. As pointless as her thinking now, as she crossed to where he stood, how good he looked in that open-necked shirt, the same one he’d worn last night, the cuffs not turned back this time, how his dark hair feathered at the nape of his strong neck, how his long eyelashes dipped over his dark eyes, how his sculpted mouth brought back memories she must not indulge...

Yet they pressed for ingress all the same.

So many, many memories...

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