Page 17 of The Billionaire's Demand

And then one of her school friends had invited her to her twenty-first birthday party at her family villa in Glyfada, on the Athens Riviera, and she hadn’t been able to resist going, even though her father had fretted. And it had been there, out on the terrace, bathed in lights and music, guests dancing and partying, overlooking the waters of the Saronic Gulf, that she had first seen Leandros.

She had fallen for him on the spot, ineluctably drawn towards the tall, self-assured, oh-so-good-looking man in his mid-twenties, unable to tear her eyes away. He’d been talking—flirting—with a sophisticated female wearing a lot of make-up and a revealing dress, who had clearly been all over him. Then he’d glanced across the crowded terrace—and their eyes had met.

For a timeless moment the world had stopped, the music had been silenced, the noise and chatter too—and then, as if in slow motion, she’d seen him turn back to the other girl, smile pleasantly but dismissively, and make his way across the terrace. Straight to her.

He’d smiled down at her.

And she’d been lost.

That was all it had taken—for both of them.

‘Because...?’ Leandros’s prompt brought her back to the present—the present in which that enchanted past could never exist again.

She gave a tiny shrug, not wanting to think about any aspect of the past.

‘It was convenient,’ she answered.

She saw the flight attendant moving down the gangway, proffering more champagne, handing out menu cards, and held her flute out for a top-up. It was probably rash, but she felt she needed it. Then she studied the menu, choosing the chicken option. Leandros glanced briefly at his, selecting beef. Then went back to his business journal and Eliana could relax a fraction—but only a fraction. A fraction of a fraction...

The meal when it came was welcome, and she tucked in. For her, decent food, let alone gourmet food, belonged to a different life. Now Leandros was offering that life back to her—

But only if—

Her thoughts cut out. Impossible to think them.

As he began his own meal, Leandros addressed her again.

‘So, tell me—which fashion houses in Paris are your favourites now?’

‘I don’t have any,’ she answered. ‘Whatever you want.’

‘Eliana, it’s what you want.’

She looked at him, puzzled. ‘This is only for you, Leandros,’ she replied. ‘I’m here because you want me to be here.’

Even as she spoke, she felt her thoughts betray her. Was she truly here, like this, only for his sake? To make what amends she could to him? To do what was still in her power to do—to give him all that he still wanted from her? But not her love—never that...not any longer.

And I will get closure too, won’t I? That is all—there is nothing more than that...

Yet once again her betraying thoughts plucked at her...

To be with Leandros again, so tormentingly conscious of his physical presence at her side, with all of Paris awaiting them...it was not just closure she was after...

Emotion twisted inside her—knotting and tangling.

But Leandros’s next words cut through the tangling. Made things simple again—brutally so. His voice was edged, like a knife, to cut through that tangled knot of impossible emotions.

‘Really?’ he said. ‘I thought you were here because you wanted to get out of that hellhole you’ve been reduced to living in. To climb back out of the gutter—get your old life back again.’

Her eyes pulled away. The hardness in his was the same as it had been when he had seen her at Chloe’s engagement party, that disastrous encounter in Athens. And the same as she had seen six years ago when she’d walked away from him, his denunciation of her ringing in her ears even as got herself out through the door with the last of her shaken strength, her stomach churning at what she was doing. Handing him back his ring...telling him she was going to marry Damian Makris.

She didn’t answer him now. There was no point. Instead, she asked some innocuous question about what time they would arrive in Paris.

He told her, adding, ‘I’ll be dining out tonight—a business dinner. You can have room service. Tomorrow morning I have an appointment, but then we’ll head to the Faubourg Saint-Honoré and get your wardrobe sorted. After that... Well, whatever suits us.’ He paused, then continued. ‘What might you like to do?’

His tone was courteous enough, and she matched hers to it. It seemed the easiest thing to do. Requiring the least effort, the least involvement.

‘Whatever you like,’ she said.

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