Page 17 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

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.

He made a noise in his throat. ‘Don’t go complaisant on me, Eliana. You never used to be—and I always liked you for speaking your mind. Other girlfriends...’ there was a cynical twist to his mouth now ‘...they always agreed with everything I wanted—tediously so. You never did, and that was part of your appeal to me—your honesty. Be honest now. So, do you want to do the cultural stuff, or the historical stuff, or just stick to spending my money?’

Only with that did an edge creep into his voice. She heard it, but did not respond. ‘I’d like to see anything of Paris,’ she said civilly. ‘Even the touristy things. It will all be new to me.’

‘We can see beyond Paris too, if you like, and if the weather holds.’

His voice was civil now, too, and she was grateful. Maybe if they could just continue to talk in this way, without him cutting at her all the time—as though I don’t know what I did to him, how badly I treated him!—being with him would be more bearable. Less unbearable...

‘What about Versailles?’ he went on. ‘We had that high on our list, as I recall—’

He broke off abruptly, reaching for his wine and taking a hefty draught.

Eliana paid attention to her food. Somehow she’d drunk her champagne, and now she was starting to sip her chilled white wine. Another layer of insulation over her nerve-endings.

‘Then there’s the Trianons, too, near Versailles—we could do them...the Grand and the Petit Trianons,’ Leandros was saying, back in the same conversational tone.

‘Yes,’ said Eliana politely, ‘we could do that.’

We could do a lot of things, but all you’re really taking me to Paris for is sex.

She felt her throat close, anguish clenching it tight, and felt her eyes blinking suddenly.

---