Page 40 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

She felt that precious emotion flow again within her, warming her and comforting her. She would pay a price for it—as she had six years ago—but for now, this now, it would be her joy and her gift to him. And now she knew, with that certainty that had filled her since the discovery of the truth about why she had come to Paris with Leandros, that it was a gift to herself too.

‘Shall we eat in tonight?’

Leandros’s enquiry was tentative as they made their way back into their hotel. She might prefer to go out—see and be seen. If so, he would oblige. He was being...considerate. That was the word that came to him. Going easy on her, as he had all day, because—

Well, because. That was all. Still taking the day as it came.

And it’s been good today.

The river cruise, the gentle ambling around Monet’s gardens, a leisurely lunch, some more ambling around the village of Giverny itself, then back to the river to glide serenely back upstream to Paris, looking out over the riverbanks that another painter, Seurat, had made equally as famous as Monet’s waterlilies, with his river-bathing youths and his bourgeois promenaders along La Grande Jatte, immortalised in his trademark pointilliste style.

They had discussed it amiably, agreeing to differ—Eliana preferring the beauty of Monet, he the technical brilliance of Seurat.

We used to agree to differ all the time...

Even with her sheltered upbringing—or was it because of it, perhaps?—Eliana had been happy to disagree with him. It had been a novelty for him—the females he’d favoured had tended to agree with him. Too eagerly.

I called Eliana naive, overprotected by her doting father. But was I, in turn, spoilt by my looks and my wealth? Did I take it for granted that I could always have what I wanted? Feel entitled to it?

It was a disquieting thought. If it were true, then had it only exacerbated the blow of Eliana’s rejection of him? And besides...

I knew my father was only testing her, warning her he would disinherit me if I married her. I knew he only wanted her to prove her love for me—get her to marry me even with the threat of disinheritance and then relent. He would never have gone through with it. Would even have bailed out her father.

But Eliana had not known that. Had only known that if she went through with marrying him there would be no money—no money to keep her in the lifestyle she was used to, which she could not face losing when her father ran out of money.

So she had chosen Damian instead—and lived to see her father die, and all that he possessed pass to her father-in-law. Lived to face the very poverty she had married to avoid.

Come full circle.

Karma? Was that the word for it?

What we flee from we must eventually face?

The door to the elevator was slicing open, cutting off his thoughts. He was glad. He wanted to go back to his mandate for the day—to take things as they came.

And that included Eliana’s preference for dinner.

She glanced at him as they entered the Résidence.

‘That would be good...eating in,’ she said.

‘I think so too,’ he affirmed. ‘How about some coffee now?’

‘I’d prefer tea,’ she answered. ‘But let me make it—and your coffee. Silly to summon the butler.’

She headed for the kitchen and Leandros followed her, discovering that a platter of fresh patisserie had been left for them. It looked good, and lunch had been a while ago now. He lifted a cherry, succulent and inviting, from the top of one of the mouth-watering selections, and realised that Eliana, kettle in hand, was looking at him, her expression strange.

‘You used to pick the nuts off the baklava,’ she said. ‘Even though they were tiny and covered in syrup.’

‘So I did,’ he recalled. He’d forgotten. ‘Then you’d dampen your serviette with water from your glass and hand it to me to wipe my sticky fingers...’

So long ago...so slight a gesture...so slight a memory.

And yet—

He put it from him. It was the present he was dealing with. And one issue in particular.

‘I was thinking,’ he said, ‘whether you’d like another bath.’

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