Page 10 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

His eyes lifted from his food, looked straight at her. There was a glint in them that was like acid on her skin.

‘We’d planned to honeymoon there, remember?’

Her hold on her fork tightened. His eyes were resting on her. Unreadable. But the feel of acid on her skin ate through her.

‘We won’t be recapturing the past, Eliana,’ he went on. ‘We’ll be...updating it to our current circumstances.’

He ate some more of his fish, washing it down with some wine. He looked across at her again.

‘And in these present circumstances I think my offer to you is entirely...appropriate. I am willing to take you on. It will suit us both. I’ll provide you with a new wardrobe, and when we part I’ll be generous. You will have enough to get you out of the dump you live in, get you back to Athens all fixed up to go husband-hunting again. Just what you want. As for me... Well, I’ll get what I want too, Eliana.’

She set down her fork. Looked straight at him.

‘Which is what, Leandros?’

Her voice was flat.

A dark, saturnine glint showed in the depths of his night-dark eyes.

‘What I was denied, Eliana,’ he said softly. ‘What you denied me.’

He set his cutlery down too. Reached a hand forward. Folded it over hers still resting over her fork. It felt warm, but like a weight that would crush her to pieces.

Faintness drummed through her.

‘You in my bed.’

He had said it. Spelt it out. Laid it out. Bluntly, coarsely, brutally. No hearts and flowers—they had rotted years ago—nothing but the blunt, visceral truth.

He lifted his hand away. The hand that had not touched her for six long years.

‘You denied me during our courtship—prating on about wedding nights and so forth. Were you already hedging your bets, even then? Just in case a better offer came along and you wanted to go as a virgin to his bed? I assume you did with Damian? Did he appreciate it, I wonder? Appreciate all your fantastic beauty? Well, whatever... I most definitely will. I set no prize on virginity—that would be hypocritical, wouldn’t it? Even when I wanted to marry you it was your choice, not mine, to wait until our wedding night—whatever your reason for it. Now, we’ll be...let us say “equal” in that respect. Both experienced. We’ll make, I am confident, good lovers.’

He went back to eating. The fish was good, tasty and filling. And his mood was improving, his confidence in his own decision increasing. He confirmed it to himself. For six years he’d done his best to ignore the continuing existence of the woman who had once meant all the world to him—now he was going to reverse that policy.

But on his own terms this time. Not hers.

‘I’m due in Paris tomorrow. I propose I fly up here again then, and we’ll fly to Paris from here. Don’t bother packing—we’ll hit the fashion houses first thing. Give me your current phone number and I’ll text you the time you’ll need to be at the airport.’

He was being brisk and businesslike, and he was glad of it. He looked across at her, waiting for her reply. She’d picked up her cutlery again, and was absorbed, it seemed, in eating her own fish.

‘Eliana?’ he prompted.

She didn’t look up, and he waited a moment longer.

‘Do you require something on account? Is that it?’ he said. ‘If so, I expect I can run to that.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and took out his wallet. ‘If you have expenses here to settle, will this cover it?’

He extracted a few hundred-euro notes and put them by her place.

She stopped eating. Pushed them away from her. Looked across at him.

‘Thank you, but no,’ she said politely. ‘And thank you,’ she went on, in the same polite voice, ‘but no, in fact, to your kind invitation to go to Paris with you and keep you company in bed.’

He paused again. Then: ‘Why not?’ He kept his tone casual.

‘The past is gone, Leandros. I don’t want to try and exhume it. What would be the point?’

‘The point, Eliana,’ he spelt out deliberately, ‘is what I have already said. I will bankroll you, get you back on your feet. You’ll be able to start again—look for another rich man to marry you. You can’t do that,’ he said, and his voice was drier than ever, ‘from some dump in a backstreet in Thessaloniki.’

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