Page 8 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

She will do anything to get out of here.

‘You really live here?’ he heard himself ask.

Something changed in her face. ‘As you can see,’ she answered tightly.

She crossed her arms across her chest, chin going up. She took a breath, kept talking, her voice less faint now.

‘Leandros, what is this? What are you doing here?’

There was blank incomprehension in her tone, but a demand as well.

His own expression altered in response. ‘I thought you might like to come out to dinner with me,’ he said.

She stared. ‘Are you mad?’

He ignored the voice that was telling him that, yes, he was in fact mad to be doing what he was doing. ‘I have something I want to speak to you about,’ he said instead.

Her face closed. ‘So, speak.’

‘Not here,’ he said dismissively. ‘I’ll tell you over dinner. It could be...’ his voice became silky ‘...to your advantage.’ His gaze flicked around the dump she lived in—had been reduced to living in. ‘I could get you out of here,’ he said.

Something moved in her eyes—a longing so intense it overrode everything else in her tired face. For a moment he felt pity for her—then he pushed it aside. It wasn’t the emotion he intended to feel. As for love—she had killed that six years ago. Now all he wanted from her was something else. Something that had nothing to do with love.

He saw her handbag—a cheap one—on the table, and handed it to her, along with the apartment keys beside it.

‘Let’s go,’ he said.

She seemed totally dazed, and he took advantage of it, guiding her out of the apartment, ushering her downstairs, and into the waiting taxi, which promptly drove off. She sank into her seat, still looking blitzed. But then, he was blitzed too.

All the way up to Thessaloniki a voice inside him had told him that what he was doing was madness. But he was doing it all the same...

He stole a glance at her, sitting silent and immobile, staring ahead blankly. He felt something move within him that was confirming of his mad impulse to come to Thessaloniki like this. For all the tiredness in her eyes, the cheapness of her clothes, her face with not a scrap of make-up, her hair caught back in a straggling knot, her beauty was undimmed.

He let his gaze rest lingeringly on her. She might be beaten down by her new poverty, but she was unbowed.

An air of unreality hit him—was he really sitting here in a taxi with Eliana? Or would he blink and wake up? Find it was only a dream after all?

His expression hardened. He was done with dreams about Eliana. She’d destroyed them six years again—ripped them from him and trampled them into the mire. Now what he wanted from her was a lot more basic.

The taxi made its way out on to the seafront of the city, where there were any number of restaurants—Thessaloniki was the foodie capital of Greece. But tonight was not for gourmet dining—Eliana was hardly dressed for it—and the mid-range fish restaurant the taxi driver had recommended would do fine.

It was quiet at this early hour of the evening, and he chose a table far from the few other diners. Eliana was focussing on her menu, and Leandros knew she was doing so to avoid looking at him.

‘Made your decision?’ he asked.

She gave a start, naming one of the fish dishes, then looking away again. Leandros beckoned the waiter over, relayed their order, then ordered water, beer for himself, and a carafe of house red. The waiter headed off, returning a few moments later with the drinks order, and a basket of bread with some pats of butter.

Leandros reached for his beer, taking a long draught—he suddenly felt he needed it. Then he poured water and wine for them both.

‘Eliana—’

He said her name, and as if on auto-response her eyes went to him. And immediately veiled. Her hand jerked forward to take a piece of bread, which she then crumbled into pieces as if she were doing something to distract herself. She still looked strained...tense as a board. Yet for all that there was a haunting beauty about her. Haunting—and so, so familiar.

Emotions churned in him, but he fought them back. He didn’t want those emotions. They were from the past, and he wasn’t interested in the past any longer. He was immune to it and inured to it. It was just the present he was interested in—and the immediate future.

‘I expect you’re wondering why I’m here,’ he opened, helping himself to some bread and buttering it. ‘As I said, I have something to put to you.’

He glanced at her semi-covertly. Her expression did not change.

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