Page 45 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire
She nodded, the soft pillow molding to her cheek as he left. She listened to his footsteps, a faint whisper against the plush carpet. The muffled click of the closing bedroom door brought a sigh to her lips.
She lay there, eyes closed, desperately trying to recapture the peace of sleep, but her traitorous mind was wide awake. She was accustomed to the theatre's early mornings, to the expectant hum of tasks waiting to unfold. Despite the deliciously boneless, almost melting feel of her body, the thought of the empty stage tugged at her, a hollow echo in her mind.
With a sigh, she pushed the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She quickly made the bed before she gathered her discarded clothes from the night before.
She padded into the bathroom, breathing in the fresh scent of Theo’s aftershave. With a low groan of pleasure, she turned on the shower. The warm water washed away the lingering ache in her muscles, but the heat only seemed to sharpen the awareness still humming through her.
She stepped out, pulled the towel off the rack, and dried off. Humming a show tune under her breath, she wrapped the towel around her, found Theo’s comb, and bent at the waist to brush her damp hair out. She was rising again when a speck of green on the white tile caught her eye.
Frowning, she bent and plucked it up. Her breath caught as she realized what it was. It was a tiny, perfectly pressed four-leaf clover.
The clover had been in her locket since childhood—a charm from her grandfather, never removed. She straightened slowly, the damp air feeling suddenly too heavy against her skin.
Her gaze slid to the counter. She had left her locket there last night, before they’d stepped into the shower together. It was gone.
Rose frowned. She searched the bathroom floor, the drawers, even the laundry basket, thinking it might have gotten tangled up by mistake. Nothing.
She gently fingered the clover. The only way it could have fallen out was if the locket had been opened.
Maybe Theo’s curious. Maybe he has it.
She pulled the towel free and dressed. She would ask him if he had seen it. Her fingers went to her neck out of habit. She turned, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her expressionsoftened. She didn’t know if she looked different now—but she felt it.
“Everything will be alright. He didn’t leave you because he didn’t like what happened. It wasn’t just a one-night stand,” she whispered, staring at her reflection.
And if it was?her bad side asked.
“If it was, then that is all you were going to give him anyway,” she replied, knowing it was a lie.
She sighed and turned away. She’d find Theo. His reaction would reveal if her trust had been a mistake or a gift.
Theo stood in front of the wall of windows in his living room, staring at the faint color of sunlight rising on the horizon.
Sleep had been an illusion after his discovery that Rose and Livia’s child were one and the same. Even with Rose curled into him, her breathing slow and even, her warmth seeping into his skin… his mind hadn’t stopped—nor had his feelings of guilt. He told himself his plans were for her protection—that she needed him, even if she didn’t see it yet.
He’d tried over dinner to steer the conversation toward her parents. She had shrugged and said there wasn’t much to talk about, as they had died when she was only a month old.
When she had asked about his family instead, he’d redirected her back to her grandparents, hoping to glean a morsel of information about Livia. He listened as she painted vivid pictures of backstage mishaps, eccentric directors, and Mimi’sclose encounters with the artists who had performed there over the years.
He’d laughed—really laughed—but beneath the humor, the birthmark burned in his thoughts like an ember that refused to go out.
Later, she’d driven him mad again in the bedroom, stripping away any hope of keeping a clear head. And then she’d fallen asleep in his arms, soft and utterly trusting, while he lay awake in the dark, tracing the mark on her arm, thinking of Livia.
His plan was already forming—solid, immovable.
He would take her home.
Markos or Nikos could handle the London and Paris meetings. He’d take Rome and Athens himself. That would give him weeks with her. Weeks to help her settle into his world, meet his family, stand beside him as his.
They would marry as soon as possible.
A darker thought slipped in. After, the second time they’d made love tonight, he’d noticed a tear in the condom. Likely his fault—too impatient, too eager. He’d discarded it without a word. It wasn’t the time to tell her.
He turned when a soft knock, followed by the quiet click of the door opening, pulled him from his thoughts.
Nikos stepped in, his sharp eyes scanning the room like a man who noticed everything. His gaze paused on the pair of delicate heels left in the foyer, then on Theo’s jacket draped casually over the armrest. His eyebrow arched in silent question.
Theo gave a small, deliberate nod.
