Ares opens the door, watching me as he does. "Get in, Katerina."
The way he says it—I don't like it. It makes me uneasy.
Something tells me I won't like where we're going.
I don't ask. I just slide inside, my dress pooling around me as Ares follows.
The door closes.
The car pulls away.
And I know, without a doubt, this is where the real marriage begins.
2
ARES
She doesn't flinch when the car door slams. Doesn't even look at me. Just smooths that white dress over her thighs like we're headed to a fucking garden party.
I knew marrying Stavros Petrou's niece would come with complications, but this wasn't what I expected. The stone-faced bride. The empty eyes. The lack of, well, anything.
It's like she's already dead.
The car pulls away from the curb, and I watch her from the corner of my eye. No nervous fidgeting. No questions about where we're going. Not even a sidelong glance.
I drape my arm across the back of the seat.
I can out wait her.
Minutes pass. The streets of Kalamata thin out as we head toward the countryside. Buildings give way to scattered villas, then to empty stretches of road lined with olive trees.
Still, she doesn't speak.
She's either very brave or very stupid.
Either way, at least she has her looks. She may seem like a hollow doll, but I can't deny the fact that she's beautiful. I mean, I wouldn't have agreed to this otherwise.
"Nothing to say, wife?" I finally break the silence, testing how long she'll maintain this front.
Katerina's eyes flick to me, then back to the window. "Should I have something to say?"
The corner of my mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. "Given the circumstance, brides tend to have questions on their wedding day."
"I'm not most brides."
No, she certainly isn't.
"We're not going to the reception," I say, watching for a reaction.
"I gathered."
Another ten minutes of silence. The road narrows, winding through hills.
We're almost there.
I tap my fingers against the leather seat. "You're not wondering where I'm taking you?"
"Would you tell me if I asked?"