Page 11 of Dimistrios's Bought Mistress
‘Ready?’ he asked and made his way out to the terrace. The midday heat hit him and he was glad of the shady awning. Arielle emerged with the salad bowl, a jug of water and two glasses. Lycos sat himself down, as did she, and he started to help himself to bread, cheese and ham, and a couple of the ripe tomatoes. He got stuck in.
‘This is good cheese,’ he said.
‘My neighbour makes it,’ Arielle said. ‘The ham is from their pigs too.’ Her voice was back to sounding studiedly neutral.
She poured water into the glasses. Lycos took a draught, wondering when he’d last drank tap water, and only that, during a meal. But it was cold and refreshing with a distinct taste to it, unlike city water, and he remarked as such.
‘It’s from the original well,’ Arielle said. ‘Though it’s pumped up by electricity now, not by hand.’ She paused and he could see she wanted to say something else. Then she did.
‘When…when you said what you said about responsibility…did you mean that?’
‘Yes,’ he said, looking across at her. ‘You can let this place go, Arielle, because nothing about it or what’s happened to it, is your responsibility. Except, maybe…’ he allowed a trace of rare humour to creep into his voice, ‘…for your poultry. You can find new homes for them with my blessing. Though…’ he added ‘…I suspect unless Matilde and Maurice get a swimming pool of their own, wherever they end up they won’t be best pleased!’
She gave a wry, if reluctant, laugh. Lycos liked the sound of it. He let his gaze rest on her for a moment from beneath his lashes.He wanted, he realised, for her to get over what was obviously a blow to her. Discovering that what she’d said she’d been dreading, her stepbrother disposing of themas, had actually happened. Get over it and…
And what?
His gaze rested on her a moment longer. She really was, he knew, exceptionally lovely.
Maybe, now he was here, he should take advantage of that.
Thoughts flickered in his head. Yes, he was here, but he wasn’t exactly going to stay, was he?
Her hesitant voice interrupted his thoughts.
‘When are you planning to sell?’ she asked. Her voice was low and she didn’t look at him.
‘I’ll be putting it on the market when I get to Paris. I was on my way there, driving up from the coast, when I decided to stop off and take a look this morning.’
‘Do you live in Paris?’
‘I don’t live anywhere. I stay in hotels or rent apartments if I’m anywhere for any duration.’
‘But you’re based in Greece?’ she sounded puzzled, making an assertion she seemed to assume must be the case.
‘That’s the last place I’d call home.’
He hadn’t intended there to be an edge in his voice, but it was there all the same.
‘Why?’
She was looking at him now, straight at him, with those celestial blue eyes of hers. As if she could see into him. Or wanted to.
‘Why?’ he echoed. ‘Because… I escaped.’
‘From what?’
He drew back, dropping his knife on the table. ‘What is this? Psychoanalysis?’
‘Not really. But you’ve seen fit to lecture me about my circumstances. I… I’m simply retaliating.’
He gave a laugh. A short one, but a laugh for all that. Although there was an edge to it too.
‘From things I wanted to escape from. Mainly poverty. And I have. Now I can get things I want. That’s why, Arielle, I say the same to you. If you make money, you can get what you want.’
The blue eyes were still looking at him. ‘How did you?’ she asked. ‘Escape poverty?’
‘I discovered I had a skill and I honed it, until I could use it on others. On people with money. To remove it from them—or enough of it to enrich me in the end.’
