Page 7 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

The clearing of a throat snaps me back to the conversation at hand. I catch Eliot’s gaze on me in the rearview mirror. “Sculpting.” I decide to keep to myself the fact that I suck at it big time, and the only reason I chose it was so I could convince everyone around me I had talent.

My grandmother once said a mother’s love is unconditional while a father’s love depends on your accomplishments, so becoming someone famous in the art industry seemed like a great plan.

But the truth?

I’m a talentless idiot who should stay as far away from art as possible, because my presence alone near art supplies is an offense to all real artists out there.

“That’s great. Your grandmother has a gift for you. It’s on the seat next to you.”

I pick up the square gift wrapped in red paper with a white bow and rip it open, gasping when I see a book there. “It’s Iliad by Homer!” I exclaim, one of my favorite Greek poems telling of the Trojan war that lasted for ten long years. All because a Trojan prince, Paris, fell in love with Helen, the wife of King Menelaus of Sparta, and kidnapped her.

One tragic love story took so many lives. I wonder if, by the end of it all, they felt it was worth it. What is it like to love someone so much you don’t care about the repercussions of your actions and endangering an entire nation?

“It’s one of the first editions. Cost a fortune,” Eliot says, taking a hard turn, and I lean on the car door, gripping the handle. “Your graduation gift.” Running my fingers over the worn-out bindings, I flip it open. Lifting the book to my nose, I inhale the familiar scent of dust and old paper that I always associate with my childhood, where I forgot myself among the shelves of the library, the only solace I had where no one judged my every move.

Or my whole existence.

Warmth fills my chest along with hope that maybe my grandmother truly wants to see me back home after all, and since everyone has to abide by her orders, no one has questioned it.

She even remembered my obsession with the Iliad, only because Dad said Mom named me after this as she was searching for an unusual name. Somehow connecting with the book seemed like a great idea, because it was the only link I had with my mother.

Pressing the book close to my heart, I smile and put back on my heels, ready to face the world with new determination.

Maybe if I stop guarding my heart so much, life will give me a new opportunity to build bridges with my family. People can change, right?

Instead of staying in my bubble of pain, I’ll accept their olive branch for a brighter future.

One in which I won’t have to apologize for breathing.

“Have you found your Achilles, Briseis?” Elliot asks, winking at me as we pull up by the massive gates of the mansion and the security guards salute us before the gates slide open. The grating sound can be heard even inside the car.

A happy laugh slips past my lips, and I shake my head, mentally preparing myself for the meeting I’ve craved for a decade. “Nope. He must be somewhere else with the wrong woman,” I joke back, used to all the teasing about my name.

Those familiar with Greek mythology know about Achilles, the best warrior of the Greeks, who fell in love with Briseis. Legends say she was married to an ally of Troy, King Mynes of Lyrnessus. The mighty warrior killed him before slaying her three brothers and taking her as a war prize, enamored with her beauty. Despite all odds, they fell in love amongst the other madness surrounding them and people trying to keep them apart.

Their love might not have been as legendary as Paris and Helen’s, but it still touched my heart, although I never understood it.

How could you fall in love with an enemy—worse, an enemy who came to destroy your family and never felt remorse about it?

I might be called Briseis, but I will never have an Achilles in my life.

For I could never, ever be with a man capable of such deeds.

Chapter Three

“The devil has many faces on this earth.

I imagine one of them is so handsome people can’t help but be mesmerized by it.”

Briseis

Santiago

Thunder booms in the sky, the dark clouds gathering in a mass before lightning flashes in them, pulling a smile from my face when I step onto the terrace. I open my arms wide in anticipation of nature’s next move.

Within seconds, heavy rain pours on me and everything around me, instantly soaking me, but all I do is stand under it, allowing the water to wash away everything I’ve done today as my open shirt is blown around by a blast of wind, chilling my bones. But I welcome it.

I welcome any sense of discomfort my body can experience, as only then do I truly feel alive, because most emotions are foreign to me.

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