Page 140 of Christmas with the Elkin Billionaires

Anger and disbelief burned through my gut. The bulk of the estate and all its responsibilities I'd expected, but nothing could have prepared me to hear her name mentioned.

“Who?” my sisters said in unison.

“There is one more condition that impacts you all,” Petrakis continued, ignoring their reactions. “'Everything, including my daughters' portions, will be held in trust for my son until he is married,'“ the lawyer read. “'Antonio must marry by his twenty-fifth birthday. If he fails to do so, all of my children will be disinherited.'“

Alexandra gasped. “But his birthday is next month! That's absurd. Had our father gone crazy?”

“That's his idea of righting wrongs?” I was almost too incredulous to speak.

Petrakis put a protective hand on the document. “Your father was of sound mind.”

I rose and paced to the far end of the room to look out a window as I struggled to regain my composure. My father could be cruel in life, ruthless and difficult, but I had never anticipated that his final act would be so twisted. I had to marry by next month or everything was lost to us? Ridiculous.

I had connections in the business world and would find a place for myself even without an inheritance, but my sisters? They were still so young. Alexandra was just out of university, and Eva was only now about to begin. How could my father have done this to them? There must be a way to fight this. “How do we contest this farce, Petrakis?” I asked without turning.

“If you contest the will, you will automatically forfeit your inheritance—and that of your sisters. That clause was in the first paragraph. If that should happen, then only the other bequests, including the one to Claire Bennett, will be honored.”

* * *

Claire

“I heard my name,” I spoke from the doorway. “My apologies for being late. My flight was delayed. Are you Nick Stavos?” The older man in the expensive suit didn't look much like a documentary filmmaker, but perhaps he was the financial backer for the project.

As I waited for a reply, the room seemed to still. The two young women seated at the table stared at me with surprise and hostility in their expressions. Another man stood at a window with his back to me. Was he the filmmaker? Possibly. If so, I had some questions for him—such as what I was doing here in the first place. My work doing voiceovers for documentaries rarely required me to be on site. Arranging the trip at the last minute had been a hassle.

Still, I wouldn’t complain too much. It wasn’t as if I truly minded an excuse to travel to Greece. If anything, I was looking forward to the chance to create some new memories here. Memories that would hopefully help me forget those horrible last few days from when I’d been here as a student. I wanted to let those memories go, wanted to forget about the heartache and anger I still carried around with me. Maybe this trip would help me finally move on. I hoped so, anyway.

“You’re Claire?” the younger of the two women asked after a tense moment. “Claire Bennett?”

“Yes. I was supposed to meet with—”

“Have a seat, Miss Bennett,” the older man spoke. “There, at the head of the table, will do. My name is Georgios Petrakis. I'm the one who arranged for you to be here. You're in the right place.”

Was I, though? Because something about this didn't feel right. For one thing, the women were staring at me as if they'd seen a ghost. And while the man by the window still hadn't turned to face me, I could see the tension in the line of his shoulders. It was clear they'd all been discussing something about me before I'd arrived, and it didn't seem like any of them were happy with what they'd heard.

Had they changed their mind about hiring me? After flying me all the way out here?

I set only my purse down, reluctant to commit to sitting while there was such a strange tension in the air. “Is there a problem with my contract?” I asked. “Should I speak to my agent?” Despite the time change, I knew Brenna was awake—I'd called my best friend turned agent not long after my flight had landed to check in. Brenna had been so excited about this great opportunity—”the perfect resume builder,” she'd said. Maybe it had been too perfect. Too good to be true.

“There is work for you,” the older man assured me. “But I will admit, I used a bit of subterfuge to bring you here today. Your role on the film doesn't actually require your presence here in Greece. You were brought here for the reading of a will.”

What? This was getting weirder by the second, but curiosity kept me in place. “Whose will?”

“My father's.” The man at the window turned and strode toward me. Antonio Rosso stared at me, his eyes ice-cold—just as they had been the last time I'd seen him. When his father had humiliated me. “Matthias Rosso.”

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