Aristotle had two children. One of them he put front and centre in his life, while the other he had constrained to an existence of secrecy and shame.
She stopped walking, Bank tube station in sight with its bright white light called to her reassuringly. But she ignored it, stepping backwards quickly and pressing her spine against the grimy stone wall of a sandwich shop, overflowing with lunchtime customers. It was a warm day and the stone was heated, but Charlotte hardly noticed.
She hated them.
Not just Aristotle, but Zeus as well. She’d hated them for many years.
And sometimes, she’d fantasised about how she could ever get even with them for how they’d hurt her and her mother. Sometimes she fantasised about how she might finally take her revenge.
Going to the press wasn’t an option—Charlotte had made it a point of pride toneverspend a drop of the money her ‘father’ gave her, besides the school fees, in which matter she’d had no say. But the one compensating point in all of this was that her mother, a shell of a woman in most ways, was able to live a life of unparalleled luxury. Charlotte would never do anything to risk taking that away from her.
She had no doubt that a man heartless enough to ignore his own child would not hesitate to make good on his threats and demand repayment of the entire confidentiality agreement settlement.
So publicising her link to the Papandreo family had never been an option.
In fact, she had never really been able to think of a single way she might reach out and wound them.
Until now.
The lawyers had given her the keys to the kingdom—they just had no idea how motivated she’d be to use them.
‘The right of ownership and control of the Papandreo Group will pass to whichever descendant marries first after their eighteenth birthday.’
Her heart began to speed. Her mind whirled.
It was as preposterous as it was offensive. The very idea that being married somehow imbued a person with a merit they otherwise didn’t possess made her insides twist. It was, as the lawyer had said, positively arcane. Then again, the Papandreo Groupwasvery old, and bound by some arcane rules.
Far be it from Charlotte to question that now... No. She wouldn’t question it. She’d see it for what it was in that moment, a gift. Because she knew what that company meant to her ‘father’ and ‘brother’, and she knew how good it would therefore feel to swipe it out from under them.
And she knew just how she was going to do it.
Chapter Two
Dante San Marinoliterally felt the colour drain from his face. At the mere mention of the word ‘marriage’, he practically broke out into a cold sweat, so utterly traumatised was he by his first foray into that whole way of life.
Which had been the one and only failure Dante had ever had to live through.
He hadn’t enjoyed the experience and had no interest in repeating it.
Particularly not with a woman he’d developed a very satisfying, no-strings relationship with over the past six months. At least, hethoughtit had been ‘no strings’, that they’d been completely on the same page regarding that. Now here she was, sitting opposite him, calmly asking him to marry her. Like they were choosing what to share for dessert.
‘I thought I explained all this to you.’ His voice rang with his trademark authority, a deep voice of easy command. He reached for his mineral water, keeping his eyes on the woman who, up until three minutes ago, he’d presumed he’d be taking back to his bed that night for yet another very satisfying session. ‘Nothing about what we’re doing is serious.’
Charlotte Shaw’s wide-set green eyes met his without a hint of emotion. ‘I’m aware of that.’
‘And yet, you’re proposing to me?’
The corner of her lips—painted a bright red and distractingly full, even now—lifted as if with mocking amusement.
‘Not in the sense of a traditional marriage.’
He arched a brow. ‘Is there any other kind of marriage?’
‘Well, yes, actually. I’m glad you asked.’ She reached for her own drink—an Aperol spritz that she’d had waiting on the table even before he’d arrived. As if she’d needed the Dutch courage, though Charlotte was unstintingly confident and independent—two of the qualities he admired most about her. ‘There are marriages like this, for example.’
He suppressed a shudder at her casual reference to their ‘marriage’. ‘We’re not getting married.’
‘Hear me out,’ she implored. ‘You owe me that much, don’t you think?’
