I bit into my bread, honey and fig exploding on my tongue as I hid my smile. They all assumed Katalina was bringing a man. Only I knew the “someone” was Tia. The same woman whose lips I’d claimed less than twenty-four hours ago.
“I’m actually looking forward to seeing who she’s bringing,” I said, savoring both the sweetness in my mouth and the anticipation of what was to come.
For three years, I’d nursed the humiliation of Katalina’s betrayal, fantasizing about the perfect revenge. My original plan had been to seduce her again, have her perform every degrading act she’d once claimed was beneath her dignity, then discard her like yesterday’s newspaper. I’d even entertained the idea of proposing, then leaving her at the altar.
But fate had handed me something far more elegant. Her American friend with those soulful eyes and lush curves. The woman who’d pulled me from death’s edge without hesitation.
Katalina had always been insecure about her looks, constantly seeking validation through the attention of men. I’d noticed how Katalina had subtly undermined Tia at Nico’s party, steering men away whenever they showed interest.
How exquisite would it be to pursue Tia openly? To make it clear I preferred her friend, whom Katalina clearly considered beneath her. To turn Katalina’s own friend into my lover would be perfect, far more devastating than anything I’d previously conceived.
“You seem pleased about something,” my grandmother observed, her gaze as sharp as ever despite her advanced years.
“I’m alive,” I replied simply, flashing my trademark grin. “That’s reason enough to be pleased, isn’t it?”
The weekend couldn’t come fast enough. I had unfinished business with the woman who’d dragged me out of a wreck and left me wanting more with just one kiss.
“I won’t make it to the party,” Konstantin spoke up, shifting the conversation. His spoon clinked against fine china as he stirred his coffee with unusual force. “Michail Athanasiou finally agreed to a meeting.”
Theia’s coffee spilled. The brown liquid spread like a stain across the white fabric, mirroring the sudden tension that seeped through the room.
“Apologies,” she murmured, looking down at the stain.
I’d grown up hearing about Michail Athanasiou. The family nemesis who had bought Thalassía — our island — from the wife of my late great-uncle Stavros. What I’d heard less about was the personal history between my theia and the man.
“After thirty years of declining every offer made, why now?” Dimitrios asked, setting aside his tablet completely. “What changed?”
My father’s features arranged in a careful mask. “We’re not sure, but this may be our only chance to reclaim Thalassía.”
“Michail’s motives are never pure,” Iridasaid tightly.
A sharp pain lanced through my side as I twisted to reach for another roll, drawing an involuntary hiss from between my clenched teeth. My father’s eyes narrowed, and he pushed his chair back abruptly.
“This meeting with Michail should be approached with extreme caution,” he commanded, every inch the CEO. “Dimitrios, I want full background research on his family. Konstantin, prepare a valuation of the property as it stands today.”
His gaze then fixed on me, softening almost imperceptibly. “Santo, my office. Now.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped when I met his eyes. Concern had replaced his earlier anger. I stood, struggling not to wince as pain flared through my ribs.
As I followed my father from the dining room, I heard my grandmother’s voice behind us, unusually solemn. “You should call Matthaios. He needs to hear this from you.”
The heavy oak door to my father’s study closed with a soft click. Before I could launch into my well-rehearsed defenses, he gestured to the leather sofa that had witnessed countless Christakis negotiations and confessions.
“Sit before you fall,” he said, his voice gruff but tinged with something I rarely heard. Fear. “How bad is the pain?”
The unexpected question caught me off guard. For a moment, I considered maintaining my cultivated façade of invincibility.
“It’s nothing,” I started, then faltered as another sharp stab made me catch my breath.
My father’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes did. “I’m calling Dr. Papadakis. No arguments.”
As he reached for his phone, I sank onto the sofa, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that had carried me through the morning was fading fast, leaving only the stark reality of how close I’d come to death, and the taste of a stranger’s lips I couldn’t forget.
“I’m not like you,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them.
My father paused, phone in hand. “What?”
“Everyone says I’m just like you, but I’m not.” I gestured vaguely toward the dining room. “You would never have crashed that car.”
