Dimitrios emerged from the jet’s galley, balancing a tray with four crystal glasses of amber liquid. “I thought we could all use a drink,” he announced. “Though some of us might need it more than others.”
“Any word from Konstantin?” my father asked as Dimitrios carefully handed out the drinks, adjusting his movements to accommodate our restricted mobility.
My uncle’s expression darkened. “He’s staying behind with Kayla. Things are... tense.”
“Finding out you have a half-brother that your husband kept a secret would upset anyone,” Dimitrios said.
Irida sat straighter, her voice unwavering. “Matthaios is my son. Not Michail’s. He forfeited that claim the moment he chose to marry a stripper a week before our wedding.”
The cabin fell into stunned silence at Irida’s impassioned outburst. My father was the first to recover.
“Theia Irida,” he said gently, “we’ve always honored your wishes regarding Matthaios. No one has ever questioned your right to raise him as you saw fit.”
Domna reached across to place her hand over her sister-in-law’s. “You raised him with love. That’s what matters. The rest... we carry together.” Her voice carried the weight of decades of shared history. “Kayla has every right to feel betrayed by our family.”
Dimitrios sipped her drink thoughtfully. “First Tia leaves because of Santo’s scheming, and now Kayla is upset with Konstantin. We’re not having much luck with the women in this family lately.”
“They need time,” my father said, and I realized he was speaking to me again. “And frankly, so do you.”
“How long are you planning to keep us like this?” I asked, lifting our joined wrists. “A day? A week?”
My father’s lips twitched. “Until we arrive in New York and meet with the investigators. Then we’ll see.” He shifted in his seat, forcing me to adjust as well. “Two days minimum, I’d say.”
“Two days?” I groaned, letting my head fall back against the headrest. “And how exactly are we supposed to manage... everything?” I gestured vaguely with my injured hand.
“We’ll manage,” my father replied simply. “Consider it a lesson in consequences, Chrysanthos. Something long overdue.”
Domna leaned forward. “When we land, Aristides, you will remove those ridiculous restraints. We have enough scandal brewing without adding to it.”
“The handcuffs stay, Mother,” my father replied firmly. “At least until we’re settled in the penthouse.”
The jet’s engines hummed steadily as we crossed the Atlantic. Night had fallen, and the cabin lights dimmed. Irida and Domna had retreated to the private sleeping quarters at the rear of the plane, leaving just my father, Dimitrios, and me in the main cabin.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I said after several hours of uncomfortable silence.
My father sighed deeply, as if I’d requested something monumentally inconvenient rather than a basic human necessity.
“Fine.”
The awkward shuffle to the lavatory was an exercise in humiliation. Each step required coordination, and my father’s expression remained stoically neutral as we maneuvered through the narrow aisle.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered as we reached the door.
“Yes,” my father agreed, “your behavior has been.”
The logistics of using the facilities while handcuffed to another person were as mortifying as expected. My father turned away to grant what minimal privacy he could, but the indignity of the situation wasn’t lost on either of us.
When we returned to our seats, Dimitrios had moved to sit opposite us.
“You know,” he said conversationally, “when I first met Tia, I thought she was your temporary obsession.”
I stiffened, not wanting to hear it.
“But then I watched her stand up to you. Watched her work.” Dimitrios leaned forward. “She has backbone and heart. She deserved better than to be collateral damage in your vendetta against Katalina.”
“It didn’t stay that way,” I protested. “What I felt for her—what I feel for her—is real.”
“Perhaps,” Dimitrios conceded. “But you built that feeling on a foundation of lies. Now you’re surprised the structure collapsed?”
