‘I’m…’ She closed her eyes. Draco had provided an open goal for her to shoot the truth into but the words wouldn’t form.
‘You’re what?’ he asked into her silence.
She looked back at his gorgeous, rugged face and thought if she was capable of falling in love with anyone it would be with him. But love didn’t exist. Not the love of books and songs. Not for her. Athena had known since she was a little girl that she was inherently unlovable and that the only way to protect herself was to coat herself in a wall of prickly steel. Push them away before they pushed her because all loving someone did was give them the power to hurt you.
But Draco was different. It wasn’t just that he’d saved her or that she’d been helpless to stop herself from desiring him and wanting…craving…to be with him, it was his patience and thoughtfulness. The five weeks he’d put up with her as a constant presence in his life were the longest anyone outside her family had endured before, and even her family could only endure her in small doses. Whether it was pride at not wanting to admit defeat or not wanting to pay the hefty bill that came from admitting defeat with her didn’t matter. He hadn’t given up on her, and she adored him for this as much as she adored him for anything. Maybe she was too far gone in her prickly wall of steel to ever love, but all that she was still capable of feeling she felt for him.
Reaching for his hand, she covered it with her much smaller one and squeezed. ‘I’m ready to take a tour of your home.’
His eyes narrowed as if he knew she was holding something back, but then he shook his head with a smile and turned his hand to thread his fingers through hers. ‘Then let’s do it.’
Draco’s Californian home was every bit as spacious and opulent as its exterior promised. It had a warmth to it, too, something Athena, thinking back, realised his home in Athens also had. She hadn’t noticed much about his Athens home at the time, but as he led her through the rooms of this one she recognised the similarities. Draco had an aesthetic he preferred, one of high ceilings, light walls and an abundance of lead-lined windows that contrasted with dark woods and dark furniture. It was just as well they weren’t destined to marry, she joked with herself; her preference for pink did not fit his aestheticat all. It was a joke she kept to herself, one of many jokes she made in her head to distract her from the swell in her chest holding hands with Draco was inducing.
It had been over twenty years since she’d held anybody’s hand. She’d tugged at a few people’s hands a few times over the years when she’d wanted to get their attention, but the actual holding of a hand, the actual sensation of having her hand clasped in the hand of another…
She was shown the bedrooms with the same matter-of-factness that she was shown the entertainment room that would make an excellent nightclub, and for this she was grateful. There were a number of guest houses in the grounds but she’d been given the one guest room in the sleeping quarters of the main house, a suite with a door that faced Draco’s. The only time he released her hand was so she could explore her room alone, and she adored him for that consideration even when she eyed the emperor bed and her pulses raced to imagine being naked with him on it…
It was a thought she shut off, just as she shut off the same thought when he let her nose around his bedroom. Once she told him the truth—and she would, she would find the words, she must—there was every chance he would decide she wasn’t worth the bother and lock himself away in his spacious, ultra-masculine private space.
She had to find the words, and soon, because it was already getting late and both of them were shattered after the long flight. Soon, she would be expected to decide whose bed she wanted to sleep in. Once he knew the truth, it would be Draco making that choice.
Although Draco’s home had two dining rooms and a kitchen island that could seat eight people, they settled down to eat on one of the abundant sofas in the main reception room.
‘How long have you owned this place?’ Athena asked as they dug into their moussaka, a dish Draco’s Italian chef had spent years trying to perfect so it tasted as good as the one his mother made.
‘Eight years.’
‘I thought it had to be a while. It’s got a permanent feel to it rather than that hotel vibe you get from homes that are only used a few weeks a year.’
‘I still consider this to be my main home,’ he admitted.
‘Do you consider California itself to be home?’ Until a few years ago, Draco had mostly lived in California.
He thought about this and shook his head. ‘Greece is where my heart lives, but this home is more mine than my home in Athens feels.’
‘Once you’ve got Tsaliki Shipping working how you want it, will you step back from it and spend more time here?’
He nodded. ‘Since the buyout, the majority of my time has been spent in Athens—you know that yourself—but the long-term plan is to appoint someone to run the shipping business for me so I can concentrate on my technology businesses. That’s where my real passion lies.’ There was no point in lying. Athena knew why he’d bought her family’s business.
Wanda, his head of housekeeping, appeared from the sleeping quarters, where she’d been unpacking Athena’s luggage.
‘Everything is done,’ she said to Draco in English. ‘Can you please tell Miss Tsaliki that if she’s not happy with how anything has been put away, to let me know and I will rectify it immediately, and ask if there is anything else she needs to make her feel at home?’
‘If you’ve unpacked as well as you keep the house then I know it will be perfect, thank you,’ Athena interjected. ‘Everything here is perfect. And please, call me Athena.’
Wanda’s face fell. ‘I’m so sorry, Miss… Athena. I didn’t think you spoke English.’
‘You had no reason to know,’ she assured her with a smile.
Wanda’s relief was apparent. His housekeeper, Draco guessed, had done an internet search on their houseguest and expected the worst. Everyone expected the worst of Athena, a state of mind she perpetuated as, he heavily suspected, a means of self-preservation. But that wasn’t the real Athena. The real Athena behind the Mean Girl façade was vivacious and funny and highly intelligent, the sweet, loving girl his mother had described appearing in flickers that grew longer and more stable with each flash.
Something was troubling her though. She was conversing and eating normally, but the slight brittleness in her demeanour that was only detectable if you knew her well enough had returned, and he noticed when Wanda said she was retiring for the night that her jaw briefly clenched so hard the tendons in her neck elongated.
He waited until Wanda had disappeared before shaking his head. ‘How the hell did you keep the fact you speak fluent English under the radar?’
Her cheeks colouring, she shrugged. ‘It’s not the kind of thing you drop into conversation, is it.’
He gave her the stern look she usually responded to with sassiness. ‘You were asked when you started working at Tsaliki Shipping to list anything that could be useful to the company. Your list was blank.’
