I dress slowly, taking time to smooth sunscreen on every exposed inch of skin. My skin tone is naturally tan, but still. I don’t want to burn.
I grab a towel, sunglasses, and the second pastry the girl left for me—because one clearly wasn’t enough—and make my way out.
A group of men—bodyguards—wait for me by the door.
“Good morning. Beach?” I say.
They nod, one of them says something in Greek.
“Of course, Miss. This way,” another answers in English, I nod and off we go.
The beach is alive with color and salt-kissed sound.
Locals and tourists are scattered across the shore—some topless, some not.
No one bats an eyelash at my strange entourage. Three men in linen suits and dark sunglasses, keeping a respectful distance like well-trained shadows.
They don’t speak. They don’t smile. They just follow.
And I ignore them.
Because for the first time in 24 hours, I feel like myself again.
Feet in the sand.
Skin kissed by sun.
I bite my lip, glance around, and I let my coverup fall.
Curves and all. I’m not ashamed of my body or the art that adorns it. After all, it was all my choice.
I earned this body, this confidence, this moment.
I might be here as a pawn, but that was my decision.
I know who I am and why I’m here.
I just have to remember that when I’m toe to toe with a certain arrogant prince.
I’m no trifle, I’m the daughter of the Council. Lawyer. Fighter. A woman who danced like a Viper in the heart of the Den and made a prince lose his shit.
I thought we had something special. A connection. Something real.
But all he wants is his bloody deal.
Well, Atlas can keep his yacht and his warlord politics.
Right now?
I’m going for a swim.
Chapter Eleven-Atlas
I return home champing at the bit.
By midnight, I intend to have her—my bride, my goddess, my undoing—wedded and bedded.
The license is filed.
