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‘Can’t accept what?’ questioned Odysseus imperiously as he walked into the room without knocking, seemingly oblivious to the stylist’s instant gushing reaction to his presence. ‘What’s the matter, Grace?’
‘Nothing’s the matter. But this is far too much,’ she said stubbornly.
With a quick nod he dismissed the stylist, who couldn’t quite hide her disappointment at being unable to witness what was obviously going to be a pre-wedding bust-up. And it wasn’t until she had left them alone and he had shut the door that Odysseus turned to Grace, his dark eyebrows raised. ‘You think your little sundresses and a borrowed hat will suffice for what lies ahead, do you,poulaki mou?’
Grace bristled. ‘I thought you told me you liked that hat.’
‘Which I do. Very much.’ He stroked a placatory finger over her cheek. ‘It’s just not suitable for a stay in a royal palace.’
‘Which is why I agreed to have you buy me some clothes—but there’s enough here for about a year. Just how long is this job in Tuloranka going to last?’
‘I have no idea. It could be one month…it could be two,’ he answered smoothly. ‘But you will be required to change several times a day and you’ll feel inadequate if you aren’t able to do that.’
Letting out a small sigh, Grace nodded. ‘Okay, then,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘If you absolutely insist.’
‘How ironic it is…’ Odysseus gave a slow smile ‘…that of all the women I should have chosen as my wife, I seem to have acquired one who remains resolutely unimpressed by what my wealth can buy for her.’
His wife. Grace knew it wasn’t for real, but when he said it like that itfeltreal.Dangerouslyreal. She wondered if that was inevitable. Was it because women were subtly conditioned from birth to expect high romance, in the form of a wedding? Maybe the choosing of a white dress and flowers was subconsciously reinforcing all those childhood dreams she’d always secretly fought against. Or was it because her feelings for her future husband were growing by the day, despite all her best efforts to quash them?
Because sometimes this felt like a dream from which she never wanted to wake.
Each day, as the sun rose over the glorious Mirtoan Sea, Odysseus made love to her, in rumpled sheets coated in morning colours of coral and pink. After a slow and very erotic shower, they ate breakfast on the terrace—where the air was soft with the scent of orange blossom. To the sound of birdsong and the distant beat of the sea, they feasted on figs and yogurt and honey, before going back upstairs to make love all over again. His sexual appetite was voracious and so too, it seemed, was hers. The more he taught her, the more she wanted to learn—something which made him give a low laugh of pleasure. He called her greedy. He called her insatiable—and she revelled in the mocking words which he breathed so approvingly against her skin.
The physical side of their relationship was perfect—it was the other aspects of it which gave her cause for concern. The unpredictable ice and fire of his nature continued to enchant her in a way which felt addictive…alarmingly so. She’d thought continued exposure to his irascible character would provide her with some kind of immunity against his potent charm but that wasn’t happening. And if an impending sense of emotional danger sometimes caused words of alarm to whisper into Grace’s ear, she stubbornly chose to ignore them.
She was frustrated with herself for wanting it to be a real marriage. A marriage which lasted—something which had never been on the cards.
Yet Odysseus was the one who was providing such fertile ground on which to grow her fantasy. Work-wise, he’d taken his foot off the brake, which was apparently a first—or so Evangelia, the housekeeper, had rather indiscreetly confided. With proprietorial pride he had shown her around the island, giving her an insider’s view of its natural beauty—the rugged mountains and tall forests, and the hidden coves, which took her breath away. She witnessed for herself how highly he was regarded by the local fishermen and farmers, and how much he was hero-worshipped by the small boys who ran up with rags to wash the windscreen of his car.
It was hard not to fall for him. And harder still to make sure he didn’t suspect. Especially as circumstances seemed to be conspiring against her efforts to dial down her feelings, as demonstrated by an astonishing fact she’d learned in bed that very morning.
‘Won’t Evangelia think we’re slightly decadent, the amount of time we’re spending up here?’ she remarked sleepily, her lips drifting little kisses along the soft skin of his shoulder.
‘I don’t pay my housekeeper to have opinions on how I spend my time,’ he growled.
‘No, of course not. And I suppose…well, I suppose she must be used to it,’ she added, probing a little, trying not to sound jealous, which of course she was.
There was a heartbeat of a pause, during which he seemed to be weighing up his next words. ‘If you must know, you’re the only woman I’ve ever brought here,’ he informed her tersely.
For a full minute she was shocked into silence. ‘So where do you usually…?’ she asked eventually.
‘There are such things as hotels, Grace,’ he offered sardonically. ‘You may have heard of them?’
Grace was glad she was lying down because she suspected her knees might have given way if she’d been vertical, but she couldn’t help the sudden rush of pleasure which was making her skin feel so warm and glowing.
She was the only woman who had ever slept in his island bed!
‘Wow!’
Did he detect the misplaced flattery in her soft exclamation? Was that why he quickly disabused her of any idea that she was in some way special?
‘Bringing you here is simply intended to add credence to our sudden marriage,poulaki mou. Just like your engagement ring,’ he drawled, dropping a light kiss onto the top of her head, presumably to take the sting out of his words. ‘It’s nothing more complicated than that.’
Grace forced herself to remember that clipped statement later that day, as they made their wedding vows on the roof terrace, in front of the blue blaze of the sea. She wore a white dress, with her hair hanging loose—the way Odysseus liked it, though she had woven fragrant stephanotis into the thick strands as a concession to the occasion. The only witnesses were Odysseus’s lawyer, who had flown over from the mainland, along with Christos, one of his assistants. Somehow their businesslike presence emphasised the formal element of the marriage, which was reinforced by the prenup she’d put her signature to the previous day. Andthathad been a strange experience. Odysseus had signed over an eye-watering sum for Nana’s welfare, enough for the rest of her life, because… ‘If our marriage ends next month, we don’t want your grandmother’s care being comprised, do we?’ he had drawled.
Grace had been unbearably touched and grateful for his consideration, but after that undeniable sweetener had come his rules.
She was to give no interviews.