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It was a startling shift that was even more apparent when she spoke with her family.
They were shocked and perplexed by her marriage, of course, not knowing how to react, especially since she had run away to avoid the marriage her father had tried to force on her. She didn’t have boyfriends and didn’t talk about wanting a husband so this was completely unexpected.
Elijah was particularly concerned about her. Stella was older and had left home to live on her own terms years ago. She always took lead on standing up to their father, but suddenly he had a lot of questions about how vulnerable she was. Who was this man she’d married? Would he treat her kindly? Had their father driven her to this with his latest selfish actions? Elijah’s concern was sweet, if unnecessary.
Atlas met Elijah over a video call and reassured him that he was very invested in Stella’s peace of mind where their family’s welfare was concerned. He promised to bring her for a visit before they left for Australia, then asked Elijah how he thought their father would best be managed.
After a long discussion among the three of them, they arrived at a plan. The property agent found a house in a solid middle-class neighborhood that was badly in need of updates. Stella told her father the truth, that her husband had purchased it for her and she wanted her father to live in it while he renovated and modernized it.
Pappa grumbled that it would be expensive and a lot of work, but she had a budget for him that included hiring tradespeople as well as covering a meal delivery service so he wouldn’t have to worry about groceries and cooking.
“I can hire a stranger to do it if you’d rather, but they may not do the work as well as you.” She knew how to play to his ego.
Her father’s taste ran to minimalistic and ultrapractical, but he valued quality and his workmanship was always excellent. His perfectionist tendencies were part of his temperament problems, so Stella expected there would be delays around electricians not being considered up to snuff or plumbers balking at his telling them how to do their job. He was very single-minded when he had a goal, though. She hoped the house would consume him enough to take his attention off Grettina and the rest of the family.
Grettina insisted she didn’t need anything, of course. Stella quietly took over the payments on her lease and asked the agent to find a property that would be suitable for Beate when she moved to Austria to continue her music studies.
As the pressure eased where her own family was concerned, the pressure with Atlas’s began to rise.
Returning from his meeting with Oliver, Atlas had said ominously, “He’s weighing up his options.” Atlas then made calls to a number of the board members, advising them of his marriage.
The formal announcement came out overnight, creating a deluge over the next two days of nonstop gift deliveries and countless messages of congratulations with invitations to yachts, summer homes, galas and dinners. People couldn’t wait to meet Atlas’s mystery bride and reporters and paparazzi were clamoring for photos and statements, but his father and sister were noticeably absent in the sea of well-wishes.
Stella would meet them shortly. She and Atlas were arriving early for Oliver’s birthday party at the family estate, planning to stay the night. They drove through a gauntlet of cameras at the gate, but thankfully had privacy once they were inside.
She was so nervous her fingers were pure ice when Atlas helped her from the car.
He frowned in concern. “Don’t worry. Short of challenging me to a duel that I would win, he knows I have the upper hand.”
She wasn’t sure how that was supposed to reassure her, but she found a smile as they climbed the steps and walked through the door that the butler held open for them. Atlas introduced the man as Chester.
Chester bowed his head with deference. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Voudouris. May I take your coat?”
“I’ll take it.” Atlas was very chivalrous that way, Stella was learning. He seemed to enjoy these small excuses to touch her, often adding a caress against her neck or a squeeze of her shoulder while he held her chair or helped her dress. Or undress.
Today, as she skimmed her arms free, there was no sign of affection, though. When he spoke, his voice had chilled. “What are you trying not to tell me?”
“I suggested calling you last night, sir,” Chester said in a somber, barely audible undertone. “Miss Carmel is unwell.”
Atlas swore sharply and looked toward the archway on their left. It seemed to lead into a drawing room of some sort where staff were busily polishing and decorating.
“Where’s Oliver?” Atlas snarled, handing off her coat and starting that direction, bellowing, “Oliver!”
“Upstairs, sir,” Chester said with a small clear of his throat.
As Atlas turned to start up them, a man appeared in a quilted robe on the gallery.
“Mustyou behave like the street mongrel you are?” Oliver Davenport looked exactly as Stella remembered him, right down to the scathing glower at his son that somehow ignored her and disapproved of her all at once.
“How long has she been drinking?” Atlas demanded.
“How long do you think? You left here at eleven ten on Thursday, so eleven eleven. Perhaps you should have anticipated collateral damage when you were plotting your revolution.”
“You’re saying it’s my fault? Of course you are.” Atlas took the stairs two at a time. “Why haven’t you taken her to the clinic? She’s likely dehydrated.”
“The party was her idea. She’ll only discharge herself and come back for it.”
“I cannot believe you.” Atlas brushed past him.