Page 13 of Before Broken Vows

He watches me for a few seconds, like he's waiting for me to say something else, something that would make any of this make sense.

But I don't have the words. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"We'll talk after you've rested. I expect answers then, Stassi. Real ones. Or this arrangement ends," he says.

I nod.

Theo hesitates for a moment like he's going to something else, but in the end, he just turns and walks away, disappearing into the shadows of the house.

I stand there, feeling like a ghost.

Out of place.

Unwanted.

Exactly as I deserve.

Elena shows me to the spare room in the east wing. I remember her, but if she remembers me, she's either not showing it orcarries some of the resentment Theo does. Either way, I don't bring it up.

I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the carved wooden dresser, the heavy drapes, the faint outline of the doorway down the hall where Theo's room is—or used to be, anyhow.

I shouldn't be here. I never should have come back.

But I had no choice.

I still don't.

I glance down at my shaking hands and clench them into fists.

I'll survive this. I have to.

But as the walls close in and memories rise like floodwaters, I realize survival might come at a price I'm not ready to pay.

Not when it means facing the man I never really stopped loving.

And not when it means letting him see all the ways I'm broken.

I get up and close the door and finally let the tears fall.

6

THEO

Halfway between George Zervas's territory and ours sits a little taverna. It's half-empty when I arrive. A few fishermen drink coffee at one table. A couple of old men play backgammon at another. Tourists don't come out this far. It's all locals and lifers—the kind of place where nobody sees anything unless you make them.

Even though there's no such thing as "neutral grounds," as I was reminded during the whole Ares and Katerina fiasco, it's where George and I agreed to meet.

I order a coffee and take a seat facing the door. When it arrives, I take a sip and sigh. The smart thing would be to keep my mind sharp, focused. I should be thinking about the banking trail, the shell companies, the cash moving through Athens Central Bank like a goddamn river no one seems able—or willing—to stop.

Instead, I'm thinking about Stassi. In my house. Sleeping in the bed meant for guests, though I wouldn't even call her that.

And it actually pisses me off.

I survived this world by staying two steps ahead. Distractions get you killed.

And Stassi Milonakis? She's nothing but a fucking distraction.

Granted, a beautiful, dangerous one, but still—she's come back at the worst possible time.