Page 39 of Beneath Scarred Vows

KATERINA

Islide into the passenger side of a black Bentley with cream interior. Ares shuts my door and walks around to the driver's side. There's a car full of men behind us who will act as guests this evening and blend in among others at the opening.

Tonight, a museum in Chicago's Greek Town is opening the Kastaris wing. Set in motion by his father. Theo and Calli are meeting us there. Dimitri is in Greece, so he's obviously missing the event.

Ares gets in the car and starts it. He looks so handsome.

He's wearing an all-black fitted tux, complete with a bowtie, which is actually my favorite part about his outfit.

Actually, my favorite part is knowing firsthand what's under all that.

I can't help but think he looks a bit like a model. I mean, when I saw his 6-foot-4 frame walking toward me, he might as well have jumped out of a magazine.

The most ironic thing of all this is that when he greeted me, he told me I was the beautiful one.

Never been good at taking compliments, but I took his and locked it up deep in my chest.

As we drive, Ares breaks the silence.

"I hate events like this, but this one's important to the family."

I turn slightly to look at him. His profile is sharp, all angles and shadows in the dim light of the car.

"Why is it so important?" I ask.

"My father started this project years ago. It's the largest collection of Greek antiquities in North America," he says. "One hundred million in artifacts, all authenticated. Everything from ancient pottery to marble statues."

"He sounds like he had a passion for it," I say.

Ares's jaw tightens. "Yes. He had a passion for keeping our history alive and showing the world what Greeks have done," he says and smiles with pride.

I nod, unsure what to say. There's still so much I don't know about Ares's father.

"There are some beautiful pieces there. I think you'll like it," he says and turns to me, "though you'd rival their beauty."

I look down at my emerald dress, the fabric catching the light as we pass under street lamps.

"Are you trying to charm me, Mr. Kastaris?"

"Depends. Is it working?"

We arrive at the museum, and I see spotlights illuminating the building. A red carpet stretches from the curb to the entrance, and photographers line both sides. I feel a flutter of anxiety in my chest.

"Are those for us?" I ask, nodding toward the cameras.

"For the event, really," Ares says. "But I'm sure they'll want some photos of us. The new wing's got our last name on it, after all."

Our last name.

I can't even begin to comprehend taking even the tiniest amount of credit for something like this.

He pulls up to the curb where a valet waits to open Ares's door. Before the valet can reach mine, Ares is there, offering his hand. I take it, feeling the warmth of his palm against mine as I step out. Flashes pop immediately, and I blink against the sudden light, gripping his hand.

Ares doesn't let go.

He places his free hand on the small of my back, guiding me up the red carpet. After a few moments, I steady myself and release my grip from his hand. He leans close to my ear.

"Just smile and keep walking," he says. "They're harmless."