“Wow! I’m stuffed! And Anna still managed to pack leftovers.” Tia rubbed her hand over the formerly flat part of her body that was her stomach and leaned forward in the jeep’s seat, peering into the basket of endless containers at her feet. “There’s enough in there to feed an army.”
“Anna does like to feed people, but I didn’t expect her to prepare a full lunch. I was only going to buy some of her bread and honey, then leave.”
The open window of the jeep whipped some of his words into the wind, and she leaned closer to hear him. It was not the small talk she had prepared to lead with when enquiring about his anti royal sentiment, but it was better than the silence that had been reigning in the car since they left Anna’s house at least half an hour ago.
Tia smacked her lips together. “Her honey biscuits were exceptional.”
“You will probably find some in the basket. People around here are just happy to help out like that.”
Her ears pricked up at the grimace in his voice. People may be happy to help, but from his tone, he didn’t sound it was a quality he thought of highly.
“You do not sound like you approve.”
“People can do what they want, but those attitudes make them vulnerable. And poor.”
“Well, if I had some money, I would have bought some.” When she had her money, she corrected herself mentally, she would go back and buy some—for her and a packet for her sweet-toothed former nanny. “But then, from what you have said so far, I am not sure that you approve of people with money, either.”
Silence. Mm, maybe she hadn’t made it sound questioning enough. That, or he was thinking of a sharp retort that told her to mind her own business.
She would give him exactly fifteen seconds before she asked again, and this time, she would say the word “question mark” at the end if need be. She turned in her seat and twisted the window lever down, leaning out of the window and sucking in the air around her. It was cleaner, fresher than the air she had experienced around the palace, despite the AC, and her heart lifted at the sight of the grand mountains in front of her. Anna had really not been kidding when she had informed her it was a village in the mountains.
“Was that a question or an observation, Tia?”
Finally! A result. She smoothed the flyaway strands of her wig back down and twisted slowly back to him. “It was meant to be a question. A chance for you to explain why you are so anti—I am not sure. Royals, money? All of the above.”
“Explain? Am I defending myself against something here, and if I am, then don’t I have a right to know what it is?”
His eyes darkened to a stormy blue, and she sat up straighter in her seat. “There is no case here. I am simply asking, where does your attitude towards the royals come from? I am curious.”
“Are you always this insistent when you are curious about something?”
When it came to her family, then . . . “Yes.”
“Fine. In which case, I will tell you. I find it wrong that they present this image to the world of being perfect, with their titles and their money, and give ordinary folk an unrealistic picture. Folk like Anna should be allowed to get on with their own real lives instead of aspiring to one they will never achieve. And I dislike those people who promise this lifestyle to others, then take it away. These people present their picture perfect life in such a way that when ordinary folk aspire to it, they inevitably fall like Icarus and his wax wings, hurting themselves and others around them! There. Are you glad you asked a different question?” He stopped and exhaled heavily, dropping his chin lower.
No, she was not. Tia bit down hard on her lower lip and turned from him, focusing her eyes on the road ahead and on the trees that were tilting perilously thanks to the recent landslides.
No, she was not happy she had asked, but only because now the bite of reality was deeper than before and it hurt. He had answered more than he knew. He sounded—she could not quite put her finger on it—as if someone had done something to him. She had met the men and women in her brother’s racing world, and despite her status, they had not held back their comments about others. Even at boarding school, she had encountered those who would use their family money to make others who were less fortunate feel their status.
What could she say? “I am sorry,” or “But that is not us!” How could she say that without truly revealing who she was? She could not say any of those things.
“That sounds horrible. But surely not everyone is like that,” she ventured quietly.
“No? If that is the majority, then why should I be bothered to meet the rest?”
“Because that is just wrong. And . . . prejudiced!” she said hurriedly, her thoughts and ideas building with the momentum of her words.
“Me? Prejudiced?”
She would have laughed at the comedic drop of his jaw if the situation were not so serious. “Yes, you heard me. I said prejudiced. You are being as bad as those people who are also rude and prejudiced, but you are going from the other end of the social scale. And both sides are wrong.” There. She had proved her point- sort of. Tia folded her arms in front of her and sat back against the seat.
“And I take it, from your deep knowledge, that you have met many people from all walks of life, Tia Liakos?” The sharp edge to his question stung, and she tilted her chin up.
“As it happens, yes, I have. I have travelled a fair bit around the island, and I studied in England where I met people from, as you put it, all walks of life. And good manners are good manners no matter who you are.” At least that was what her grandmother, the dowager queen, always used to say.
“What a lovely sentiment. Remind me, if I ever take up sewing, to embroider it into a pillow. So after your encounter with these titled individuals, were you left feeling positive or worthless?”
Alarm bells rang in her head, and she wiped her tongue across her suddenly dry lips, freezing as she caught his eyes following the motion before he swung his head back to the road. Her thoughts blew like dry leaves around her brain and her heart fluttered lightly in her chest. “They would never . . . I mean, no. They have never made me feel worthless.”
They had never been the problem for her. After Geo’s death, she found she was suddenly the favourite—more so than normal. Worthless. Even the word left a bitter taste in her mouth. It was never because of them. It was always about Geo.
• • •
His lips tingled from where he could imagine pressing them to hers, and Damon tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Why had he spewed out all his thoughts to her like that? Sure, he stood by them, but that was still no excuse. And now it had led to him almost, almost wanting to kiss her. If that wasn’t the biggest foolishness, then he didn’t know what was. At least now she could tell his father what he really thought of him and without having to pay a lawyer to do it.
He had thought at Anna’s that she may accidentally reveal something about her real reason for being on his land. Instead, he had learned that she was twenty-six, wasn’t married, and didn’t have any children.
The blood pulsed around his body faster than before at the knowledge, and he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Why did that matter? It shouldn’t. He was not interested in a woman as . . . argumentative as her. Yes, that was it. Argumentative. Besides, she had her plans to modernise the island, an island he thought was fine the way it was. He loved to ride; she didn’t. She thought people with titles were fine; he didn’t.
Thee mou, clearly this was cupid’s sense of humour! Why then did he feel his insides go like jelly when she smiled? Why did he notice her eyes light up when she was getting annoyed at him? Hell, he was starting to ask himself whether he wanted to annoy her just to see the unusual blue-green fire spark to life.
“Well aren’t you the lucky one.” He had meant to sound sarcastic. Instead, he had the horrible feeling he just sounded pitiful.
“Depends on your meaning of lucky. It was not luck that made me break down on your land, was it?”
Her words sent ice through his veins, and he held his breath. Would she tell him now? Now that she knew the name of the village they were going to? Phillipe did not know about this place. In fact, he had only told a handful of people, including Anna and Jason. “What was it then?”
“Bad driving on my part.”
Warmth spread through him, and his lips trembled as a bark of laughter came from nowhere. Her gentle chuckle filled the car, and he pushed his lips down to wipe the smile from his face. It had been too long since he laughed, since he had anything to laugh at—till now and her throwaway comment.
“Your car will be safe. It is probably already on its way to that address in Arios you gave me. A gift shop wasn’t it?”
Her fingers stilled their motion of rubbing across her nails. “Yes. Rosie’s Boutique and Gifts. That is the one.” Her head flicked up, her voice bright and chirpy, and his brows drew together in a frown. It seemed too chirpy.
“That is an interesting name. Rosie. Very, erm, English for a shop in Kephelai.” It was a very English name for a shop anywhere but England, period.
“Well Arios is becoming more modern and international by the minute, and you never know who you may meet there, so why not have a name like Rosie’s for a shop? Besides, the queen is called Rosalind, isn’t she?” He flicked his gaze to her fingers, which had begun their movements over her nails once again, in earnest this time.
“But she is English, isn’t she?”
“From one of the finest aristocratic families in the UK. Well that is what the Internet says at least. Don’t tell me you have a problem with the king being married to an English woman?” Her voice sounded harder and more determined than before, and he shook his head.
“People can marry who they like. Unlike some of my fellow countrymen, I do not have a problem with people from different countries getting married.” Besides, Phillipe is from Montcroix, not England, he added silently to himself.
“Good because I think that is how it should be too.”
Too? He bit back a smile and popped the silly fantasy bubble in his head that told him they had something in common. They didn’t. Besides, even if they did, it wasn’t their views on marriage. The only thing they had in common was his father, and Damon already knew his views on the sanctity of marriage. The thought made him scowl. “As long as they stay faithful.”
She puffed out a small breath and leaned forward, dropping her hands to the dashboard. “Of course they need to stay faithful. Why would they not? Faithlessness and the lies that go with it cause pain, and if you love someone, why would you want to cause him or her pain?”
“Which one is ‘her’? Do you mean the wife or the mistress?” His stomach churned at the memory of his mother’s deathbed confession. Of her pale lips as she whispered the name of his real father and where he would find the letters he wrote to her containing the promises he made. Also that she had finally written to him to let Phillipe know of Damon’s existence. His world had been blown wide open. It was a conversation he knew he would never forget. He hadn’t hoped to have a tearful father-son reunion, but he hadn’t expected the vitriolic letter that came barely a week after his mother’s funeral that denounced him.
“Erm, I guess the wife. I mean there would not be a mistress if the husband was faithful, right? But yes, ultimately both women would suffer. The wife because she doesn’t know or maybe has to live with the knowledge that her husband is being unfaithful, and the mistress because she knows the man in question could never truly be hers,” she said factually, as if any other concept was just bizarre.
Never truly hers. Three little words that sat like a rock in his stomach. Damon squirmed in his seat. Did his mother ever know that? He had read the letters, and he imagined they would have sounded persuasive to a young woman in her twenties who had not experienced much of the world. Hell, after Tia’s explanation from the wife’s point of view, he was almost beginning to feel sorry for Phillipe’s wife. Almost.
“I mean, you would not want to be the wife or the mistress of a man like that. That is not the ideal man of fantasies, is it?” she added, though he couldn’t be sure if the muffled comment was for herself or him thanks to the way her chin and lips were buried in her cupped hands and her elbows were resting on her knees.
He could not see how in any universe a man like Phillipe would be any woman’s fantasy, let alone have two women who doted on him and God knew how many more, but . . . Tia had said the word “fantasy.”
Was that why she wasn’t married? Because she had not found this ideal man of fantasies?
He leaned his elbow out of the window, inhaling sharply. Maybe the fresh mountain air would clear these ridiculous thoughts from his brain. It wasn’t that he cared. He didn’t, but he was curious. That was all. It had nothing to do with finding out what made her face blush or her heart race. He had no interest in her whatsoever—what made her smile that shy smile she had given his horses when she thought no one was looking or how his name would sound on her lips just before he kissed her.
Damn. He hadn’t meant that last one. That wasn’t part of the discovery process. And if he were clever, he may be able to find out her real reason for crashing onto his land, which had nothing to do with bad driving.
• • •
Had he heard that last part? God, she hoped not. Tia rubbed her fingers over her mouth, wishing the words would come back and she could swallow them instead.
“Is it far to Tethys?” Geez, was that the best 180 or what? She mentally self-fived herself at her quick thinking. Isn’t that what animals did in the wild—swerved to get out of the predator’s way? “I am not sure if I have heard of it.” Not sure? Heck, she hadn’t, but she could not afford for his mind to wander back to that other topic she accidentally strayed into.
“It’s not far now. Thanks to the landslides, most people are not venturing out this high, unless they have to, that is.” He turned to her, and her breath caught in her throat. His hair looked like it had grown overnight, and it was not the black she had thought it would be. Tia squinted against the light. Yes, it looked to be dark brown, almost like . . . That was silly. She was clearly suffering from too little sleep and an overactive imagination. Lots of men other than Antoine had brown hair.
“What made you want a place out here?” That’s it Tia, good girl. Keep up the small talk. If she were lucky, she may even be able to keep this up till they arrived at his house. Not that she had had much luck lately. That had always been Bastian’s forte, but one could hope for miracles.
His forehead wrinkled and his Adam’s apple bobbed lightly up and down. “It was a good choice.”
She was sure there was more. Heck, if there was some potential to this area, other than the natural beauty of it, then she could look into building factories and offices out here as well as on the Skipios site. Memories of Anna and her sons who worked there made her cringe. Yes, they would be out of work, but then she was making more work!
“You know a fantasy is something no one can live up to, right?” His words rang through the car like a loud bell clanging around her brain.
Drat! She thought he had forgotten about that.
“Pffft. I know that. Fantasies are not real things. They are wish lists conjured up by the imagination until reality sets in.” At least, that had been the case with her and Antoine. Either way, her present fantasy did not involve a man, but her modernisation programme.
She caught his gaze moving across her face. She felt her cheeks flame at the intimate look, and she gave him a questioning stare.
“Nothing. I just did not expect to agree with you on something.” He smiled slowly, and her heart thumped against her chest.
“Well we cannot have that can we? I mean, that is what makes this drive so much fun.” She rolled her eyes, her brain searching for something not fantasy related, only to get zip. Fine, brain, be like that. There was no other option; she would have to play the devil’s advocate. “However, on that note, some might say that fantasies change with age.”
“There it is. The argument. And just when I thought the remainder of this drive would be peaceful.”
Tia bit back a smile as Damon rolled his eyes. She had not been wholly kidding when she had said that was what made the drive so much fun. She had never had this freedom to argue with a man without him eventually quoting policies and procedures on why it had to happen or doing what her father did and pulling rank—or worse, just agreeing with her because of who she was.
“But they are still unrealistic,” he retorted.
“But it may become an aspiration.”
“Which you will eventually fall short of achieving because it is a fantasy. Besides, fantasy and aspiration are two different things.”
“Are they? Some woman’s fantasy may be another’s aspiration. The women who have that aspiration are more likely to get it versus the women who only fantasize, if that makes sense?” Gosh, she was so jumbled up with fantasies, realities, and everything in between, even she was not sure anymore what made sense.
“Erm, not really, and is that what happened to you? Did you find your fantasy was a far cry from what your reality-slash-aspiration was?”
“No comment” instantly sprang to her lips, and she pressed them together. She was not in front of the press, and even then, she had her press team to handle questions like that. Besides, she did not even have a fantasy man now. Antoine had been her fantasy when she was a teenager, but after university, she had grown up and knew that was all it was. She never really loved him, and deep down, she knew he never loved her. He was too cold. There was a reason members of the Montcroix press called him the Ice Prince. She was sure he was someone’s fantasy, but not hers.
“It is not a whom if that is what you are trying to pick at. It is a what, and I never had a fantasy for it. I had an aspiration that will turn into a reality.”
“You sound very sure. Do you always get your own way?”
The coolness in his comment stung like Jack Frost nipping at her toes, and she flexed her legs in front of her, sitting up straighter. She would not let him see how close to home that comment had almost come and how the memory of her father’s final words before she decided to leave home and find her own way had harpooned her heart.
You are now the future queen of Kephelai, Christiana. Georgios would not have had these fantastical ideas. It is time to put away these fantasies and come back to reality. Your reign is bigger than you getting your own way on this.
Had it only been yesterday when she had left? Her life in the palace seemed like a lifetime ago.
Tia folded her hands in her lap, pressing and relaxing her lips. “When something is important, I believe it is worth fighting for, don’t you think?” she said slowly.
He huffed lightly. “That is a lovely sentiment. Do you have a phrase book stashed in those voluminous layers of clothing that you are secretly referencing when I’m looking the other way? Besides, you did not answer my question.”
“I answered it perfectly. The question is, did you get your own fantasy?” Hells bells. Why was it so hard to say the word “fantasy” to him without her face feeling like a furnace? Maybe she just did not have practice saying the word enough. It was not a word that regularly came up in everyday conversation, like “the.”
“We are here.” His voice was devoid of any emotion, and she looked around at the white houses and small town centre statue. Her shoulder bumped into the door, and she rubbed it lightly as the jeep swung around a corner and up another hill till a house and driveway came into view.
It was the basic white of most mountain houses, but her eyes widened at the large horse statue at the front. She pushed the jeep door open as it squealed to a stop and a small rain of gravel hit against the side. She moved to examine the statue closer, all thoughts of fantasies and aspirations gone.
Orange, brown, and white veins shot through the marble, making the horse look alive, as if it were really prancing. She ran her fingers along its smooth surface, lifting them off quickly at its hotness. “This is stunning, Damon. It looks very familiar.”
“It should. It is Kronos. My grandfather carved this when he was alive. I guess it was his way to remind me never to give up on my—” He stopped and laughed sharply, and Tia pirouetted around slowly. “I was going to say aspirations, but then . . . Never mind.” He shrugged and marched past her, unlocking the door and swinging his arm wide into the house. “Enter. The kitchen is straight ahead. I’ll bring Anna’s basket of food, and we should be able to leave here in a few hours. Or when it gets dark, at least.”
His boots hit into the gravel, spraying it up, and she stepped back into the statue’s long shadow, breathing in deeply.
Right. She was here for another few hours, then back to Arios and her fan— No, her aspirations. She was almost there. She could feel it. Yes, it had been a bumpy start, but they were into the last leg of things. What more could go wrong?