Chapter Twelve

Halfway through the Parisian escapade, Dion came to the conclusion that it was time to pull out the big guns. He’d been sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms so Sophia could experience the luxury apartment in full by having the king suite to herself. But their kiss had been playing on his mind in a loop.

Not to mention that watching her day after day, blossoming from the guarded woman who hid behind false quirks to a woman who was as beautiful as she was fun to be around, had him thinking a hell of a lot about what it would be like to crawl into that big bed beside her.

He’d caught her staring at him a number of times as he’d padded from the bathroom to his bedroom with only a towel around his waist. He knew the unmistakable signals of lust, and she was sending them loud and clear. But she was holding back, as was he. Sophia was skittish. Moving too fast would scare her away, but slowly he’d been drawing her into his orbit. Tempting her with the possibility of them.

And in the process, he’d totally and utterly tempted himself.

“You’re staring.” Sophia looked up at him. Even in towering silver stilettoes with fine platforms under the balls of her feet, she was a good several inches shorter than him.

But her petite stature didn’t seem to affect the length of her legs, which were given the illusion of endlessness thanks to the heels and the racy hemline. They walked along the Parisian street, and Sophia was getting attention from almost everyone—men and women—who passed them. How could he blame them? The woman was a knockout.

Each day she’d ventured into the closet of designer items. Each day she grew a little bolder in her choices, bypassing the pretty dresses he’d seen her wear in pictures from events with her parents to more daring, artistic outfits. Perhaps the real Sophia was somewhere between cocktail dresses and clown pants after all.

It was like watching her be born—watching her true self come alive under the warmth of freedom. Without her father and without the pressure of maintaining a false identity, she’d become the best version of herself. Not simply beautiful because of her looks, but because of fact that she laughed more readily, spoke more confidently, and revealed more of herself and her past.

“How could I not? You’re a vision.”

She slipped her hand into his as they came to the edge of the sidewalk, relying on him to make sure she stepped down carefully so they could cross the road. Afterward, she didn’t remove her hand.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Was that an actual compliment?” He pressed his free hand to his chest. “Wait. Say it again so I can record you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You act like it’s the first time you’re hearing it, and I know that’s not the case. In fact, I’m pretty sure that waitress at dinner propositioned you when you were paying the check.”

“She did, but that’s entirely beside the point.”

“It’s kind of rude, if you ask me,” she grumbled. “I was standing right there.”

“Jealous?”

She shot him a dirty look. “I was simply pointing out that for anyone else, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume we were together, and so that kind of behavior is in poor taste.”

“So that’s a yes to the jealousy thing?”

“You wish.”

“I wish a lot of things, Sophia.” Still holding her hand, he led her to the entrance of a nightclub.

“We’re going dancing?” Her face lit up, and any residual annoyance over his teasing—or the waitress’s flirtations—was instantly dissolved. “You didn’t mention that. I thought we were just going for a walk.”

“I’m full of surprises this week.”

“It’s because I said my dad never let me go out at night, isn’t it?” Her deep brown eyes pierced him. “You’ve been listening to every word I’ve been saying.”

The fact that she’d noticed filled his chest with an unwelcome warmth. For the last three days, he’d been cataloguing the little bits of information she gave away, like a child hunting out Easter eggs and stashing them in a basket for safekeeping. There was so much he didn’t know about Sophia, but against everything he knew to be true about relationships…he wanted to know.

He’d also gotten a much clearer understanding of the way she lived at home…or didn’t live, as the case most certainly was. So if he could give her this week to catch up on a fraction of what she’d missed out on while being stifled by her parents, then he would give it to her.

It’s not about that. It’s about winning her over and securing this deal.

But the line had gotten blurred along the way, when Dion found himself wanting to spend time with her. Wanting to do the things that a real married couple might do, like exploring a city together or talking about their goals and aspirations. Wanting to do mystery puzzles and talk about Hitchcock.

“Dion…” They paused outside the nightclub. It was dark now, and the streets of Paris were alive. It had started to rain, barely a fine mist, but it covered everything with a glossy sheen. He pulled her close to him, shielding her. “Thank you.”

The sincerity made his throat constrict. “For what?”

“For giving me an experience that I probably would never have had otherwise.” She sucked on her lower lip, worrying it back and forth between her teeth. “I know that the reason we’re here is kind of messed up and that we want different things—opposing things—but…”

“But?”

Her eyes shone. “I don’t regret coming here with you.”

It was like a punch to his chest. Bringing her to Paris had been about furthering his own agenda, getting what he wanted—such was the backbone of every action he took. But it was hard to remember that with the way she looked at him.

“Let’s go inside.” He pressed his hand to her back, letting his fingers rub against the beading on her dress, taunting himself with a gentle touch when what he really wanted was so much more…primal. “I don’t want you to get soaked.”

The nightclub was a members-only place, highly exclusive. Invite only. The lighting was low and intimate, the club itself decked out in moody shades of claret and black. There was a hint of burlesque to it, but tastefully so. As they walked into the main room, a woman in an elegant black dress swanned past them.

“Was that…” Sophia blinked. “Princess Maria-Olympia?”

“I think so.” Dion pulled Sophia close to him as they wove through the crowd. “I hear they get quite a few of the young royals here.”

“Wow.” Sophia’s eyes were wide as saucers. “I’m used to fancy parties back home, but this is…next-level.”

They were guided to a small booth in the back of the club, away from the dance floor, where it was possible to carry on a conversation. The server unhooked a thick black rope and motioned for them to take a seat. A bottle of champagne was brought to the table immediately, without either of them asking for it.

He reached for his glass and held it up to hers in silent challenge. She’d been resisting the wine all night, determined to keep her head. Determined to maintain her control. After their kiss, she’d gone to bed alone, casting a longing look over her shoulder but never extending an invitation to join him. And Dion would never cross that threshold without her explicit word. Which meant he had a case of blue balls—the worst he’d experienced in all his life.

Sophia eyed the glasses, her fingers flexing at the edge of the table. It was like an internal battle waged inside her, desire and sensibility duking it out. “You know, I think Princess Maria-Olympia might appreciate my clown pants.”

“Who knows, maybe you’ll spark an international trend.” Dion smirked. “Sophia Andreou, pushing the boundaries of fashion.”

“We’ll call it the Circus Chic movement.” She laughed. “In complete honesty, as fun as it has been to dress up, I’m much more comfortable being barefoot, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and doing puzzles with you.”

“I like you like that, too.” And he meant it—as incredible as she looked tonight, he hadn’t been able to get that image out of his head. Loose, messy hair, bare face, simple clothes. She’d shone more then than any other time he’d seen her, because when she was like that, she wasn’t hiding anymore.

Her hand crept forward, her forefinger reaching out and stroking the stem of the champagne flute. “Do you think I’m going to fall for you just because you’ve whisked me away to a romantic city and made me feel like a princess?”

“It would certainly make my life easier.”

Instead of becoming annoyed, she lifted her lips in a wry smile. “You’re honest. I’ll give you that.”

“I want your father’s company for my own gain. I’m prepared to pay handsomely for it…more than it’s worth, I might add.” His glass still hovered in the air. “And I know this isn’t the fairy tale you wanted, but I really think we can make it work. It’s a practical solution to a problem we both have.”

“How is this a solution to my problem?”

Dion placed his glass back down without taking a sip. “Your father is a bit of a tyrant.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“By marrying me, you’ll have more freedom than you’d ever have at home. I’m not looking to control you or manipulate you. Hell, you can bring your mother over here as well, get her out of the situation.”

“You’d want my mother to live with us?” Her expression softened.

“I don’t know if any man wants his mother-in-law to live with him,” he teased. “But of course she could stay with us. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You really want my father’s business that much?”

“Yes. And my guess is that if this falls through, your father will look for another avenue to save his business.” Dion thought for a moment, unsure how much he should reveal. “I’ve done my research. The company is free-falling, thanks to all the bad debt your dad’s old boss racked up. And I don’t mean bank loans.”

Her gaze shifted. He’d hit the nail on the head—gambling debt, he’d wager. Dogs, ponies, cards…something.

“Not many people will want to buy him out,” Dion continued. “Not the kind of people who want the company for any legitimate reasons, anyway. What happens if we call things off and you go home without a ring?”

“I don’t know.” For the first time since they’d met, he saw genuine fear on her face. It seemed he’d earned enough trust with her that she would allow him to see her true reaction. But he almost wished he hadn’t—because the thought of her father doing anything to hurt her…

It curdled in his stomach like off milk.

“I honestly don’t know what he’d do.” She stroked the champagne glass, making lines in the condensation. “I just… I’m sick of being his puppet, you know? I’m a grown woman, for crying out loud. I should be able to live my own life, make my own decisions.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes but she blinked them away, giving her head a frustrated shake. She was sad and beautiful and angry and sensual and raw. And fucking hell did it fill him with fire. He could only imagine the kind of life she’d led with a father like that.

“All I want is a place of my own, where I can live with my mother. I’ve been putting money into a secret bank account.” She looked at him suddenly, as if she’d said too much. But then she sighed, defeated. “I want the chance to live my own life… Is that so much to ask?”

“No, it’s not.” Dion raked a hand through his hair. He was utterly torn—not willing to give up on getting his father back for abandoning and rejecting him. But yet, equally, he didn’t want to hurt Sophia.

The biggest problem, however, was that if Cyrus didn’t sell to Dion, he’d find another buyer eventually. Or the debt collectors would come knocking and he’d need something to bargain with. Who knew how that might end up? Sophia needed a way out from under her father’s thumb, and Dion was her best option.

“But you’re right.” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smudging her mascara a little. “He’s never going to let me leave unless it benefits him somehow. He’s never going to stop dangling my mother’s welfare in front of me.”

…

The realization came down on Sophia like an avalanche. Dion was absolutely right—if she ruined this deal for her father, did she really think that she’d be able to weasel her way out of his grip the next time? Would she ever be free?

Suddenly, her borrowed dress felt too tight, like a hand crushing her ribs in a death grip. This was the truth she’d been ignoring ever since her plane touched down in Corfu. If she could just get out of this arranged marriage, then she could go home and make a plan.

A plan to what? Run away and let her mother bear the brunt of Cyrus’s anger? Or would she bide her time and hope that her father would give up on the idea of trying to save his company? That he’d suddenly realize the arranged marriage was a dumb idea? Yeah, right. This cage had a lock and no key. No way out.

She stared at Dion across the table. Ebony hair, still damp from the rain, curled around his ears. His dark gaze bore into her, like he could see all her secrets and fears and the blood pumping through her veins. Maybe this was the only way out. Marriage to a handsome stranger. She had no idea if she could trust him. But she knew one thing for certain—she couldn’t trust her father.

“I want my mother to come and live with us,” she said. Her tongue felt heavy and thick in her mouth, like it resisted what was about to happen. “And I want a stipend for her.”

He folded his hands into a neat parcel on the table. “Done.”

“I mean forever. While she’s alive, you’ll pay her. I don’t care if you have me sign a prenup so I don’t get a cent from you myself if we divorce, but I need to know she’ll be taken care of forever.”

He nodded. “I understand what you’re asking, and I agree.”

“I want a place I can go if I need quiet. Somewhere beautiful and small and peaceful.” She swallowed. “And I want to keep working for myself so I can have my own money in my own bank account.”

He sat statue-like for a moment. “Done.”

“I don’t ever want you to tell me what I can wear, who I can talk to, or how I need to behave.” The fire roared up within her like the demon ghost of hurts past. “You are buying the company, but you are not buying me.”

Something flickered in Dion’s eyes. Respect. “I will never treat you the way your father has treated you.”

“And I want people to think we’re in love.” Her voice caught, emotion so close to the surface she could almost see it bubbling under her skin. “Because I don’t want people to know that I let myself be forced into this. I couldn’t bear the humiliation.”

That’s when Dion’s eyes went flat. As if at the very mention of the word love he shut down on a cellular level. “I’m not husband material. My work will always come first.”

“I know. In fact, that’s a good thing.”

He raised a brow. “Really?”

“Yes. I don’t plan on actually loving you. Just looking like I do.” The relief that streaked across his face told her everything she needed to know. “Eventually, I’ll want to leave.”

He nodded. “A marriage in name only.”

“We’ll need to stay together long enough that I can set my mother up and long enough that my father has moved on to something else.” Surely, he would…right? Eventually he’d turn his attention to another get-rich-quick scheme.

It was the only way she could see clear of this situation. Marry Dion, get her mother out of Brooklyn, save every damn penny until she could be independent and have her idyllic, peaceful house away from everyone. Then, once she was divorced and had enough money to take care of herself and her mother—along with the stipend, of course—then she could be free.

If she was never able to marry again because she’d still be tied to Dion, then so be it. She didn’t want a husband. She didn’t want marriage. But if that was her ticket out, then she would make it work.

Dion cocked his head. “Anything else?”

“You have to let me know you. I’ve told you more about my family than I’ve ever shared with anyone.” Fear and shame had always kept her quiet. Her friends simply thought her father was strict… They had no idea of her reality. “You have to tell me something intimate and true. Because even with all this, we’re on even footing, and I am so tired of giving other people the upper hand.”

“Done.”

Sucking in a long breath, she reached for her glass and held it up. “Then we’re going to get married.”

Something darkly victorious lit his eyes, and it set off a chain reaction inside Sophia. All the negotiating, watching him say “done” over and over, had filled her with a power unlike anything she’d ever known. Her entire life had been a series of concessions, of sacrifices, with each one chipping away another little piece of her soul until it felt like she had nothing left.

And yes, this marriage would be another concession. Another sacrifice. But this would be for the greater good, for her future. For her mom’s future.

Dion lifted his glass toward hers, and the chiming sound rang through her entire body. She was really going to do this. She was really going to marry this man.

“Promise me you’re not going to fill my house with stuffed animals.”

“You have my word.” She brought the champagne to her lips and savored the fizzing sensation for a second before tipping her head back and downing the entire thing in one go. “Should we have our first dance?”

“That usually happens after the ceremony,” he said.

“I need practice.” She poured herself another glass and this time took it slower. Tonight would be about letting go. About releasing the old Sophia. The new Sophia would do whatever it took to have the life she deserved, to have the freedom she deserved. To have everything.

Dion stood and held his hand out to her, looking every bit like the love child of Prince Charming and something darker. Not a villain, but not quite a hero, either.

“Then let’s make that dance floor ours,” he said.

With the champagne flowing through her body and the warm grip of Dion’s fingers around her hand, Sophia was finally feeling like herself again. She let him lead her through the crowded outskirts of the club’s main room and onto the dance floor. Loud, pulsing music pumped through the club’s speakers, and lights glittered and flashed above them. The crowd was illuminated in flashes, the decadence of the rich and famous revealed to her in staccato bursts. A woman drank straight from a bottle of Dom Pérignon, and a man in a tuxedo kissed the flavor from her lips. Everyone here was obscenely beautiful, like an army of peacocks parading and preening for one another. The beautiful people…and tonight, she would be one of them.

But when Dion settled his hands on her hips, pulling her tight against him, it was like the rest of the room evaporated. She wound her arms around his neck and let her head fall back, feeling the music with her body.

Their situation wasn’t perfect. But she had her way out, her plan. And her husband-to-be was going to give it to her.