Chapter Three
Dion slumped in his office chair and rubbed his palms over his face. After bringing Sophia back to his house, he’d shown her to a guest room, and Silas had brought her bags in. Currently, she was showering before they were due to go out to dinner. But Dion was already having reservations about anyone seeing him in public with her.
Perhaps she was trying to dress comfortably for the trip?
He doubted it. The itchy cardigan couldn’t possibly be comfortable on anyone’s skin, let alone for a long-haul flight. No, there had to be more to it than that.
Dion never liked to think of himself as a shallow person, and he knew that the value of a person came from the inside—from intelligence and personality and humor and loyalty. But the fact was, appearances did matter. At least in his world. As the “face” of Precision Investments, with more than five thousand people employed across Europe and a further two thousand elsewhere in the world, he needed to be presentable at all times. Hence why Nico claimed that he was the brains and Dion was the beauty.
Joking aside, there was some merit to it. Not the beauty bullshit, of course, but how he presented to the world was a reflection of his company, a reflection of the job security his employees enjoyed. As he was one of the wealthiest men not only in Greece, but in all of Europe, he was subject to scrutiny. Heading out for a night on the town with a woman who dressed like she’d rifled through a dumpster wasn’t going to attract the kind of attention he needed or wanted.
What would Elias say?
Dion’s business mentor, a man who’d been like a father to him over the years, would say that perception was reality. What people thought of you was what they would believe to be the truth.
It was the mantra Dion had built himself upon. Creating the perception that he was confident, savvy, and worldly hid the fact that he was still the orphan boy who’d grown up unloved and unwanted. That he wasn’t worth anything to anybody. He’d made people see him as worthy, and then over time he’d become worthy.
Perception. Reality. The two were inexorably linked.
Which meant he would need to deal with the Sophia situation carefully. He needed Cyrus’s company—needed to know that everything his father built was gone. Razed to the ground. He wouldn’t be able to get closure and move on until he knew that there was nothing left of the life Aristos Katopodis made when he abandoned his only son and moved to the United States.
And all of that was to say that he couldn’t call Cyrus Andreou and say his pride and joy wasn’t good enough…although now Dion was starting to understand why the other man was trying to get a marriage deal thrown in with a business contract.
Dion reached for his phone and dialed the number of his favourite restaurant. “Ersi? It’s Dion. I need your help.”
He detailed his plan to the woman who ran Vlahos Taverna. He’d known Ersi since he was a teenager, when he’d gotten by washing dishes and waiting tables once he’d left the orphanage. Ersi and her husband ran the restaurant and had treated him like one of their own, always making sure he had a hot meal. When he made his first million, he’d cut her a check big enough to take care of the restaurant’s rent for a year. When one million had turned into ten, he’d bought the building outright and let her run her restaurant rent-free.
She didn’t hesitate to let him cash in a favor.
Dion stashed his phone in his pocket and wandered out in the main area of the house. It was mostly silent now. He’d dismissed Kristina for the night, given Sophia had requested to eat out, and the other staff had gone home hours before. He’d even sent Silas home.
Sophia must still be getting ready, because her bedroom door was shut with a telltale thin beam of light shining through the crack at the bottom.
Dion drummed his fingers on the wall unit where his turntable sat. He’d inherited a Linn Sondek LP12 from Elias when the older man had been cleaning out a storage unit after his divorce years ago. He’d shown a young Dion how to use it and how to care for the vinyl records that went with it. For a kid who’d never had a radio or an iPod growing up, hearing only music selected by the sisters, which was mostly church hymns and traditional Greek music, this gift had been an entrance into a new world. Being able to erase silence whenever he wanted made him feel in control of his life for the first time.
Silence had been the sound of his childhood—be quiet for prayer, be quiet for bedtime, be quiet for lessons. He’d envied the families outside the grounds of the orphanage, envied the sound of squealing and shouting and laughter. Envied the music floating out from houses and car windows, everything from nineties grunge to electro-pop and the old, soothing crooners of bygone eras. Since then, he’d never let himself dwell in silence for too long.
“I’m ready!” A cheery voice grabbed his attention.
Sophia was dressed in a brown dress that hung down to her mid-calf, above the Birkenstocks from earlier that day. This time there were no socks, but her toenails were painted a retina-searing acid green. With glitter. The cherry on top was her hair. She’d teased her brown hair into a puffy ball on top of her head. It looked like one of those pom-poms you might find on a hat at a ski lodge.
Dion forced in a breath. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I am.” She rubbed her stomach. “And I hope you’ve got a special place picked out. I want to get to know all of your favorite things. If we’re going to be married, then I need to know everything about you.”
He’d expected some hesitation from her over the marriage thing. Hell, he’d hesitated himself. It had taken him a full two weeks to process Cyrus’s offer—or, rather, ultimatum—and come to grips with the idea of marrying a stranger. Seeing his mentor hooked up to half a dozen different machines after having a fall in his home, with tubes coming out of every orifice, had finally pushed him over the edge.
The old man still had a twinkle in his eye, despite his nurses buzzing around him like protective bees. He’d still had enough breath to tell Dion that he believed in him. That he was worth something. If not for Elias, Dion might never have found his way in life. Certainly no thanks to the man who’d gotten his poor mother pregnant and then decided he didn’t want to deal with the consequences after she died.
Closure was now within Dion’s grasp—he could shut the final page of his father’s book. He wanted that feeling so bad he could taste it…so bad he would marry a stranger.
“We have plenty of time to get to know each other.” Dion motioned for her to follow him outside. “Your father told me that you’ve been working in the family business.”
“That’s right. I’ve been doing some general admin,” she replied. “And I have my own virtual-assistant business, too.”
Outside, Dion’s white McLaren—the car he liked to drive when he wasn’t being chauffeured by Silas—sat in the driveway. The sun had set some time ago, but the lights dotted around the garden brightened the front of the house. He unlocked the car and held the door for her.
“Ah, so you’re a businesswoman. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about, then.”
“Sure, although it’s not my real passion in life, to be honest.” She looked at him expectantly, as though waiting for an invitation to elaborate.
“What would you rather be doing?” he asked.
The car’s engine rumbled as he pulled out of the circular path in front of the four-car garage. A warm breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean into the car.
“You know, I’m really passionate about taxidermy.” Sophia nodded as though this was the most natural thing to say. “There’s something about animals that fascinates me.”
“Taxidermy?” He frowned. “Like, stuffing dead animals?”
“Stuffing or mounting,” she said. “It includes both.”
Was she…joking? Her expression didn’t reveal even a sliver of amusement.
“I see it as a way to prolong an animal’s life,” she explained. “I know it might seem a little strange, but trust me. When I bring my collection over, you’ll see how wonderful it is.”
He gulped. “Your collection?”
“Yes, I have a huge collection. Squirrels and racoons and a couple of cats. I even have a fox. She’s a real beauty. I was thinking we could put her in the living room. Or maybe the foyer, so she can greet guests.” She clapped her hands together. “Baroness Sasha Foxington III would absolutely love that.”
Baroness. Sasha. Foxington the fucking third.
Was he in a nightmare right now?
“I, uh…saw you’ve done some volunteer work at a children’s hospital,” he said as he steered the car along the winding road that ran the length of Corfu’s coast. He’d driven it so many times he knew every curve. But tonight, the road seemed to stretch on forever, as if time had been slowed down and he was trying to drive through sludge.
“You’ve done your homework,” she said with a nod. “Impressive.”
“I wanted to make sure I’d recognize you at the airport.” He cringed as soon as the words popped out, but he covered it by rubbing one hand over his jaw. “That’s a very admirable line of work.”
“Do you like children?” she asked.
“I guess so, although I’ve never had any in my life before. But my business partner recently had a little girl, and she’s adorable.”
She nodded. “Are there any hospitals or medical centers here in Corfu? I would really like to keep up my volunteer work.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, he detected a sweetness in her voice. A sincerity. “Yes, there is. I’m sure they would love to have another volunteer.”
“That would be great.”
After a stretch of awkward silence, Dion pulled the car into Vlahos Taverna. But rather than parking in the front with the rest of the restaurant-goers, he continued down a small path that lead to the back of the building and pulled up next to a simple red sedan.
“This is it.” He opened his car door, and Sophia followed.
They entered the restaurant through the staff door at the back, and he waved to Ersi, who was busy ordering her staff around with a voice he knew could strike fear into the hearts of grown men. When she looked up, her face split into a huge grin, and suddenly her tone was soft as butter.
“Dion!” She threw her arms open and enveloped him in a hug.
“This is Sophia.” He’d already told Ersi that Sophia didn’t speak much Greek and requested they converse in English so she felt included. “She landed in Corfu today.”
“Welcome. Any friend of Dion’s is a friend of mine.” She hugged Sophia. “Come, come. I have the best table in the house set up for you.”
Ersi lead them through to a small room that was nestled between the kitchen and the main restaurant area. It was intimately set for two, a candle burning in the center and cutlery gleaming on a blue and white table cloth.
“This is our private room. We use it for functions and important guests, so please make yourself at home,” Ersi said. “I’ll have Alex come in shortly to get you started.”
“A private room, huh?” Sophia said as she took a seat. Her dark gaze tracked his every movement. “You sure know how to pull out all the stops.”
If only you knew.
But this was a Band-Aid solution. Tomorrow, there was a cocktail party with important business associates and some of the senior staff from Precision Investments. Dion’s life was a public one, and that meant he couldn’t hide his future wife away in private dining rooms for the rest of their lives.
He needed to figure out how the hell he was going to tactfully help Sophia Andreou step out of the dress-up bin and into the role of wife of a billionaire. Shopping. Lots of women loved shopping, right?
He made a mental note to get his assistant to contact a personal shopper tomorrow. He would make this work. As he unfolded his menu, a genuine smile curved his lips for the first time since meeting his fiancée.
…
Sophia couldn’t believe she was going to pay almost five hundred dollars to buy a stuffed fox on eBay. But when she’d planned out her “persona” during the flight to Corfu, the most disturbing thing she could think of for a hobby was taxidermy. Must have been stuck in her head after her friend had emailed her some disturbing images from the Bad Taxidermy website, one of which included a fox wearing a strange expression and a three-piece suit.
And so Baroness Sasha Foxington III was born.
Which meant she needed to acquire a stuffed fox. Sophia hit the buy button and completed the shipping details with Dion’s address, forking out extra for express shipping. She swallowed back her guilt and found the website for a Corfu animal shelter, making an anonymous donation to find some karmic balance.
Unfortunately for her, desperate times called for desperate measures. Her guilt would have to take a back seat, since it looked like Dion wasn’t going to be as easy to dissuade as she’d hoped. He seemed to really be making an effort to get to know her.
Last night, he’d totally foiled her plans to dive straight into embarrassing him in public. The whole “private dining” experience was brilliant. He managed to get out of having to be seen with her without giving her a damn thing to complain about. Either the man was already wise to her plans or he was so smooth her amateur con-lady moves were bouncing right off him.
He’d acted sweet and attentive, too. If it was a real date, she would have been thoroughly charmed. In addition, the food had been incredible, since the chef had done a tasting menu—thus messing with her plans to order weird and disgusting food combinations—and, to make matters worse, she’d found herself enjoying Dion’s company as the night went on.
Which absolutely had to stop.
Sophia wiped her internet history and stashed her laptop under a layer of clothes in one of the drawers in her bedroom. Thankfully, Dion hadn’t done anything outrageous like try to suggest they share a bedroom. At least this way, she had a little privacy in which to conduct any reconnaissance work.
Like ordering weird shit off the internet.
She glanced around the room. The “guest bedroom” that Dion had given her was probably bigger than the apartments most people lived in back home. Along with a giant king-size bed covered in linens that felt like they were spun from the clouds in heaven, the room contained a reading nook, a dressing room, and a stunning antique vanity unit that had been thoughtfully filled with all manner of useful things. A small note told her to use anything she liked, and the drawers contained hand creams and body lotions, bottles of perfume, and an entire skin care regimen from some fancy-looking French brand, all with sealed boxes.
You will not be won over with cosmetics.
Still, there weren’t too many opportunities in life for someone to be treated like a VIP. Sure, her father tried to make sure they had that facade whenever they were in public, but there was a big difference between someone like Dion, who was truly wealthy, and her father, who simply appeared to be.
So far, only her mother had made contact by asking if she’d landed okay and wanting to know if the weather was good. No mention of Dion or the whole arranged-marriage fiasco, mind you. Her mother was a gold medallist in sweeping things under the rug. Usually Sophia could rationalise it was a “survival mechanism” born out of dealing with a temperamental and bullish husband. But this time it had Sophia’s blood boiling. Her mother could pretend she’d sent her daughter off on some fancy vacation if she liked, but that didn’t change the fact that they were trying to sentence her to a life without the freedom to make her own choices.
“Sorry, Mom,” she muttered under her breath. “I love you, but I can’t be like you.”
Tonight, a cocktail party was being held in Dion’s lush and expansive backyard. A party in her honor, apparently. He’d informed her over dinner last night that he wouldn’t be announcing their engagement immediately. Rather, he would introduce her as a family friend and give her a chance to settle in before he broke the news.
“How kind,” she muttered.
Whether people knew she was here to be married off was irrelevant to her plans. If there was a gathering of people, then she would be putting on a show.
She looked down at the oversize balloon-style pants made of red and yellow satin. They were almost as outlandish as the silk blouse with tiered ruffle sleeves. Sophia stifled a snort as she looked at herself in the mirror.
She couldn’t quite tell what was more ridiculous: the fact that she looked like a couture version of Krusty the Clown or that these pants had cost almost five hundred euros. But Dion wanted a high-fashion wife, so she was going to be high fashion.
Dion’s “personal shopper” had taken her out today on what was clearly meant to be a “make sure she dresses well” trip. Ha! Sophia had allowed the lovely woman to take her out, to help her pick some glittering, strappy sandals with a pencil-thin heel. But the demure black dress was tucked away in her closet, tags still swinging.
Sophia adjusted her hair, which she’d left in its wildly curly, natural state—rather than smoothing it down with a flat iron like she usually did—and sucked in a breath. After spending her entire life doing everything possible to look like the perfect daughter she was, wearing such an outlandish outfit in public was intimidating.
“You can do this.” She stared at her reflection. “You will do this, because then you can go home.”
Home. To the mother and father who were treating her like cattle. To her life of unfulfilling work under her father’s thumb. To the house that was a glorified prison.
“You’re going home to make a new life. Your life. Running your own business from your dream cottage.” She swallowed. “And then you’ll never have to answer to anyone insisting they know what’s best for you ever again.”
She flung open the bedroom door and cringed at the sound of string instruments floating up the staircase. It sounded like one of those fancy parties where people sipped champagne and wore the kind of outfits Sophia would wear back home. Little black dresses, pencil skirts, diamond studs.
Gripping the handrail, Sophia took the stairs carefully, her movements slowed by the teetering Jimmy Choo heeled sandals. They were a ploy to make the outfit look intentional—like this was some huge fashion trend in New York that he knew nothing about.
Dion would likely be outside wondering where the hell she was. Sophia had never been late for anything in her life, especially not on purpose. But the “big reveal” had to occur when the party was already in full swing. That way Dion couldn’t shuffle her off into a quiet room and demand she change. She needed the moment to be public so he’d have to grit his teeth and bear it. And be planning how to dump her after the party.
There’s no way he’d be able to see her as wife material after this.
When she got to the bottom of the staircase, she could see all the way out to the back garden through the wall-to-ceiling windows in the house’s main lounge area. She could see it all—Dion’s dark hair and tanned skin, his bright smile and warm handshakes and kisses on the cheeks of his guests. She could see the softly glowing lanterns and the sparkling night sky and the glistening pool. She could even see the trees shifting in the breeze, their leaves fluttering and trembling.
Dion’s perfect, polished life was about to have a wrench thrown in the works.
As if he sensed her, his head snapped up, and his dark eyes cut through the glass door leading out to the garden. Was it her imagination or did his jaw tighten? Any minute now, she would find out.
“Three, two, one…” she whispered under her breath as she pushed the door open. “Showtime.”