and exposed. Yet sitting on the beach with Sofia, sketchpads on their laps, she found she wasn’t squirming internally with humiliation at how much she’d revealed. She felt...free. At peace in a way she hadn’t expected.
For the last seven years she hadn’t talked about the kidnapping to anyone. She knew Giovanni blamed himself for the whole affair, because the men had kidnapped her for money, knowing her to be an heiress. But Giovanni had rescued her; it was he who had accessed satellite photos to identify where she was being held from the picture the kidnappers had sent. She’d never blamed Giovanni. He’d been her saviour. And she’d respected his desire to forget the whole episode...or at least act as if she had. Her siblings had followed suit.
But secretly, or not so secretly considering her phobias and isolation, the kidnapping had tormented her with its terrible memories. For years she’d suffered nightmares that left her shaking, and the tiniest things could set her off: the sound of a lock turning, the creak of a door. She’d tried therapy, but talking to a stranger had only made her feel more exposed and raw. She’d learned to avoid triggers and read up on PTSD and kept everything buried deep inside.
Until Angelos.
Amazing, how validating it had felt when he’d told her it must have been terrifying. To have him sympathise and understand without pity or judgement.
She wished she could do something in return, help him in some way, for she knew that Angelos must have his own dark memories, his closely guarded secrets. But despite the comfort he’d offered her last night, she knew they still didn’t have the kind of relationship that would allow that conversation.
‘Hello, you two.’
Talia stiffened in surprise, pleasure flooding through her as she saw Angelos strolling down the beach. Sofia’s face lit up as Angelos came to stand in front of them, the wind off the sea ruffling his hair.
‘How’s the sketching?’ he asked, and Talia nudged Sofia to show her father her work. Shyly she offered up the paper and Angelos took it and studied it carefully.
Talia couldn’t understand the Greek he spoke to her, but even she basked in his smile. She loved that he was trying more with Sofia, and that it was working.
They spoke in Greek for a few moments and then he turned to Talia. ‘It is Sofia’s birthday in a few days—’
‘Is it?’ Talia interjected in surprise. She wagged a finger at Sofia, smiling. ‘You should have told me.’
‘Perhaps we can do something to celebrate,’ Angelos said, and Talia felt as if her heart was a balloon expanding in her chest, full of hope. He almost sounded as if they were a family.
‘Of course we must celebrate,’ she said. She turned back to Sofia. ‘What would you like to do?’
Timidly Sofia spoke in Greek to her father. Angelos listened, a frown furrowing his forehead, and the balloon inside Talia started to deflate. Why did he have to look so angry?
He spoke sharply back and Talia watched in dismay as Sofia nodded in acceptance, the light dimming from her eyes. She ducked her head so her hair slid in front of her face, hiding her scarred cheek, an action Talia had come to associate with Sofia’s lack of confidence, and one she thankfully hadn’t done for a while.
‘What is it?’ she burst out. ‘Surely whatever Sofia wants to do, we can manage...’ Sofia hardly seemed the type of girl to ask for something unreasonable.
‘She wants to go sailing,’ Angelos said tightly. ‘To Naxos. I told her it was not possible.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she wants to go with you,’ Angelos explained. ‘I don’t think you want to be on a small boat in the middle of the sea.’
‘Oh.’ For a moment all Talia could do was gape. He was thinking of her, and her fear of being confined. She was so surprised and touched that it took her a few seconds to gather her composure. She turned to Sofia with a smile. ‘I think sailing sounds like a lot of fun.’
‘Talia,’ Angelos protested. ‘You don’t have to—’
‘But I do,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s Sofia’s birthday. If this is how she wants to celebrate, then I want it too.’ And she just wouldn’t think about how long she’d be on a small boat. ‘Besides,’ she told Angelos with more conviction than she actually felt, ‘it’s not as bad as a helicopter. The sides are open, and we’ll be out on the sea. It’ll be fine.’
Angelos was still frowning. ‘I don’t like it,’ he said, and Talia saw Sofia’s hopeful smile slide off her face once more.
‘It’ll be fine,’ she said again. She’d make sure it was.
She was still telling herself that three days later, as she and Sofia stood on the beach while Angelos readied the sailboat. It was a very small boat, barely big enough for all three of them to sit in. Nerves coiled tightly in her belly and she tried to keep her fists from clenching. She could do this. It wasn’t as if she had four walls bearing down on her. There was no reason to feel trapped.
Except once she was out on the water, she would be trapped. And Angelos had told her it would take an hour to sail to Naxos, which felt like an incredibly long time.
‘Ready, Papa?’ Sofia called. She was jumping up and down in her excitement and the sight of the little girl looking so happy was enough to calm Talia’s fears for a moment. They’d started the day with a special birthday breakfast and Sofia had opened presents from everyone.
Talia hadn’t known what to get for Sofia’s birthday; she hadn’t left Kallos since she’d arrived two weeks ago and she hadn’t brought anything remotely suitable to give her as a present. In the end she’d painted Sofia a picture of the villa and the beach, remembering how Sofia had sketched it when they were back in Athens. The little girl had been incredibly pleased with the picture, and Talia had promised to look for a frame for it when they went to Naxos.
‘All right, I think we’re just about there,’ Angelos called. He looked amazing and remarkably at ease, wearing board shorts and a T-shirt that the wind pressed to his well-muscled chest. Over the last few days he’d spent a fair amount of time with Sofia and Talia, coming in as soon as Sofia’s lessons were finished. At first he’d merely watched and smiled as Talia and Sofia played a game or did some sketching, but in the last day or two he’d started, at Talia’s gentle urging, to join in. It made her heart ache with bittersweet joy to see how clumsily yet sincerely Angelos tried with his daughter, how hard these simple interactions were for him, and yet he tried. And that, just as he’d told her, was important.
Now he extended a hand towards Sofia, and helped her to clamber into the boat. Once Sofia was seated he turned to Talia, who was still rooted on the shore, unable to keep from eyeing the boat nervously.
His eyebrows snapped together as he held out his hand. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes...’ Her voice wavered and she tried to smile. ‘It’s just...it is a pretty small boat. I thought you’d have a yacht or something.’
‘I do have a yacht,’ Angelos answered. ‘It’s docked in Piraeus. Sofia prefers the sailboat.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Of course he had a yacht. No matter how humble his beginnings, Angelos was a millionaire now. He exuded power from
