lunch on the terrace this afternoon with Rocco and Olivia, Zayed, Christian and his new bride Alessandra, and Stefan, had begun so well. She had felt like she was among friends.
Olivia had asked so many questions about when the four men and she had been at Columbia together over a decade ago, and Clio had regaled them with stories, glad to fill the brooding silence with chatter.
Until the discussion had turned to Clio’s own life.
What had Clio been up to all these years? Was Clio involved with anyone?
They had all been only polite questions from people who were interested in her life. But what did she have to tell them?
Turning around, she clicked a couple more pictures with her digital camera, marveled anew.
Her raised hand stilled as she saw the tall, wide frame of Stefan coming close. June sun shone behind him, leaving his defined face in shadows. His paper-thin white cotton shirt was buffeted against his broad frame, tapering against his waist. Even though he couldn’t see her, Clio dragged her gaze away from following down. She didn’t need to see his powerful thighs encased in jeans.
The whipcord tightness of his muscles, the tensile strength of his legs, the wide swathe of his shoulders and the way they narrowed down her world to him, she had noticed far too much of him already on their flight to Athens. The sheer luxury and scale of his private jet, which she’d learned was the closest thing to a home for him, had rendered her mute. But it was the man himself who had occupied her mind all through the flight.
All the while she had been packing for the trip, all through the limo ride to the private airstrip where he had been waiting, it had been easy to tell herself that she would see this through.
She still wanted to. Because what Jackson had done had poisoned her so much that she couldn’t look at her own reflection in the mirror without wanting to shatter it into a million shards.
It was the man she had gone to, to accomplish her revenge who continually disconcerted her.
Stefan had been nothing but courteous and concerned on the flight, if a bit preoccupied. And yet every time their gazes met or they accidentally touched, the moment arched and stretched, a latent energy pulsed until one of them looked away, or stepped back.
It was the last thing Clio wanted to face.
He came to a halt about a foot from her, watching her.
Feeling compelled to break the intense silence, she waved her hands around. “I can’t believe Christian obtained private and uncurtailed access to the Parthenon, of all places. Even I’m impressed by this show of power and status. Does Alessandra mean so much to him, then?”
For once, she was glad that there was no wistful note in her tone. Only open curiosity.
Stefan shrugged, a cold light in his eyes. It was like there was frost all around them even as the sun cast long shadows. “If Alessandra was the kind to be impressed by this, it would make sense. For all the success he has achieved, Christian has a chip on his shoulder about where he started in life.
“He doesn’t realize yet that Alessandra is one of those rare women who care nothing about his wealth or status.”
Clio blinked. It was her casual comment that a woman would be impressed by the power that clung to the Columbia Four that had made him look so coldly forbidding.
Did he still think of Serena, the woman who had so blithely broken his heart? Did he think all women were like her, that Clio was like her?
Of course he did, Clio realized. And she had only confirmed his view by going to him for help, by suggesting that she wanted to use that very power and status as her shield.
She couldn’t begin to care about Stefan’s opinion. Not when it was decided already, not when her self-esteem was in such tatters.
“Is he in love with her, do you think?” she said, turning her mind away from what lay ahead.
“I would have said no. But I have changed my opinion about Rocco and Olivia, so who knows?” He tucked his hands into his pockets and took a few more steps. “I didn’t realize running away was a habit of yours.”
The bland smile falling from her face, Clio looked up. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You did it that night at the Empire State Building instead of confronting that jerk. You did it today.”
“I did...no such thing.”
“Olivia said you looked like you were having an anxiety attack. She was concerned for you, just as I was.” There was almost a fond note in his tone for Rocco’s wife. “Why did you leave?”
“There seems to be a lot of friction between Christian and Rocco.”
“Rocco will need time to forgive Christian for tangling with his little sister. But the fact that he is here shows how much Alessandra means to him.”
“I felt like I was intruding.”
“Zayed and I were right there.”
“You are a part of each other’s lives. Rocco and Christian need your support to get through this rough patch. I’m little more than a stranger.”
“No. You and I know very well that you were actually a good buffer back there. Those stories you had of the four of us from Columbia made everyone laugh. Everyone took a collective breath.”
He reached her and tugged her hand into his. Instant charge crackled around them.
“You said the female students at Columbia used to be supremely envious of you and at the same time sugared you up so that they could get a tidbit about one of us. What did you call yourself?”
She had felt his gaze on her like a physical caress all through the lunch. Now it disconcerted her to know that he remembered every word she had said. The intensity of his attention kept her wondering what about her interested him so. “The Gateway to the Columbia Four.”
He smiled at that and warmth filled his gaze. “Rocco has been like a mad bull all this time but even he cracked a smile there. Then you were gone. I thought you had bolted.”
“And where would I go? By bringing me here aboard your private jet, you made sure I had nowhere to go except with you. You even had them unpack my stuff and take my passport. Do not manipulate me, Stefan.”
Ice coated his words. “I was doing it for your own good.”
Clio couldn’t back down. If she didn’t take a stand now, she never would. Their relationship or the facade of it, was a temporary one. But still, she wanted to set the right tone for it.
Never again would she let her sense of identity be lost in a man.
“Don’t presume to know it better than me.”
“But isn’t that what love-struck fiancés do, bella? Cater to your every need and whim? Cosset you in luxuries and act possessive? Know what’s good for you better than yourself?”
Clio
