you met in Paris. Wasn’t he a painter, too?”
She turned her head slowly, wide-eyed, torn between horror and fascination at the details of her past. How much more did he know? What else had he been told?
“I won’t discuss him, or the marriage, with you,” she answered huskily. Marrying Jeremy had been a tragic mistake.
“Your father said he was after your fortune.”
“And you’re not?”
Lights glinted in his dark eyes. It struck her that this man would not be easily managed.
He circled her and she had to tilt her head back to see his expression. Butterflies flitted in her stomach, heightening her anxiety. He was tall, much taller than most men she’d known, and solid, a broad deep chest and muscular arms that filled the sleeves of his suit jacket.
Her nerves were on edge. She felt distinctly at a disadvantage and searched for something, anything, to give her the upperhand—again. “Good Greek men don’t want to be the second husbands.”
“We’ve already established I’m not your traditional Greek man. I do what I want, and I do it my way.”
CHAPTER TWO
IT STRUCK her then, quite hard, that two could play this game. All she had to do was think like a man.
Christos Pateras wanted her to further his ambitions. He was marrying her to accomplish a goal. This wasn’t about love, or emotions. This was a transaction and nothing more.
Why couldn’t she approach the marriage the same way? He wanted her dowry; she wanted independence. He wanted an alliance with the Lemos family; she wanted to escape her father.
Greece might be part of a man’s world but that didn’t mean she had to play by a man’s rules.
She sized him up again, assessing the odds. Tall, strong, ridiculously imposing, he exuded authority. Could she marry him and then slip away?
No more Alysia Lemos, poor little rich girl, but an ordinary woman with ordinary dreams. Like a small house in the country. A vegetable garden. An orchard of apple trees.
She stole a second glance at Christos’s rugged profile, noting the long, straight nose, line of cheek, strong clean-shaven jaw. He looked less ruthless than determined. Assertive, not aggressive. If she ran away from him, what would he do?
Chase her down? She doubted it. He’d have too much pride. He’d probably wait a bit and then quietly annul the marriage. Men like Christos Pateras wouldn’t want to advertise their failure.
He turned, caught her eye, his dark gaze holding hers. “Everyone thinks you’ve already married me.”
“How can that be?” she scoffed.
Opening his coat, he drew a folded newspaper from the breast pocket and handed it to her.
Not certain what she was supposed to find, she unfolded the paper and pressed the creased pages flat. Then the headlines jumped out at her, practically screaming the news. Secret Wedding For Lemos Heir.
Anger, indignation, shock flashed through her one after the other as the headlines blinded her. How could he do it? How could he pull a stunt like this?
And then just as quickly as her anger flared, inspiration struck. For the first time in months she saw an open door. All she had to do was walk through it.
Marry him, and walk away.
It was all in place. The husband, the marriage, the motivation. She just needed to go along with the plans and then leave.
Perfect. Her heart did a strange tattoo.
Maybe too perfect. Christos Pateras didn’t seize control of the Greek shipping industry by luck. He was smart. No, rumor had it that he was brilliant. A brilliant man wouldn’t marry a young woman and then just let her slip away. He’d be prepared. He’d be alert.
She’d have to be very, very careful.
Alarm and eagerness tangled her emotions. She could do this, she could escape him, it was a matter of being just as smart as him.
Her heart began to pound faster and she felt heat creep beneath her skin. Excitement grew but she dampened her enthusiasm, not wanting to overplay her hand or reveal her true intentions.
She frowned, feigning surprise and shock. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s front page news.”
“There’s no wedding. How can there be a story?”
“Read it for yourself.”
She obliged, skimming the front page story where her father had been quoted as saying he couldn’t confirm or deny reports of the secret wedding, only that he knew that Greek-American shipping tycoon, Christos Pateras, had visited Oinoussai in the past several days and had visited his daughter at the convent. Other sources confirmed that Pateras had been seen in town, while another source mentioned the convent as the secret wedding location.
Her father’s work, no doubt. The puppet and the puppeteer. Incredible. But this time, she was the puppeteer. She was in control.
She crumpled the paper for show. “You and my father make a spectacular team.”
“Your father’s idea, not mine.”
“No one will believe this drivel.”
“Everyone believes it. Media has descended on the harbor. They’re expecting to see the blushing bride and groom board the yacht later this afternoon.”
He looked so damn smug, as if he’d thrown a net around her, trapping her in his scheme. Sorry, she silently apologized, but I win this one. Hands down.
She was going to marry him. And then she’d leave him. He could pick up the pieces. The fall-out with her father wouldn’t be her problem. If Christos Pateras wanted to make deals with her father, then fine, let him experience her father’s wrath firsthand.
Guilt briefly assailed her. Then she ignored the voice of conscience, reminding herself that Christos and her father were the same kind of man. Selfish. Unthinking. Lacking compassion.
Not once during her mother’s horrible last year did her father slow his schedule, put off a meeting, change his travel plans. He never once attended her radiation treatments. Never held her hand during the chemo. Never checked on her at night when she lay huddled with pain and fear.
Her father acted as if nothing bad had happened, ignoring the terminal diagnosis as though it were a spate of bad weather and simply charged ahead with his plans for new ships, new routes, new alliances.
Damn her father, and damn Christos Pateras.
Alysia knew of no fate worse than that of being a Greek tycoon’s wife.
But she hid all this, focusing instead on her goal. Independence. Peace. A life far from the wealthy Greek shipping families. Maybe back to Geneva. Maybe a little house south
