Good sex.”
“But it’s only sex. That is all we have. Any conversation out of bed is fraught with tension because you don’t want me to think, or challenge you, or have a brain. In your mind a good Greek wife is little more than a blow-up doll—”
“So tell me, kitten, is this how friends talk to each other? I’m serious. I don’t have many friends. Is this the way for us to be friends?”
She could see from his expression that he was serious. He really wanted to know.
Did he truly have no friends? No one close to him?
Sympathy flooded her. She sat back down on the low linen sofa. “It depends,” she said carefully. “Friends—real friends—are honest with each other. Real friends want the best for each other. Friends understand you, and try to be supportive of you.”
He said nothing and her brow furrowed. “Surely you had friends when you were younger, Damen? Surely there were people in your life that mattered?”
“Were, yes, but they’re not...there...anymore.”
“Why not? What happened?”
He shrugged, powerful shoulders rolling beneath the luxurious fabric of his shirt. “I became me,” he said flatly, before stepping past her and exiting through the glass door to the deck.
DAMEN GRIPPED THE railing tightly, and leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the water, watching the slow churn of the wake and where the water foamed white.
He was tired, and frustrated.
He truly wanted to make things smoother, but he didn’t know how to be this person she wanted him to be.
Kassiani didn’t understand that his past wasn’t a charming fairy tale. Yes, he was self-made, but the climb up had been horrendous. He’d accomplished huge things because he had no choice. If he didn’t become someone powerful, someone significant, he would have cracked and shattered.
If he hadn’t channeled his fury, if he hadn’t been bent on revenge, he might have been swallowed by his rage and pain.
Instead he channeled it, over and over until it became a discipline—head down, mouth shut, work harder.
Head down, mouth shut, work miracles.
Head down, mouth shut, change the world.
Change the world, or at least those in his sphere who were like him—helpless, dependent—so that poor people without choices and options didn’t have to be helpless and dependent. And his efforts were making a difference. His efforts had already changed the future for people on Adras, especially for young girls and women who aspired to be more. And his success meant they didn’t have to ever be in his position—trapped, cornered, without options.
But knowing that he’d accomplished that didn’t ease how unsettled he felt right now.
Damen thrived on challenge and success. He never accepted less than victory. But Kassiani’s claim earlier today that she was little more than a blow-up doll rankled.
No, he wasn’t comfortable with emotions, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t trying. Because he was trying. It’s why he searched her out when she was at the pool, and why he’d invited her to dinner, and why he’d asked Chef to make a special meal. He wanted to try to smooth things over. He wanted to try to make things calmer, but if Kassiani truly wanted intimacy, then she needed to give him time. She wasn’t going to get more from him by squeezing him. If she truly wanted more, she needed to push less.
* * *
Kassiani sat back down after Damen stepped outside, shoulders slumping, fear enveloping her.
She didn’t know how to do this. She didn’t know how to be the wife he wanted. She only knew how to be herself—a misfit.
Perhaps if she had more confidence she could trust that everything would be okay, but she had no experience to judge this relationship by. It was her only relationship and she was making such a mess of it.
It would be so much easier if she cared less.
It would be so much better if she didn’t want to make him happy.
But she did. He was difficult and demanding but he was also gorgeous and fascinating and maddening and addictive. He entered the room and she felt something inside her light up. When she didn’t see him she felt restless and incomplete until she was back together with him.
And maybe part of her anxiety was because she never had been in a relationship before. Maybe she didn’t know what relationships were like. Maybe she was the problem...she with all her fears and insecurities, insecurity from never being wanted, never being desirable, never being good enough for even your own family.
“You didn’t go.” Damen’s deep low voice came from the glass door.
She straightened quickly, hoping she didn’t look as woebegone as she felt. “That seemed too easy. Apparently I enjoy conflict more than I should.”
She was rewarded with a faint smile. Creases fanned from his eyes. “I think you do like to poke the bear.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It takes two. I’m not one to back away from a good fight.”
“Have you ever been in a fight? A real fight?”
“Of course.”
“Are you a good fighter?”
“I win more than I lose.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she said softly, feeling a perverse thrill that he could handle himself so adroitly in a fight. “My brother, Barnabas, doesn’t win many. I remember my dad once telling him only fools start fights they can’t win.”
“So your brother has given up fighting?”
“He has people now who manage those situations. He calls them security, but honestly, they’re more babysitters than anything else.” She looked up at Damen, feeling terribly uncertain about everything. “I don’t mean to be difficult. Apparently I just am.”
Damen smiled faintly. “You’re not that difficult. You are who you are, and I like you.”
Some of the tension in her chest eased. “You do?”
“You’re my wife.” He must have seen her disappointment because he shook his head, his expression rueful. “I don’t have to like you. There was nothing in the agreement saying we had to like each other. I like you because I do.” One of his dark eyebrows lifted. “Or do you want to argue about that, too?”
She shook her head swiftly. “No. Should we do something else?”
The air suddenly felt electric and he gave her a slow, scorching look.
