had considered running away, naturally. She’d dreamed it at night. She’d gone so far as to plot it all out. One day she’d even booked a plane ticket to Dunedin, New Zealand, tucked away on the bottom of the planet, the farthest place she could find on the map. But despite her wildest fantasies and several more detailed internet searches involving far-off mountain ranges and remote deserts, when Nicodemus had appeared at her door to whisk her off to Greece earlier this evening, Mattie had been there.
Waiting for him, as promised, like a good little arranged bride. Like the daughter she’d never been while her father was alive, as she’d been too busy veering between acting out or acting perfect to get his attention. She’d even packed.
Nicodemus had shouldered his way into her airy, comfortable apartment, walking in that lethally confident way of his that had made a shiver whisper down the length of her spine. She’d assured herself it was anxiety and not something far more feminine and appreciative. Her apartment was in a prewar building on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, replete with lovely old moldings, scrupulously maintained hardwood floors and soaring ceilings that made the place seem twice its actual size. And yet Nicodemus made it feel like a closet-size studio simply by standing in it. Like a tiny, claustrophobic box. He was too alive. Too much. He’d nodded at her bags, his people had whisked them away and then he was simply...standing there in a very small, enclosed space. Her space.
Like it was already his. Like she was.
Mattie had refused to entertain that crazy little part of her that had melted at the notion. It would all be so much easier if he was less brutally gorgeous, she’d thought furiously. He wore a dark, fine sweater that did marvelous things for his already too perfect torso and an open wool coat cut to add warmth and elegance, not bulk. And his dark trousers looked both rugged and luxurious at once. He was a remarkably attractive man. There was no getting around it. She’d hated the fact she couldn’t ignore that truth. Even when she’d known perfectly well he’d been there, shrinking down her living room and making her skin feel two sizes too tight, for the singular purpose of towing her off to do his bidding.
The fact that she’d be married to him in a handful of days had felt impossible. Ludicrous. And every time she met his too-knowing gaze, she felt like he’d lit her on fire and tossed her headfirst into a vat of gasoline.
“None of this is pink or even particularly girlie,” he’d said, his harsh mouth curved with that sardonic amusement that had made her feel much too jittery. She’d felt stretched thin between a reckless hunger and a driving panic already, and she’d been back in his clutches all of five minutes. His dark eyes had held hers, hard and mocking at once. “You really do lie about everything, don’t you?”
“Are you really starting out our glorious Two Weeks of Love by calling me a liar?” she’d asked, and she didn’t care how brittle she sounded. How cold and obvious. She’d let out a laugh that hadn’t sounded any better. “That bodes well.”
“I suppose it must be me,” he’d said quietly, eyeing her in a way that had made her feel flushed and flustered while something deep in her gut knotted into a red-hot fist. “If I stood in the pouring rain you’d tell me the sky was the brightest blue you’d ever seen. I inspire this in people, apparently. Especially women. I think you should worry about what will happen, Mattie, when I figure out how to read the truth no matter what lies you choose to tell me. Because I will.”
“I’ve worried about very little else since that delightful meeting at my father’s house,” she assured him.
“Another lie.”
“That was actually the truth. Amazing, I know.”
And he’d reached over and taken hold of her chin like that was his right, the way her body had seemed to think it was as it had burst into all those hectic fireworks and roaring brushfires, nearly knocking her from her feet where she stood.
“That’s not what you’re worried about,” Nicodemus had said, much too close and entirely too sure, as if he could taste that humming need in her that she’d wanted so badly to deny.
Mattie had decided right then and there that she needed to stop talking to him. It was too dangerous. Especially if it led him to put his hands on her.
She’d told herself she was relieved when he let her go again without pressing the issue, but it wasn’t quite that simple. There were the aftershocks to consider—the rumbling, jagged tectonics that shifted and reshaped everything inside her no matter that she didn’t want any of it.
But Mattie was nothing if not pointlessly stubborn. She’d maintained her silence all through the car ride out to the private airfield in the suburbs of Manhattan, through the boarding of the sleek Stathis company jet that waited there and their several hours of flight en route to what he’d called my small, private island in the Aegean Sea.
Because of course Nicodemus had an island, the better to make absolutely certain that Mattie was completely and utterly trapped with him, truly forced to marry him if she ever wanted to leave it again. That or hope she could swim for the mainland. Across the Aegean Sea. In October.
“That wasn’t the silent treatment,” she said now, stretching her legs out in front of her as if she felt as carefree and relaxed as he apparently did.
He shook his head in that way of his that reverberated inside her like another press of his strong fingers against her skin. “I don’t understand why you bother to lie when you must have realized by now that I can see right through you.”
“I merely ran out of things to say to you,” Mattie said loftily. “I imagine that will happen quite often. Yet one more sad consequence of a forced marriage like ours—a lifetime of boredom and silence while stuck together in our endless private hell.”
His lips twitched. “It’s not your silence I find hellish.”
She nodded as if she’d expected that. “Resorting to insults. Quiet little threats. This is what happens when you blackmail someone into marrying you, Nicodemus, and we’re not even married yet. I did try to warn you.”
“There’s no reason to resort to anything quite so unpleasant,” he said silkily, leaning back in his chair. He tossed his pen down on the polished wood surface, and then the heat in his gaze made the narrow walls of the plane seem to contract in on her—or perhaps that was nothing more than the wild drumming of her pulse. “I’m sure we can find any number of things to do that don’t require words.”
Mattie rolled her eyes. “Veiled sexual threats aren’t any less threatening simply because they’re sexual,” she said. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Is that why you’re turning red?” he asked lazily. “Because you feel threatened?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head again, slower this time. “Liar.”
She reminded herself that just because he was right it didn’t mean anything. He didn’t know that he had this insane effect on her. He only hoped he did.
“I’m assuming you have some idea of how this works,” she carried on, because now that she’d started poking at him, the idea of returning to that heavy silence was stifling. She was afraid it would crush her. “Now that you’re in the process of isolating me from everything familiar, as most men like you do.”
“Men like me,” he said, and there was a dark current in his voice that was either laughter or something
