about it, Amalie could see the sense in it. Hadn’t the kickboxing workouts Talos had forced her into doing created a new equilibrium within her? Already she knew that when she returned to Paris she would join a gym that gave the same classes and carry on with it.
‘At my school you had to be sixteen to join the boxing team, but he persuaded them—with the consent of my grandparents—to allow me to join.’ He laughed, his face relaxing as he did so. ‘Apart from my brothers, I was the biggest boy in the school. There was a lot of power behind my punches, which was what had got me into so much trouble in the first place. Mr Sherman taught me everything we now teach the kids who use our gym—the most important being how to channel and control my anger.’
‘Did it work?’
‘I haven’t thrown a punch in anger since.’
‘That is really something.’
Self-awareness nagged at her—an acknowledgement that while Talos had handled his rage through using his fists, she’d retreated from her own fears and buried them. But while he’d confronted and tamed his demons she’d continued hiding away, building a faux life for herself that was nothing like her early childhood dreams—those early days when she’d wanted to be a virtuoso on the violin, just like her father.
She’d been five years old when she’d watched old footage of him at Carnegie Hall—the same night he’d played on stage with Talos’s grandmother—and she’d said, with all the authority of a small child, ‘When I’m growed up I’ll play there with you, Papa.’
She’d let those dreams die.
IT TOOK A FEW beats for Amalie to regain her composure. ‘Did you get to take part in proper boxing matches?’
‘I was school champion for four years in a row—a record that has never been broken.’ He placed a finger to the scar on his eyebrow. ‘That was my most serious injury.’
She winced. ‘Did you want to take it up professionally?’
‘I’m a prince, so it was never an option—royal protocol.’ He gave a rueful shake of his head, then flashed another grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. ‘I did win every amateur heavyweight boxing award going, though, including an international heavyweight title.’
‘No!’ she gasped. ‘Really?’
‘It was six years ago.’
‘That is incredible.’
‘It was the best day of my life,’ he admitted. ‘Receiving the winner’s belt with the Agon National Anthem playing... Yes, the best day of my life.’
She shook her head in awe, a thrill running through her as she saw a vision of Talos, standing in the centre of a boxing ring, perspiration dripping from his magnificent body, the epitome of masculinity...
‘Truly, that’s incredible. Do you still compete?’
‘I haven’t boxed in a competitive match since. I knew if I couldn’t fight professionally I wanted to retire on a high.’
‘You must miss it, though.’
She tried to imagine having to stop playing her violin and felt nothing but coldness. Her earliest concrete memory was receiving her first violin at the age of four. Yes, it had partly been forced on her, but she’d loved it, had adored making the same kind of music as her papa, revelled in her parents’ excitement when she’d taken to it with such an affinity that they couldn’t resist showing her off to the world. She’d loved pleasing her parents but before she’d reached double digits the resulting attention from the outside world had turned into her personal horror story. She might have inherited her parents’ musicality, but their showmanship had skipped a generation.
He shrugged. ‘I still spar regularly, but in truth I knew it was time to focus my attention on the business my brothers and I founded. Theseus had gone off on his sabbatical, so Helios was running it almost single-handedly along with dealing with his royal duties. It wasn’t fair on him.’
‘I don’t understand why you all put so much into the business when you have so much wealth.’
He eyed her meditatively. ‘How much do you think it costs to run a palace this size? The running costs, the maintenance, the staff?’
‘A lot?’
‘Yes. A lot. And that’s just for one palace. Factor in the rest of our estates—my villa, for example—travelling costs, security...’
‘I can imagine,’ she cut in, feeling slightly dizzy now he was explaining it.
‘My family has always had personal wealth,’ Talos explained, ‘but a considerable portion of our income came from taxes.’
‘Came?’
He nodded. ‘My brothers and I were determined to make our family self-sufficient, and three years ago we succeeded. Our islanders no longer pay a cent towards our upkeep. I might not compete any more, but I get all the intellectual stimulation I need.’
Amalie swallowed, guilt replacing the dizziness. She’d been so dismissive of his wealth.
Talos Kalliakis might be unscrupulous at getting his own way but he had a flip side—a side that was loyal, decent and thoughtful. He clearly loved his island and his people.
‘What about the physical stimulation you got from competitive boxing?’ she asked. ‘Have you found a replacement for that?’
His eyes glistened, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. ‘There is a physical pastime I partake in regularly that I find very stimulating...’
The breath in her lungs rushed out in a whoosh.
When he looked at her like that and spoke in that meaningful tone all her senses seemed to collide, making her tongue-tied, unable to come up with any riposte—witty or otherwise.
For the first time she asked herself why she should. Why make a joke out of something that made her blood and belly feel as warm and thick as melted chocolate? Why continue to deny herself something that could take her places she’d locked away?
Hadn’t she punished herself enough?
That thought seemed to come from nowhere, making her blink sharply.
Punished herself enough?
But there was something in that. Her fear was wrapped in so many layers, with her guilt over her role in her parents’ divorce bound tightly in the middle of it.
Talos had confronted his fears and mastered them. Wasn’t it time she allowed herself the same? She didn’t have to suppress her basic biological needs and be a virgin for ever out of fear. Or guilt.
She wasn’t her mother. Allowing herself to be with Talos and experience the pleasure she just knew she would receive at his willing giant hands wouldn’t be a prelude to falling in love. A man
