As he gathered the letters and placed them back in the box, his heart started to open. Wider and wider, allowing all the other feelings that came with love. He had once though that true love could exist on its own, but his father’s letters showed him differently. Love could not exist without vulnerabilities. Without pain. Without mistakes. Without forgiveness.
When he stood up, his heart was free. It loved. His father. Himself. And...Willow.
And as soon as he thought of her name, Stavros knew.
He just knew.
When he entered Willem’s office, the Dutch billionaire did not appear surprised at all to see him. It was as if he had only been waiting for Stavros to get his head out of his ass.
“I’m going after her. She’s mine. You’re not to look at her, speak of her, or even think of her.”
He didn’t give a damn about what had transpired between Willem and Willow. Whatever it was, it was nothing compared to how he would be able to love Willow – if she gave him the chance to do so.
In response, Willem nodded at his intern.
Serenity came to stand next to Willem’s table and said in a small voice, “I apologize for misleading you, Mr. Manolis. She really had been in his suite only for a few minutes, and it really was to look at the royal albums, which, per the Queen’s rules, could only be viewed in the north wing.”
Stavros nodded. “Thank you for telling me that, Serenity, and thank you for looking after Willow.” He turned to Willem. “Fuck you for interfering.”
Willem laughed. When his friend turned back and started to walk away, he called out, “Aren’t you forgetting to ask me something?”
“I don’t need to ask anything. I already know what I have to know.”
The door slammed shut behind Stavros.
Chapter Eleven
It was a rainy afternoon when he arrived in Florida, and the drizzle had worsened into a thunderstorm by the time he was ushered inside Damen Leventis’ home. The billionaire was there to receive him personally, standing up to shake hands with him.
“Stavros.”
“Damen.”
They looked at each other, both handsome and powerful Greeks. But while one appeared bland, the other had a haggard look to his face, as if he had run to the ends of the earth with the hope of finding the most precious thing in his life.
Stavros asked curtly, “Where is she?” He neither had the time nor the patience for small talk.
The lapse of etiquette, which was rare for his friend, made Damen suppress a smile. “Mairi’s up with Nala in the nursery. Would you like—”
“Enough with the games,” Stavros interrupted tautly. “Where is Willow?”
“Why would you think I’d know where she is?” Even knowing that Stavros was close to hitting him, Damen refused to make it that easy for his friend. He had learned from his wife the pain that Willow had gone through, and this time Damen wanted to make sure for himself that Stavros wouldn’t hurt her again.
For a moment, Stavros seriously contemplated beating the truth out of Damen. But Damen’s face only remained bland even as the taunting gleam in his eyes challenged Stavros to do exactly what he was thinking.
In the end, Stavros decided against going head to head with the other billionaire, but only because he knew it would take too much time. “I know you know, Leventis, because we both know how Willow’s mind works. If she’s determined to make me eat humble pie, she’s going to make sure it’s the worst-tasting pie in the world.”
“And the worst pie would be me?”
His jaw clenched.
Damen laughed. “I don’t fucking believe it. You thought there was something that went on between us in the past?”
“You could have flirted with her, because of my history with Mairi.”
“You don’t have any history with my wife,” Damen corrected mildly. “Remember it that way please.”
Stavros was this close to strangling his friend, who at that moment wasn’t much of a friend at all. “Will you just fucking tell me if you know—”
Damen said quietly, “She’s in the garden. She’s been waiting for you there every damn day since she got here.”
****
He found her writing in the gazebo. Her hair was swept up in a careless chignon, her curvy body sheathed in a loose white dress. She would have made a perfect Regency photo if not for the fact that she had her legs up on the table while chewing on her lip and writing on her notepad.
For just one long moment, he allowed himself to look at her.
He looked at her, and his heart loved.
He loved her.
And she loved him.
She had loved him so goddamn much she had hatched the greatest ruse on Earth just to make him see the truth. She had goddamn made herself lie on the road, still as a fucking corpse, and let him run over her again and again until he got his head out of his ass and his eyes were no longer blind.