Her gaze ricocheted from the mirror to his like a bullet.
"Yes. Why?"
She jerked a shoulder that didn't come off as casual. Not at all. "It sounds fun."
"Does it." His mind raced, looking for the missing puzzle piece. "Are you eager for some salt air? Because I notice you don't leave the apartment unless we have an engagement. Even then, you're resigned, not excited. I thought you married me so you could explore New York?"
She kept her back to him, gaze down, face stiff. "When I thought about living here, I always expected I would have to work. Since I don't have a job, I have no reason to go out."
"My sister said you turned down a shopping trip the other day."
"I didn't need anything. I wasn't trying to avoid her. I invited her to lunch."
She peeled off her gown, exposing her mouthwatering figure in a set of black lace shot with silver threads. A deliberate attempt to sidetrack him? If so, it was working. The way her thong framed her ass cheeks was positively erotic and nearly wiped his brain clean.
"Do you really want me to become BFFs with her? Maybe you should tell your family that this is a temporary thing, so they'll stop trying to form a relationship with me. That's why I don't enjoy our evenings out. I keep meeting new people, but a few months from now, I'll never see them again."
"You love to throw that in my face, don't you?"
"What?"
"How temporary our arrangement is. Is that what you were doing with Hemsworth? Putting your next paycheck in place?"
"For God's sake, no! And do you have any idea how offensive you're being? Every time we're out, I have to face ugly looks and snide remarks about how I'm your quaint little wife from the old country. I lack taste and polish. I'm a social climber. Your grandfather forced you to marry me, since you couldn't possibly have chosen me."
"Who said that?" He scowled, instantly affronted on her behalf.
"Do you think I bother to learn the names of the cats in the powder room who make sure I overhear them? Do let me put their curiosity to rest, though. How do you bring yourself to sleep with such a filthy immigrant?"
"Who said that?" His blood nearly boiled out his ears.
"You have quite the reputation. Did you really work your way through a sorority house in a weekend? Because that makes you quite the hypocrite for objecting to my talking to one other man."
She swung away and charged into the closet. He heard a drawer open and slam shut.
He swore and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had done some tremendously stupid things as a young man. He doubted he would earn any points by telling her it had been a bet and a dare, and the house had been only half full because the girls who weren't interested in testing his stamina had left.
"You should have told me that was happening," he said when she reappeared in a decidedly unsexy T-shirt and leggings that sent a loud message about her receptiveness to his advances tonight.
"Why? Those women are nothing to me." She hugged herself in the defensive way she did sometimes, like she was huddling against more rain than a person should be forced to endure. "In a few months, I'll never see them again. I'm not throwing that in your face. I'm reminding myself why it doesn't matter. I don't have any claim on you. This isn't my life."
His throat clogged with words, but he couldn't articulate them, couldn't agree or disagree.
"Our arrangement is a trade-off." Her brow flinched. "What do I care what small minds think of me, as long as I get what I want?"
"What do you want?" It wasn't the money he had promised her. It wasn't the most exciting city in the world.
For a moment she looked stark with hopelessness, then turned away. "What do you care, so long as you have what you want?"
She didn't wait for his response, only went into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
She made a good point. He stood there listening to the water run, wondering why he did care. Wondering why it felt like he didn't have what he wanted when, to the outside observer, he had everything.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CALLI WAS SO keyed up, she could hardly think straight.
She had obsessed over every detail of the coming evening. Her gown was the most quietly powerful in the closet, dark blue with an empire waist and a sheer white overlay on the bodice, suggesting royal elegance. She usually did her own makeup, but today she had splurged at a local spa, spending some of her allowance on a stylist who did her hair, as well. Wearing her tallest shoes, she was flawless and proud.
In the mirror.
Inside her clammy skin, her bones rattled with nerves.
Brandon, she would say, looking him right in the eye. You probably don't remember me. We met years ago and I was deeply in love with the boy who left Greece with you. Dorian. How is he? Where is he?
It almost didn't matter what he said or did after that. She just wanted to see his face. She wanted him to know she wasn't going away this time. He couldn't pretend he didn't know her, couldn't pretend they hadn't made a baby.
He couldn't even pretend ignorance about the way the adoption had happened. Letters had been sent since then. He knew she hadn't consented to the surrender of custody.
The jig was up. Now things would be different.
After tonight, she would finally have some answers.
It made her hands feel cold and disconnected from her body. Her heart raced and tripped in her chest. Her mouth was dry, her stomach in knots.
Nervously, she swept open her phone and checked Brandon's social media profile. His last post had been an exchange of comments with Wally Hemsworth, demanding Wally pony up a drink that was owed.
She scrolled to Brandon's profile picture, taking in the subtle changes six years had wrought. It was a professional headshot suitable for a politician. Handsome, she supposed.
Did her son resemble him? Her?
"Who's that?"
Stavros's voice startled her so badly, she let out a small scream and dropped her phone.
Stavros swept down to pick it up off the carpet and turned it over. His dark brows lowered into an accusatory line. "Brandon Underwood?"
It was Wally Hemsworth all over again. It was her father, with his repulsed glare as he pronounced her loose and shameful. She looked away from the sharp query in Stavros's eyes.
"I'm just-" She held out her hand, unable to think of a suitable excuse. Her hand shook. She swallowed. "Can I have that, please?"
"Do you know him?"
"Do you?"
"We cross paths sometimes." He didn't give her back the phone. The silence became deafening.
"I knew him a long time ago." She wiggled her fingers.
"Have you been in contact with him?"
"No."
He looked at the screen as though deciding whether to check her messages.
"I haven't," she insisted.
"This is it, isn't it? The reason you wanted to come to New York." He tilted the screen. "He's the tourist. The one who got you kicked out of your home. You're still carrying a torch? You seriously married me to get to him?" His voice tightened. "That's beyond obsessive."
"It's none of your business, Stavros." She held out her hand.
"You're my wife."
"By contract. You got what you wanted. Now give me what I want." She pointed at the phone, even though the phone had nothing to do with it.
He let his hand drop to his side, keeping the phone while he looked at her like some kind of veil had been pulled away and he didn't even recognize her.
It made her squirm, but she brushed aside whatever he was thinking of her. Her palms were sweating with anxiety. Tonight was her night. She would have it.
"I have to smile at your past lovers every time we go out. You can get through one night seeing mine."
"Like hell I do. He's engaged."
"I just want to talk to him." She stepped forward to take her phone.
He pulled back, yanking on her heartstrings with the movement so every part of her stung.
"Give me that."
"No."
He'd bought it for her, so she could hardly protest that it was hers. Tears smarted behind her eyes. She shrugged, trying to keep her control from shredding while her inner trembling grew worse.
"Fine. Keep it." She moved to pick up her handbag and made sure her credit card was in it. "Are we going? Or am I asking the doorman to call me a cab?"
"We're not going anywhere. You lied to me, Calli. That was your rule. No lies. You didn't tell me why you wanted to come to New York."
"Because it's none of your business."
"It is literally my business. My grandfather would love an excuse to back out of the handover. I'm not watching you hook up with your old flame while putting my control of my business in jeopardy."
"Stavros." She turned to face him, elbows snapping straight at her sides as she turned her mind from anything but the tiny bridge she had glimpsed, the one that should take her to her son. Why was it starting to look like a mirage? Like the more she tried to reach it, the farther away it became. "This is not negotiable. I'm going to see Brandon tonight. That's happening."