today. Tonight, when he returned the boat to Leotokos. Tomorrow, when he married his daughter. And the days to follow, when he put his plan in action to ruin Leotokos completely and forever.
He ladled some lamb onto Ariana's plate, a new, unwelcome thought sliding into his mind. She had no great love for her father, but what would she think about the scope of the revenge--the destruction--he was planning for the man? For his business, his life?
"Theo?" she asked, and he knew he'd gone all serious and silent again.
"Sorry. Just mentally reviewing the next few days."
"I thought we weren't going to talk about that."
"No, we're not." He sat across from her and served himself from the dishes on the table. "Let's talk about something else."
She arched an eyebrow, that lush mouth curving in a way that made Theo's palms itch. She was incredibly sexy. Innocent yet sensual. He wondered if she knew the effect she had on men, her overwhelming allure.
"How did you spend your time, on your father's island?"
She shrugged. "Reading, writing. Some painting and pottery. My father has never been a slave driver. And it was in his best interest to keep me happy and amused."
"And were you?"
"Sometimes." She toyed with the food on her plate. "I learned long ago there's no point railing against fate, wishing things could be different. The only way to make them different is to change them."
Exactly his own philosophy. He'd never met a woman with whom he felt so much accord. "And yet for many years you were essentially powerless."
"Powerless but patient. And I used the time as wisely as I could."
"How?"
"Learning as much as I could. Reading every book in my father's library, whether it was on finance or economics or natural science. Listening to everyone, even the lowliest servant, so I could understand human nature. Dreaming of the day I would live my life as I wanted, free, because that kept my hope alive."
"Dreaming can be important," Theo agreed quietly. Dreaming had been what had kept him going in those hard, lean years after his father's suicide. Dreaming of the day he could provide for his mother, give her back the silks and satins Spiro had clothed her in before Leotokos had ruined him. And not just material riches, but a sense of purpose and happiness she'd long since lost. He'd wanted to restore the light to her eyes, but he hadn't. She'd died when he was twenty. He'd started making enough money to provide for her then, but Andrea had never gained back the joy she'd known with his father. A stolen joy, an immoral one perhaps, but there could be no doubting that Spiro and Andrea had loved each other.
Even if his father had been married to another woman.
Swallowing, Theo looked away. His father's double lifestyle--a rich society wife in Athens and a mistress and bastard son in Piraeus--had cemented his own belief that he would never marry. That he didn't want to marry, didn't want to love, because it was complicated and messy and ultimately made you weak.
And even if he married Ariana--even if he bedded her--he wasn't going to love her. The reminder was sharp and necessary.
He turned to smile at her. "After lunch we can relax by the pool. You deserve a little relaxation."
And he felt a surge of gratification when she smiled, almost shyly, and he saw a new light steal into her eyes. He might not have been able to save his mother, but this woman's freedom and happiness were, for the moment, within his gift.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ariana lay in bed and watched the moon rise in the ink-black sky, higher and higher so its rays bathed her bedroom in lambent silver. Theo had left two hours ago to return the boat to her father's island.
They'd spent the afternoon as he'd promised, relaxing by the pool, chatting and laughing and teasing about both nothing and everything. It had been no more than a few hours of simple pleasure, yet Ariana couldn't remember the last time she'd ever enjoyed herself so much--if ever.
Sighing she rolled
He ladled some lamb onto Ariana's plate, a new, unwelcome thought sliding into his mind. She had no great love for her father, but what would she think about the scope of the revenge--the destruction--he was planning for the man? For his business, his life?
"Theo?" she asked, and he knew he'd gone all serious and silent again.
"Sorry. Just mentally reviewing the next few days."
"I thought we weren't going to talk about that."
"No, we're not." He sat across from her and served himself from the dishes on the table. "Let's talk about something else."
She arched an eyebrow, that lush mouth curving in a way that made Theo's palms itch. She was incredibly sexy. Innocent yet sensual. He wondered if she knew the effect she had on men, her overwhelming allure.
"How did you spend your time, on your father's island?"
She shrugged. "Reading, writing. Some painting and pottery. My father has never been a slave driver. And it was in his best interest to keep me happy and amused."
"And were you?"
"Sometimes." She toyed with the food on her plate. "I learned long ago there's no point railing against fate, wishing things could be different. The only way to make them different is to change them."
Exactly his own philosophy. He'd never met a woman with whom he felt so much accord. "And yet for many years you were essentially powerless."
"Powerless but patient. And I used the time as wisely as I could."
"How?"
"Learning as much as I could. Reading every book in my father's library, whether it was on finance or economics or natural science. Listening to everyone, even the lowliest servant, so I could understand human nature. Dreaming of the day I would live my life as I wanted, free, because that kept my hope alive."
"Dreaming can be important," Theo agreed quietly. Dreaming had been what had kept him going in those hard, lean years after his father's suicide. Dreaming of the day he could provide for his mother, give her back the silks and satins Spiro had clothed her in before Leotokos had ruined him. And not just material riches, but a sense of purpose and happiness she'd long since lost. He'd wanted to restore the light to her eyes, but he hadn't. She'd died when he was twenty. He'd started making enough money to provide for her then, but Andrea had never gained back the joy she'd known with his father. A stolen joy, an immoral one perhaps, but there could be no doubting that Spiro and Andrea had loved each other.
Even if his father had been married to another woman.
Swallowing, Theo looked away. His father's double lifestyle--a rich society wife in Athens and a mistress and bastard son in Piraeus--had cemented his own belief that he would never marry. That he didn't want to marry, didn't want to love, because it was complicated and messy and ultimately made you weak.
And even if he married Ariana--even if he bedded her--he wasn't going to love her. The reminder was sharp and necessary.
He turned to smile at her. "After lunch we can relax by the pool. You deserve a little relaxation."
And he felt a surge of gratification when she smiled, almost shyly, and he saw a new light steal into her eyes. He might not have been able to save his mother, but this woman's freedom and happiness were, for the moment, within his gift.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ariana lay in bed and watched the moon rise in the ink-black sky, higher and higher so its rays bathed her bedroom in lambent silver. Theo had left two hours ago to return the boat to her father's island.
They'd spent the afternoon as he'd promised, relaxing by the pool, chatting and laughing and teasing about both nothing and everything. It had been no more than a few hours of simple pleasure, yet Ariana couldn't remember the last time she'd ever enjoyed herself so much--if ever.
Sighing she rolled
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