Consequence Of The Greek's Revenge

He smiled, loving her suspicious mind. If only she knew. ‘The staff were expecting me for dinner,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I simply called from the café after you agreed to dine with me to ensure there would be enough for two.’

She wandered closer to the table, set with crystal glasses and silverware and tiny vases filled with fresh thyme and rosemary, the scent wafting on the warm breeze like the sheer curtains billowing behind the doorways.

‘You understand now why I had no desire to keep this all to myself?’

She nodded. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’

‘Then please sit, and eat, and afterwards we shall enjoy the sunset together.’

As if on cue, the serving staff appeared, delivering warm breads and freshly made dips to the table, followed by pan-fried saganaki cheese topped with balsamic figs along with the freshest baby squid, an array of grilled meats and all washed down with the finest Santorini Vinsanto wine.

‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, at one point, leaning back in her chair, her glass of wine in her hand.

He raised his own glass to her. ‘It is my pleasure.’

‘Tell me,’ she asked, leaning forward after taking a sip of wine, ‘why is it that you are here, all alone on Santorini?’

‘I am here primarily for business.’

She arched an eyebrow at that, an obvious question. ‘Not,’ he added, ‘that I have a wife or girlfriend I could have brought to accompany me.’

‘And why is that?’ she asked, gesturing glass in hand to the palace behind and the spectacular caldera view before them. ‘When clearly you are a man of means—and, as you are no doubt aware, not entirely unpleasant looks.’

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘“Not entirely unpleasant”? That is good news, indeed. But as to your question, I’m afraid I’ve been too much of a workaholic. Driven, some might say.’

Especially when it came to the pursuit of justice.

‘Although not too driven to chat me up.’

He shrugged. ‘Lately I have become aware of how isolated I have become. Meeting you cemented an appreciation of the error of my ways.’

‘Wow,’ she said, her blue eyes bright. ‘That’s a heady responsibility you’re piling upon my shoulders. I hope you’re not going to be disappointed.’

He smiled. ‘Now you’re laughing at me.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m just not used to flirting.’

‘Neither am I,’ he said with a smile. ‘Although I am finding it an entirely pleasurable pastime. If I might be so bold as to ask, why are you here alone?’

‘Like I said, Santorini is my favourite Greek island. I like to come here to think.’

‘Do you have so much to think about?’

‘Who doesn’t?’ she said with a shrug, not giving anything away. ‘What kind of business are you in?’

He smiled at her quick volley, but didn’t push it. He’d learned in his dealings with people that the way to make them open up was to pretend indifference, to let them set the agenda. He knew that sooner or later she’d wander back into the topic of her own accord. ‘Shipping mainly. Cargo and containers, timetables and paperwork. It’s boring.’

‘I’m sure it’s not,’ she said. ‘Is it a family business?’

‘No. I have no family.’

‘What, none at all?’

He gave the briefest shake of his head, feeling a familiar rising tide of bitterness, thinking how different things might have been—should have been—if not for the greed and the actions of this woman’s father. He swallowed back on the surge. He didn’t need a tidal wave. All he needed now were ripples—a reminder—of why he was here, and why doing this was so right. ‘There’s nobody,’ he said. ‘Not now.’

‘Oh,’ she said, her teeth finding her lip while she blinked too fast. ‘It seems we have more than one thing in common. My mother died when I was sixteen. I—I lost my own father a month ago.’

He schooled his features to compassion, even as he smiled inwardly. She might have a sad story, but it was no match for a story of betrayal. ‘Is that what you’re here on Santorini to think about?’

‘Perhaps,’ she said, her misty eyes clouding over as she looked away, out towards the sun, now sending a golden-red ribbon of colour across the water. ‘Look,’ she said, standing. ‘The sun is setting.’

He followed her to the balustrade, to where they could see the white buildings that adorned the caldera rim now washed in red, the sun a fat golden orb bending the painted layers of the sky beneath.

‘So beautiful,’ she said, her eyes fixed on the spectacular display.

She was, he thought, watching her rather than the sunset, and soon she would be his. The knowledge made him burn. The perfect revenge and the only disappointment was that Stavros wasn’t here to see it. But then, it would be a much more extensive—and satisfying—revenge than he’d had planned.

‘Look,’ he said, putting mere fingertips to the fabric at the small of her back while he pointed out to the midst of the darkening sea, where a sailing boat bobbed in a ribbon of golden light.

‘Oh,’ she said, and he knew it was because he’d touched her, because he’d felt her shuddering response, and knew she was ripe for the taking.

Oh, yes, he would play this cherished daughter of his nemesis like a fish on a hook. Play her, use her, and then he would break her, just as her father had broken his father.

And then he would walk away.

* * *

To Athena, it seemed the sunset was being performed for her and Alexios and for them alone. There was nobody else within earshot, no evidence of other human life beyond a solitary sailing boat far below them on the sea, while the colours around her intensified, the range narrowed to red and gold and every brilliant shade in between.

And then suddenly his hand was gone from the small of her back, and despite the spectacular glory going on around her it was that tiny touch she missed. Missed his warmth but most of all the spark he’d triggered in her flesh. And now the sun was setting, burning brighter, until it kissed the water and, despite knowing better, Athena held her breath in anticipation of the hiss of steam at the union.

But even the sunset could not make her forget Alexios was still here, close beside her. Never had she been more aware of a man’s presence in her life. He was right there at her shoulder. So close she could once again smell the lemon tang of his soap. So close she could feel his body’s warmth on her bare arm.

So close.

And yet he didn’t make a move towards her.

Slowly, inexorably, the sea embraced the sun, and with every passing second Athena wished he would touch her again, even if only to point out something else.

Though more than that, she wished, leaning closer, her bare arm brushing his, setting her skin alight, that he would kiss her. In this perfect moment with the perfect excuse of the most romantic sunset in the world as a backdrop.

Why did he not try to touch her?

Why didn’t he kiss her?

But while the air all but crackled between them, even while her body swayed of its own accord towards his, frustratingly he moved no closer to her. Still, he made no move at all.

By the time the sea swallowed the sun whole and the last glimmer of light was extinguished, her strung-out nerves were at breaking point for fruitless, pointless, wishing.