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It was a contract stipulating what he expected from her in terms of behavior.
Kassiani snorted as she turned the page, scanning the second sheet, and then the third, and finally the fourth. Finished reading, she dropped the paperwork on the table and leaned back in her chair to give Damen a long, level, concerned look. “I’d love to understand your rationale. What do you think this paperwork is going to accomplish?”
“It will simplify things between us.”
“How?”
“You won’t be confused about what I need from you, and you won’t be surprised by my expectations, either.”
She tipped her head, considering him. He was so ruggedly good-looking, and had the most amazing skills in bed, but goodness, he was also incredibly out of touch with reality. “My gut tells me this...document...was something you used to give your mistresses. And I am sure it was useful for them. But it’s not at all beneficial for us, and I’m not going to sign it because there is no way it would work—”
“Why not?”
“Because you can’t tell me what to feel, or if I’m allowed to have feelings, including feelings of attachment. I’m not a hooker, I’m not a mistress, I’m your wife.”
“This was not a love marriage. I do not love you, I will not love you, and I will not discuss love every single day.”
Kassiani laughed, tucking a flyaway tendril behind her ear. “I only asked you once if you’d ever been in love. Once. And I never said I loved you. I never said I wanted to love you. I merely said I cared for you. Frankly, I don’t expect you to love me after everything you said. I’ve accepted you have rocks in your chest instead of a heart. But your determination to control who I am, and how I feel, makes me think you don’t just have rocks in your chest, but rocks in your head.”
She stood up, leaving the paperwork on the table between them. “I’m not one of your silly mistresses,” she said, voice dropping to little more than a whisper. “I don’t need your money, either, but thank you for offering me a very generous allowance in exchange for keeping my unnecessary and unwanted feelings to myself. Thank you for thinking of me, and trying to be a good provider. I can respect that you’re trying to give me something.”
And then she squeezed between the small tables, and climbed the stairs to reach the street, the white skirt of her sundress swirling around her legs, her temper seething, her vision blurred because all she could see was red.
She didn’t know how he did it, time and time again, but he had the ability to take a perfectly lovely morning and ruin it. Honestly, all he needed was sixty seconds and he smashed life’s gorgeous possibilities in no time flat.
* * *
Damen caught up with her before she’d walked too far. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“Back to the ship. I don’t feel like dealing with tourists, or you, at the moment.”
He blocked her progress down the street. “You can’t just walk away from me every time you don’t like what I have to say.”
“You wanted a wife, and I wanted to be a good wife, but I realize I will never be a traditional Greek wife. I’m Greek American, and obviously more American than Greek because I wanted to laugh in your face when you presented your contract. It was ridiculous. Damen, you have a problem with control, and I’m not good with that. That was not part of the marriage deal. I never agreed to relinquish all control—”
“You said you’d make my comfort your chief goal.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Then understand that your emotions are making me uncomfortable.”
“You make it sound as if I’m a hysterical female, crying and screaming and having tantrums from one end of your ship to the other. Have I cried on this trip? Yes. But I have only cried in the privacy of my bedroom—”
“It’s actually my bedroom.”
She threw up her hands in dismay. “Do you want your bedroom back? Would you like to move your wife to a guest bedroom? Is that where your mistresses usually sleep?”
His silence told her all she needed to know.
Kassiani laughed, because it was that, or scream, and she couldn’t allow herself to lose control now, not after everything he’d said. “What were these other women like, the ones you love throwing in my face? I’d love to know more about your mistresses, and how they were such paragons of virtue.”
“They weren’t paragons of virtue,” he said tightly. “But they understood the limitations of our relationship and didn’t make excessive demands.”
“Because they were grateful you paid their bills. I’m sure you spoiled them with jewelry and trips and clothes, and they probably loved every little trinket and special treat, but I don’t care about things, Damen. I don’t care about the yacht, or your villas, or your numerous expensive cars. I’ve grown up surrounded by nice things, expensive things. What I want from you isn’t trinkets and treats. I want honesty, kindness, happiness, respect. I want a marriage that is a partnership—”
“I don’t do partnerships.”
“My father thinks he and you are partners.”
Damen’s jaw tightened, and his expression hardened.
She lifted a shoulder. “You allowed Elexis to think she’d be your partner.”
“Because she would have been happy with trinkets and treats and trips to London and New York and Milan for Fashion Week.”
“Because she would have accepted your idea of a partnership.” Her chin jerked up. “And she would have been happy with the lies and deceit because she would have been just as deceitful. She wouldn’t have been faithful to you, and maybe you don’t care. You wouldn’t be absolutely sure, short of a DNA test, that your children were your children. And you probably would have been happier with a woman who pretends to care for you, but doesn’t. You would be able to sleep at night knowing you got what you wanted—money, power and the illusion of control—while she got what she wanted—money, prestige and tremendous freedom away from you.”
“You make me sound like a horrible human being.”
“You don’t have to be horrible,” she said softly. “It’s a choice you make.” And then she shrugged and stepped around him, her shoulder bumping his chest as she pushed by, before continuing down the street, grateful she’d been to Chora before because it meant she knew how to get back to the harbor and out of these narrow, twisting streets.
The speedboat was waiting for her, as if it had never left, and it ferried her back to the yacht anchored in the harbor.
She kept her jaw set during the short trip, and as she climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. Once there she rang for staff and asked them to pack her things and move her to a different room, one that Mr. Alexopoulos’s female guests usually enjoyed.
If he wanted his room, he could have his room.
And if he wanted a marriage, it was going to be a partnership.
She could appreciate the erotic sex, and she could handle his being dominant in the bedroom, but she wasn’t going to be a doormat out of the bedroom.
She might not be beautiful, and she might not ever command admiration and respect from the rest of the world, but she refused to feel less than worthy in her new home.
* * *
Damen wandered around the charming old town with the whitewashed buildings and brightly painted doors in a temper. He didn’t know which upset him more: the fact that Kassiani had moved out of the master bedroom, or the brazen announcement that she didn’t need his money because she had her own. He also knew why she’d left the master bedroom—his flippant remark about it being his room had annoyed her—but he didn’t understand why she felt it necessary to brag about having her own money. Of course she had money. She was an heiress. The Dukases owned large chunks of San Francisco’s waterfront, a historic mansion in the most coveted neighborhood of the city, plus more valuable real estate all over the West Coast. So what did she think she was a
ccomplishing by mentioning her wealth?
