“You don’t live in Corfu,” she said by way of greeting.
“How do you know?”
“I know who you are. And I would have heard if you lived here.”
“I purchased this estate last week,” he said, making a gesture to encompass the large balcony that stretched out over the town below. “It will not be my permanent address, but I’d like to keep a closer eye on the stadium as it is built.”
“And this required buying an entire estate?”
“Fysiká.”
She did not roll her eyes but somehow gave the impression of such. She made a production of looking around the terrace. A table was set up for dinner as the evening was nice, the breeze calm instead of irritating. Bacchus poured the wine and then disappeared inside. No doubt to signal to the rest of the waitstaff that they were ready for the first course.
“Come, Ms. Milas. Have a seat.”
She stayed exactly where she was, though she crossed her arms over her chest. It caused the gap between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her pants to widen and the little gold hoop at her belly button to sparkle in the low light of the terrace and the silvery illumination of the moon bouncing off the sea.
She was a beauty. It was impossible to deny. Interesting and sharp with it. She would stand out, no doubt. Even if he did not reveal her parentage, there would be talk of the new woman he had on his arm.
Once she agreed.
Which she would.
The waitstaff appeared, then paused when they realized no one was sitting. Zervou motioned for them to put the plates down on the table anyway. He watched as Ariadne followed the plates with her eyes.
There was greed in her gaze, but she still held herself back. Studying, assessing, no doubt looking for the dagger she seemed to think would come. But she was here.
So Zervou approached the table, pulled her chair out, but did not wait for her to sit. Instead, he took his own seat and made a bit of a show of shaking out his napkin and placing it over his knee.
Then he slipped the envelope of money out of his pocket and placed it at the center of the table. “Here is your payment.”
He did not watch her as he chose what to put on his plate. His chef had put together a variety of appetizers, and Zervou planned to enjoy himself even if Ariadne spent the whole evening skulking about the edges of the shadows on the terrace.
“And what’s to stop me from simply taking the money and running?” Ariadne asked after he’d filled his plate.
He glanced up at her. Took his time taking a bite of themelitzanabefore responding. “Nothing, of course.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s it? Nothing.”
He lifted a negligent shoulder. “I told you I would pay you for coming to dinner. You came. So there is your money. If you are interested in more, then you will stay and eat. I have a proposition for you.”
Something in her expression darkened. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
He chuckled in spite of himself. She thought she knew who and what he was because of the fools she’d no doubt dealt with in her life. But she did not know Zervou Kritikos, clearly. “It does not involve sex.”
She eyed him a bit warily. Distrust but perhaps not full-on disbelief. “Then what does it involve?”
He had considered this part carefully. For a while, he’d even planned to romance her. Convince her it was all real. But that had felt a bit too much like leaving a victim in his wake. Zervou believed in revenge and retribution, but he did not believe in collateral damage. Not when he had been such.
So, he went with the truth. A direct kind of truth seemed to suit her anyway. It was its own kind of blow. Would she dodge it? Return her own? He couldn’t wait to find out.
“Your father.”
He watched as her entire body stilled with tension. She tried to remain relaxed on the outside, but something about the wordfathercertainly surprised her. If they were boxing, he’d have landed a blow.
So he added the rest, a one-two punch, so to speak. “And revenge.”
Her chin came up. Her eyes flashing. Ready to deliver the return blow. He found himself smiling.
