“Then let us go inside and hash them out.”
Chapter Four
Zervou could readthe reluctance in her, even as she turned to open her apartment door. Even with his body tight and his skin humming with all thatwanthe’d told himself to control.
He did not like the sight of her lip puffy and bloody. It had twisted inside of him sharp and foreign. But it had eased something to know it was a blow she’d taken voluntarily instead of scrabbling with those hulking men and their pathetic threats.
It had eased something to touch her, to feel the way she stilled under his touch, her breath caught, her eyes wide.
Yes, he liked catching Ariadne a little off guard.
But that feeling didn’t last as he followed her into her apartment. It was neat enough, but everything sagged with the weight of poverty. Cramped, clearly. The vague scent of alcohol seemed to permeate every air molecule.
It reminded him of the places his mother had insisted on living, though it had never beenherdrinking. No, his mother preferred to take on the role of saint. Refuse any and all help—even his money and his help once he’d garnered the ability to offer both. So married to her pride. Her suffering. Nothing had mattered except that.
Certainly not him.
It was only when his grandmother had begun to suffer from dementia that his mother had allowed him to help at all. For her mother. Never for herself.
Never for him.
Now they lived with a nurse in a nicer cottage in the hometown he wanted nothing to do with.
He did not wish to think of such things, did not like the way they dissolved everything he’d felt out on that landing. He even considered whisking Ariadne away to his estate so they could have a discussion of terms without memories assaulting him.
But he was made of stronger stuff, and this setting only proved his point and how much she could use his offer.
There was a small table in the kitchen just steps away from the door, so he moved toward it. Took a seat.
Ariadne eyed him warily, still standing by the door. “I have to check on my mother. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared down the hall and then returned a few minutes later without the bag she’d been carrying. She offered nothing about the state of her mother.
She did not take the seat opposite him. Instead she rested a hip against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her chest, expression hard and defiant.
Because he wanted to move this along so he could be out of here, he didn’t wait for her to start. “Before we get to your demands, I have a few of my own to make clear. For example, your mother. I cannot have her creating…problems while we do this. Something must be done to get her out of the way, out of trouble.”
Ariadne’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Good luck there.”
The bitterness in her tone did not surprise him, but the way it echoed inside of him did. The understanding of being shackled to someone you wanted to help, who refused such help. Over and over again.
But this was not the same. His mother was stubborn. Her mother was addicted—an illness. Not a choice.
“There are centers for these kinds of things. These addictions.”
“Yes, and they cost money. You also tend to have to be a willing participant for any of those centers to matter.”
“I will foot the bill, of course. You’ll have your pick of the best facilities in Greece.”
Ariadne blinked at that, her shoulders sagging a little. “My…pick,” she repeated, as if she did not understand the words.
“Yes. Whichever facility you want. I will get in her in, and I will pay her way. Perhaps it works. Perhaps it doesn’t. This is irrelevant to me so long as she stays there while we draw Erjon out.”
She said nothing. He waited, and still she simply stood there. He was a patient man, but she was testing it. Or maybe the cracks in the table in front of him were testing it.
“I seem to recall you saying you had demands,” he told her, looking away from the cracks. The only part of this place that did not remind him of all he’d pulled himself out of was her.
“I want it to be clear that I do not trust things that sound too good to be true,” she said fiercely. “I do not trust windfalls.”
Which were not demands at all.
