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“I’m not an influencer or anything,” Alia said with alarm. “I barely go online.”

“Good. We don’t want to appear desperate. Come. We’ll start with a few things from our prêt-à-porter collection, to get a feel for what works for you.”

A lifetime later, Alia joined Spiro. He agreed that yes, they would like champagne and refreshments.

“Does Athens not have price tags?” Alia asked in a whisper as she sank onto the horseshoe-shaped sectional beside him. “It was the same at the lingerie shop. I kept looking and they wouldn’t tell me.”

“If you have to ask, you don’t buy from places like this,” Spiro said dryly.

“But she’s talking about what I’ll need for each season.” She angled toward him. “She said they’ll deliver every month. Like it’s a subscription service. When is this AGM, anyway? What will I do with a dozen evening gowns after—”

“Alia,” he cut in with an unbothered tone. “I can spend my money on as many evening gowns as I want.”

“Then you get in the fitting room,” she retorted. “Do you know how exhausting it is to keep getting dressed and undressed?”

“Poor thing.” He took the flute of champagne off the tray that arrived and handed it to her. “Don’t you know there are women around the world starving for fashions like these?”

She rolled her eyes, then hitched forward to peruse the mezze platter, far more interested in the arrangement of dips and pita triangles, dolmades, olives, bites of cheese, cherry tomatoes and artichoke hearts than the haute couture that was paraded before her.

While they ate, models swept past them in a variety of options. The designer described the ways she would customize each for Alia’s figure. “A sleeve of this length without the ruffle. You’re petite so we’ll increase height with a narrow cut of the skirt. We have a peacock blue that would work better for your skin tone.”

“I think I’m a little bit drunk,” Alia confessed after her second glass of champagne. “Can we go?”

“I suppose that’s a start. Alia will come back for another fitting if necessary,” he told the designer.

A start?

He signed off and they left, but outside, Alia was disoriented. “Which way is the car? I’m turned around. Oh. There’s Tassos.”

“Wait.” Spiro suddenly spun her so her back was against the polished marble slab of the building’s exterior. “Keep looking at me,” he ordered as he braced his arm over her head. “There’s a photographer across the street. Keep looking at me,” he reminded, touching her jaw with one finger before she could reflexively peer past him.

“Paparazzi?” she asked.

“Maybe. He’s trying to act like a tourist, but he could be a private investigator.” He kept his finger firmly under her chin, keeping her gaze tilted up to his.

“Lambros?” She only formed the name with her lips, not even speaking it aloud. “What should we do?”

“We’re newlyweds. What do you think we should do?”

Alia was already off-balance from the champagne and the extravagance of the day and their small asides to each other.

The clothes themselves were a double-edged sword. Of course she was drawn to beautiful things. She had been money-conscious her whole life, always more concerned with price than whether something flattered her figure. The luxurious fabrics and the idea of wearing high fashion made her feel like Cinderella.

But she knew they were both a uniform and a bribe.

Because he wanted her to go along with pretending to be his wife. Pretending. He had had the chance to act like a real newlywed last night and had turned her down.

She tried to quest past the mirrored lenses in his sunglasses, but only saw her own wide-eyed expression, full of consternation and uncertainty.

Against her will, her gaze dropped to his mouth. His wide shoulders blocked out the world, trapping her against the sun-warmed wall of the building. He set a hand on her waist and heat bloomed through her, making her cheeks and nipples sting.

She blamed the fact she was tipsy, but she was also frustrated—sexually and emotionally. Last night, he had overwhelmed her with her own curiosity and yearning. She had lost herself and wanted to feel that sensation again.

Even more than that, though, she wanted to know if she had even a fraction of the effect on him that he had on her.

Apprehension fluttered through her, but so did a sting of defiance. It was akin to that energy that had gotten her into so much trouble when she’d been a child. She had learned to stifle it, fearful of another life-threatening experience, but in this second, when her emotions were already heightened and he was practically daring her to kiss him, she closed her hands around the live wire, not thinking of what it might do to her when she did.

The shape of his face was familiar to her hands. She knew the angle of his jaw and slid her touch across his smooth cheek, then to the back of his neck, beckoning him as she lifted her mouth, going on tiptoe in search of the kiss she wanted.