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CHAPTER SEVEN
ACHILLESLOOKEDAROUNDfrom where he was standing with the glass in his hand on the terrace. He tried to curb his response but it was useless.
Sofie was a few feet away, swaddled in a robe, black hair tumbled around her shoulders. She looked sleepy and sexy and delicious. And potentially treacherous, reminded a voice.
She smiled shyly. ‘Hi, I didn’t hear you leave the bed. What time is it?’
‘It’s late...after midnight.’
She looked embarrassed. ‘We never even had dinner.’
Achilles steeled himself against this portrait of innocence. He had to. ‘I can order food up now, if you’re hungry?’
She shook her head. ‘No, don’t put anyone to that kind of trouble. I can wait for breakfast.’ She came out to the terrace and gave him a look. ‘Are you okay? You seem...tense.’
‘I’m fine.’
Sofie asked, ‘What are you drinking?’
Achilles cursed silently. He would be wise not to take Sofie’s innocent persona at face value, but he didn’t need to lose sight of his manners in the process.
‘It’s whisky—would you like some?’
‘Maybe just a little, with some water—thanks.’
Achilles went and poured her a small glass and brought it back, handed it to her. Noted her small hands and neat unvarnished nails.
She went over to the wall and held the glass in both hands looking out over the view. ‘It’s so warm even at night. It’s lovely.’
He went and stood beside her.
She said, ‘My father used to give me a dram of whisky on special occasions. I had my own wee glass for it.’
Achilles said, ‘I drank a bottle of whisky when I was fifteen and I was sick for a week.’
Sofie looked at him, eyes wide. ‘Why on earth did you do that?’
Achilles shrugged and fought not to remember the awful sense of rage and recklessness he’d felt in those years. ‘A dare at school.’
‘I’m surprised you still drink it after that experience. It’d be enough to put anyone off.’
He lifted his glass. ‘I learnt to respect it.’
Sofie turned her back to the view and leaned against the wall. ‘So this is where you live? Or do you have another home here? A family home?’
Achilles’s skin prickled. ‘This is where I live when I’m in Greece.’
‘You own this apartment, then, in a hotel?’
He nodded. ‘Why so curious?’
She looked a little embarrassed. ‘Sorry... I just thought that, coming from Greece, you’d have a family home here.’
He thought of the island that housed his family home. He’d been back to the island, but he hadn’t visited the property since that fateful day. He’d sold every other property but that one and the property in London, something always stopping him at the last minute.
‘Actually, the house in London was more of a family home. I went to school in England and spent a lot of time there.’
The London townhouse had been in his family for a couple of generations. His mother had loved it. He’d loved it as a child. Playing in the garden with the dog. Going to the zoo with his father—just the two of them, because his brother and sister had been too small.
‘Ah...that makes sense.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Achilles welcomed this diversion from his memories.
Sofie wrinkled her nose. ‘Not that I’m acquainted with many men of your...er...status, but I’d kind of assumed you might own a flash penthouse apartment.’
‘Isn’t that a bit of a cliché?’ Achilles was amused, but also wary. Her perspicacity only seemed to be confirming that he was right to be more suspicious than he had been.
She shrugged. A small rueful smile played around her mouth. ‘Clearly I’ve read too many books featuring clichéd characters.’
They were silent for a couple of minutes, letting the sounds of the city wash up and over them. In spite of himself Achilles could feel himself start to relax. It was so easy to forget everything when he was with her.
He could sense her building up to saying something. She looked at him.
‘There was a room in the house in London...the door was open and I went in. It was a study.’
Achilles’s insides turned to ice. He said nothing.
His father’s study.
She continued, ‘I know I shouldn’t have been in there...but I saw a picture on the wall—a couple of pictures. Your parents? And you and your father on a boat with a fish?’
Images flooded Achilles’s head. The boat. His parents on board with his younger brother and sister. He on another smaller launch, headed back to Athens. They’d all been waving at him, and then his brother and sister had unfurled a banner that read We’ll see you soon, Achilles! We love you very much!
And then...
Before Sofie could say another word, Achilles responded curtly, ‘My family are not up for discussion. Like I said, they’re dead.’
She looked contrite. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. I’m too nosy for my own good.’
Full of volatile emotions, mixed with the passion he couldn’t control around her, Achilles said, ‘Yes, you are...but I know just the punishment.’
He caught the lapels of her robe and pulled her to him, needing desperately to remind them both of why she was here and to get rid of unwelcome memories.
He felt a moment of nostalgia for the peace he’d felt while his memory had been gone. No toxic history. No grief. No loss. No pain. The only way he could achieve that state again was right now and here.
He undid Sofie’s robe and it fell open.
