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“Cristo!” He dragged her back to him, holding her tight, staring down at her. “You are not dumb!”
“He thought I was. Everyone else will too. And the story won’t be about me having dyslexia and making a life for myself despite that. It will be about Christopher La Roche, New York Times bestselling author and his poor daughter who can’t read.” She stomped her foot, shifting away from him once more. “Don’t you see? I don’t own the right to speak about this publicly.”
Stavros nodded slowly, understanding the rock and hard place Claudia found herself sandwiched between. He might have disagreed with her assessment but he could sure respect her position. “Fine,” he said. “So I will shout it from the top of the steps in Barnwell, so that only you can hear. But I will shout it again and again until you understand that I love you. As you are. I love everything about you.”
She didn’t want to believe him. Believing him terrified her.
“And I always have. I gave my heart to you a long time ago, Claudia. Now that you’re all grown up, I need you to know that.”
She groaned and shook her head. “I can’t ask this of you. I can’t ask you to make this sacrifice.” She turned to face him and she was pale and shaking. “I really need you to go. Please.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“No?”
“Emphatically, no.” He smiled. “At least, not for long. Where are you going to tonight?”
“Church,” she murmured.
“Fine. I’ll come and pick you up. What time?”
“You don’t need to do that. It’s just a couple of blocks away.”
“What time?”
She looked at him with frustration. “Stavros, you’re not making it easy to walk away from you.”
“Good. I don’t plan to. You’re stuck with me.” He winked and her heart turned over. “What time?”
“Six.”
“I’ll see you then.”
She watched him disappear with a heart that was simultaneously sinking and soaring into the heavens. She watched him leave and could only be grateful that he would soon be back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CLAUDIA NOTICED TWO THINGS when Stavros returned, fifteen minutes before six.
He’d taken the concept of ‘dressing for Church’ to a whole new level. He wore a dark blue suit that showed off the depth of his tan, with a crisp white shirt and a grey tie. He looked impossibly handsome.
And he had a duffel bag over his shoulder.
A collection of fabric, stitched together, and yet it switched something inside of her on. A bag was a sign of something. Something like a promise. Something that spoke of intention.
“Hi.” She said, the word still tense, uncertain. Not trusting anyone had become a habit, one she didn’t feel sure she knew how to break.
His eyes glittered. “Where is your bedroom?”
Her breath hitched in her throat. “Why?”
“Because, agape mou, I need to store this somewhere.” He lifted the bag, as if she hadn’t already clocked it.
“Upstairs. First door on the right.”
He nodded, and made to walk past her, but then paused abruptly. His kiss was light. Almost a kiss of greeting. But her stomach lurched and twisted.
She wanted more.
