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CHAPTER NINE
ITWASONEof the lesser-known benefits of being very wealthy, Achileas thought, settling back on the sofa, and stretching out his legs, that time became somewhat irrelevant. You could never be late or early, because essentially you were the board meeting or the dinner party or the charity lunch. When you arrived, everything started. And whenever you decided to leave there was always a car waiting at the kerb to take you where you wanted to go next.
But, rich or poor, some things didn’t change. And that was why he was sitting here fully dressed, waiting for Effie. Or was it Josephine? He liked both names, but if he was being honest what he liked most was knowing that she was his Josephine. That nobody else had ever called her by that name.
If he was being honest.
The words rolled around inside his head like a bottle on a bar room floor. Only he wasn’t being honest. Far from it.
And maybe at the beginning that had been the right, the only thing to do. He hadn’t been about to share the details of his life with some random chambermaid. But there was nothing random about his relationship with Effie now. And he had known all along he would have to share some essential truths about himself with her.
He’d told himself the right time would present itself.
And he’d been correct: it had.
Spotting The Tiphys at sea had been not just the right but the perfect time to tell her about his father. To admit the truth of their relationship—if that was even the correct word for it.
Only then Effie had made an assumption...the wrong assumption. She had mistakenly thought that the reason he didn’t share a surname with Andreas was down to some kind of noble desire on his part to strike out on his own.
She had looked up at him, those huge amber eyes filled with such wonder, and even though he’d known that it had nothing at all to do with him—that the man she was imagining didn’t actually exist—he had been momentarily lost in what it would feel like to deserve that look. If he had truly been that man, instead of one with bitter resentment in his heart.
After that, there had been no way he could tell her that he hadn’t chosen to be Achileas Kane. That his father had not just withheld the name of Alexios but denied his paternity, disowned the very existence of his son.
But it wasn’t just about him.
Nothing was any more, it seemed.
It was about Effie, too, and she was essentially a good person. If he told her the truth about his father’s behaviour, then it would be hard not to reveal that his motives for marriage were a lot less altruistic than he was making out. And for some reason her respect, her believing him to be a good son, mattered.
Mattered more than punishing his father.
His spine stiffened. Was that true?
For longer than he could remember he had wanted to get even with Andreas. To take back what was rightfully his.
All those years he had worked sixteen, twenty hours a day, six days a week, sometimes seven, to build his empire, he had lived and breathed that goal. This engagement to Effie was supposed to be his way of making it happen. Besting his father’s lie with one of his own—a better one.
Only each decision he made had some knock-on effect he hadn’t considered—like some giant game of cosmic pinball. That was why he had ended up asking her to the Galanólefki Ball...to distract her, and to distract himself from the hidden truths he was keeping.
And a part of him wanted to go, wanted to play Prince Charming to her Cinderella. To see her smile. To make her smile.
But mostly he just wanted to stay here, with her. For it to be just the two of them. He wanted to be able to reach out and touch her, to watch her eyes widen as he found the sweet spot inside her that made her body twitch as if she couldn’t control it—
Gritting his teeth against the serrated edge of hunger sawing into his groin, he got to his feet and walked across the room to stand by the open French windows. Maybe he would call it off...tell her he was feeling sick.
Not tonight, Josephine, he thought, a reluctant smile pulling at the corners of his mouth—
‘Achileas?’
His heart thudded against his ribs. He still hadn’t got used to the way she said his name—as if it was a prayer, or a poem...a promise, even.
But as he spun round, he forgot about his name. He forgot to breathe.
Effie was standing in the doorway.
This time he had told her to choose a dress she liked. No budget. Just something that made her feel comfortable in her own skin.
A slow, crawling tension slid over him. Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea. In fact, he was beginning to think that he should have insisted on a dress that focused on his comfort.
