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As the early morning’s rays pierced through the crack in the curtains, Lykos pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the migraine that had started shortly after she’d handed him the list she’d made last night.
He should have known better. Really, he should have at least set some parameters. The list had been both shocking and not, and he’d sent her to her suite to order herself room service just to put some space between them. Because last night, instead of seeing Marit as a spoilt runaway princess, or even the key to getting shares in Kozlov’s company, he’d seen a young girl being forced into a life she did not want. And it had reminded him of the way his mother used to look at him. Distaste and discomfort had swirled in his gut, leaving him with a bad taste in his mouth even now.
I was always going to go back.
That Marit seemed willing was unfathomable to him, and Lykos wasn’t sure that it made anything about the situation remotely okay. He could see what she’d been trying to do with André now. Could even admit that in her position he might have done something similar. He shook his head and cursed.
What was her brother playing at? She was clearly too young to be married off to some stranger and forced to produce heirs like a broodmare. He would never understand that life, their kind. The kind for whom money, tradition and status dictated a life path no one in their right mind would choose. And her future husband would have to be titled. That spoke of extreme snobbery at best, and whispered of eugenics at worst.
But Lykos had made a deal. Unlike his father or Kyros, when he gave his word he meant it. Even if Marit made him question it. From the moment he’d arrived in London, the sting of Kyros’s betrayal burning hot and hard in his heart, Lykos had realised that neither his mentor nor his father were models for the man he wanted to be. So he’d sat in that hotel room and decided: remade himself to who he wanted to be. He would never allow himself to be in that situation again. The only person he could trust was himself. And his words, his acts and his reputation were the only things that could never be taken from him. Aleksander had asked him to keep her from Svardia for five days and he would.
Five days. After her quite spectacular disappearing act, Lykos had imagined he’d spend the entire week trying to catch sand. But since the music venue the fight had gone out of her. The bone-deep defeat had reminded him of his mother and he’d hated seeing the same look in Marit’s eyes. So when she’d started talking of things she’d wanted to do before she returned to Svardia, the solution had been clear. He would help her fulfil her wishes, and hopefully that would occupy her enough that she wouldn’t cause any more trouble.
Entering the living area, he looked through the French windows to see the sunrise pouring across a pale blue horizon above the Milan skyline as he thought about the list of things Marit had scribbled on the pad. She’d spent such a long time on it that he’d thought her list would fill the entire page. Instead, only seven lines had been filled.
Ice cream in the park.
He’d expected that; after all, she’d said as much in the bar last night.
Eat at a café on the pavement like normal people.
Equally expected and completely doable.
Twenty-four hours out of sight and contact from the world.
Too easy. At this point, Lykos was more than happy to lock her in her room for a day. But some of the others... He squinted at the paper as if it might bring on the headache.
Go to a concert.
A little trickier.
Dance until my feet hurt.
Not impossible.
A tattoo.
His pulse raced a little more. No way was he going to be responsible for returning Marit to Aleksander indelibly marked with ink.
And then there was the last item on the list.
A date.
He felt the vibrations from the slide of the French windows in the adjacent suite and watched Marit walk towards the balcony railing, her hair strands of gold gently rippled by the wind.
He should have left her alone, used the time instead to figure out how on earth he was going to fulfil this list. Maybe even catch up on some sleep, which had been even more elusive than usual. But it was as if there were a piece of string tied between them; where she went he would follow and he felt the tug of it now, low in his gut, undeniable and irrefutable. It was the promise, he told himself as he followed it out onto the balcony.
Marit’s gaze stayed locked on the horizon, even though she must have heard the slide of the French windows.
‘It’s early,’ he stated.
‘Would you lounge in bed if you had five days of freedom?’
‘Yes, actually.’
‘Says the man who can do whatever he wants whenever he wants.’ She turned to him then, frowning, as if she took in the shadows beneath his eyes. ‘You have trouble sleeping.’
He nodded once, surprised that the gesture raised the corner of her lips into a half-smile.
