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She took a long, visible breath, but did not object. Because she was not a stupid woman, Constantine knew. And she was not in the dark as to why she was here, any more than he was.
“My mother has always fancied herself a businesswoman of sorts,” Molly said, her voice ever so slightly strained. She moved further into the study that he knew she hadn’t seen since she was still a teenager. It was unchanged. He watched with interest as she took that in, her gaze moving with arctic precision from the ponderous choice of art on the walls to the crystal decanter on the sideboard, which was the last in a long line of similar decanters his father had shattered against the wall. Such pleasant memories. “This is not a business in the sense of Skalas & Sons, of course. What is? But whenever she found herself with some money—”
“Such as her divorce settlement,” Constantine interjected silkily. “Three million euros to silently go away when she should have done so on her own, had she the faintest shred of shame.”
Molly ignored that. He hoped it was hard. “She did some investing, here and there. And she began to imagine herself something of a hotel mogul.”
“Surely that would be better termed a delusion and used to secure medical attention.” Constantine laughed when Molly’s frigid gaze swept to him. “I have many hotels. In my personal portfolio, not underneath the Skalas & Sons umbrella. I hardly think a few poorly chosen boutique options scattered about the globe make a mogul. But to each her own.”
“Funny you should mention those few boutique hotels,” Molly said softly, her gaze on him. “Because, wouldn’t you know it, she’s completely overextended herself and faces total financial ruin, because someone leveraged them right out from under her.”
“What a sad story this is,” Constantine murmured. “How lucky she must be that she has an internationally famous daughter who she can lean upon for support in such troubled times. Troubled times she brought upon herself, but I digress.”
“I hate to continually tell you things you already know,” Molly said, her voice acidic. She picked up a photograph from one of the incidental tables. A seemingly happy family shot until one looked closer and saw the look of worry on young Balthazar’s face, the mutiny on Constantine’s, and their father’s grim expression that promised retribution.
If he recalled correctly, that time, Demetrius had beaten them both.
Ah, the manifold joys of family, Constantine thought dryly.
“But I know so little,” he said. “Ask anyone.”
Molly turned back to him then, and her gaze was a little too clever for his liking. Only because clever women boded ill, always. It was his own personal curse that he preferred them.
Not that his usual choice of paramour would make that clear.
His typical selections bored him, but they were beautiful. And the more vacant the woman on his arm, the more it was assumed that he, too, must also be shallow to his very core no matter how good he was at making money. He encouraged it.
Better that no one should ever see him coming.
“Since she left England to marry your father, my mother has always had one scheme or another,” Molly told him. “Before these hotels, it was her own fashion line. Before the fashion line, she fell for at least three different scams.”
He affected a vaguely sympathetic expression. “Con men abound.”
“I used to think that she just had spectacularly bad luck,” she agreed. She even smiled, though it was a cold curve of her famous lips. “Recent events have made it clear to me that no, she has one, very powerful enemy. And has always had this enemy.”
Molly glared at him. Constantine grinned.
“That sounds ghastly,” he said. “What do you suppose she might have done to gain such an enemy, if one exists?”
“Since you asked,” Molly said, folding her arms before her, “she had the terrible misfortune of believing a horrible man when he claimed to be in love with her. Only in the end, lo and behold, it turned out he was not. But she only discovered that after a disastrous marriage that came complete with two unpleasant stepsons who made her life a living hell.”
“Surely her choice of husband was the living hell she chose because it came alongside so much money,” Constantine replied, his tone as smooth as it was dark. “These bargains are always so tawdry, are they not? But tell me, what sort of woman blames her stepchildren for her venal little choices?”
“Oh, you mistake me.” Molly sounded as dark as he did, though three times as cold. And her gaze should have frozen him solid. “She doesn’t blame anyone.Shedoesn’t look back. But I do.”
Constantine wanted to share his thoughts on the dreadful Isabel, Molly’s mother, who should never have been permitted to set foot on Skalas property. Much less take up residence here. When all she should ever have been to Demetrius was a night’s amusement. Possibly two. Whomarriedthe housekeeper after a weekend at a business acquaintance’s old pile in the English countryside? Who then paraded about with a housekeeper on his arm?
Only Demetrius.
“Blame is such a funny thing, is it not?” he asked. “Oddly enough, I, too, have those I blame for the misfortunes that have befallen both me and my family. For my part, I find that what goes well with blame is power. For one is whining. The other is winning. And, Molly, you should know by now that I always, always win.”
“I’m tired of playing this game,” she replied, her gaze like ice. “You know that my mother is near enough to ruined and I’m on the verge of bankruptcy. You know it because you did it.”
“I have had no interaction with you whatsoever since you were a depressed teenager,” Constantine said mildly. “I suspect you are well aware that we’ve been at the same parties, from time to time, yet we somehow managed never to speak. How could I possibly be responsible for your inability to handle your finances?”
“She’s my mother, Constantine.” That was the first crack. The first hint of her emotions, and it was all he’d hoped for, a flash of deep, dark blue and that catch in her throat. “What am I supposed to do? Throw her out into the streets?”
He shrugged. “It sounds like that would be a good start if, as you say, she has had such...terrible luck.”
