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“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Our father will protect us,” Trinity responds. “Right, Kayla?”
Our middle sister’s conspicuous silence confirms that she knows more about our father than she’s let on.
“Kayla?” Trin’s questioning gaze hurts.
I don’t want to be the one to tell her and from Kayla’s down-turned face, neither does she.
“We aren’t going home, Trin. We’ll have to make do on our own.”
As if he’s lost patience, Aris grabs my hand and pulls me into his side. His hand rests on my waist, his grip is unyielding but not painful. “My invitation won’t expire, as long as what you do doesn’t threaten my wife. The guards are here for your protection, and I’ll give you access to accounts in your names. Your sister will be in touch.”
CHAPTER SIX
Chicago’s skyline comes into view, sparking a wave of homesickness. But my yearning for my family home and daily routine doesn’t cause me to swing around and face Aris for the first time since leaving my sisters; choking dread does.
“You can’t be thinking what I think you are.” I point to the urban streets we pass that should be a highway getting us out of the state. “We’re headed toward my neighborhood where my father’s people will see me and alert him. They’ll take us captive while we wait for my father to return from Greece.”
Aris takes my shaking hands in his. His hold is big and warm, imparting reassurance to an uncomfortable situation when I have every right to freak out. “That won’t happen, trust me.”
His words should chill me. This man abducted me and preyed upon my fears to trap me in marriage. Nothing has changed about these facts. Yet, I can’t deny that they all pale compared to one inescapable truth; Aris freed my sisters and me. Now I won’t have to face death after attempting to murder the Arroyo’s golden boy. A small part of me already trusts Aris, but he doesn’t need to know that he’s winning me over.
He’s winning me over. The thought causes me to frown.
Aris pulls me into a one-armed hug and presses his lips to my forehead. “People like to underestimate people like us. They either learn what we’re capable of or die before they figure it out.”
“People like us?”
“The undervalued. Our families use us as tools to further their own goals. It’s up to us to show them they’re wrong.”
I pull away from the safety of his embrace. “I don’t see how that applies to you.”
Aris arches his brow. His silence urges me to continue.
“No one would undervalue you. You obviously are good at what you do, you command men with frighteningly efficient skills, and you have the money to back up your wild schemes. Case in point, you trafficked three women out of Greece.”
“You call it trafficking, I say I engineered a humanitarian rescue effort.”
His dry response startles a chuckle out of me. His lip quirks up in response, the first sign that he has a sense of humor. Although the twitch does nothing to transform his features, it transfixes me and causes my heart to thump. If a small movement of his mouth can hold me spellbound, what would a smile do? I doubt it will soften his severe features, but it could be lethal on a face I’m beginning to find devastatingly handsome with every interaction we share.
“Aniyah, you and I are at different stages in our evolution. I’ve won my battles, yours are just beginning. Unlike me, you won’t have to go yours without support. You aren’t alone.”
“I find that hard to believe. Cinderella stories don’t happen in the real world.”
“They do, but they’re dark and without happy endings if Cinderella is too weak to fight for themself.” He turns his head to peer outside. “We’ve arrived.”
The car slows to a stop and the driver opens the door to us. We’re on Dearborn Street in front of a four-story home. Ferb leaps out of the car and races to the door. Aris more leisurely leads me up the entry steps. While I mull his words, we enter the house.
If the entryway is anything to go by, this house is nothing like the one we left. The minimalist furnishings don’t do justice to the space and make the house feel unfinished.
“Are you hungry?” Aris heads down the hall.
My stomach grumbles, propelling me to follow his lead. We enter a kitchen.
“Do you have allergies? Foods you don’t eat?” He raids the fridge.
“Olives.”
He swivels his head, his brows raised in skepticism. “How did you find enough to eat in Greece?”
