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Helena’s room doesn’t have any of that. Not even a stuffed animal. It’s cold and gray—devoid of any of the light and color that Helena brings to this world. It’s lifeless and therefore nothing she should grow up in. I force myself to put my observations away. There’s not much I can do to help and in three years she will be moving in with me. So, for now, I need to concentrate on what I can help with and that means giving her medicine so that her stomach stops hurting her and she could eat and rest.
I turn my head to look at Helena. She’s still holding her stomach, but there’s a smile on her pale pink lips. Her eyes are closed, she looks beautiful and way too innocent. Her long blonde hair needs a wash, but it still shines against her pillow. Her sun-kissed skin glows despite her pain. Her long, lithe legs are too damn tempting, but then even Helena’s toes with soft melon colored polish on them are sexy. When she opens her blue eyes, her smile deepens as she looks at me. I resist the physical reaction that I have in response—reminding myself that she may look like a woman and, although she is technically legal, Helena is still too young for me. I owe it to her to let her get a couple more years under her belt. If I’m truthful about the whole affair, I’d like to take her home now. I can’t do that. My father would torment me with her, and I’d have to kill the bastard—not having enough firepower to cover my ass. That would leave me in jail—or dead—and Aden and Atlas to terrorize everyone that I care about—and that would be Helena and Melina. My brothers would do it, too. They’re almost as evil as my father. They’re also two of the main reasons that I haven’t overthrown the bastard yet. The day is coming and if I have to take my brothers down too, I will. I’ve already started making alliances to support me in my coup. I know I don’t have room for error. There’s too much at stake. I have to make sure when I do this, I’m successful. That’s why I’ve waited for Melina to get of age.
“That smells good,” she whispers, her voice sweet and quiet. That’s another thing that I appreciate about Helena. I’ve heard her laughing and joking with Melina and although they get loud, Helena’s voice is always understated and calming.
Perfect.
With the hell my life has in it, calming is exactly what I want to fill my home.
“I’m afraid the staff is at a minimum with your father out of town,” I mutter, trying to keep my anger out of my voice. Did the bastard not think his daughter needed care too? “Still the cook had some rizogalo left over from breakfast. I was afraid that would be too sweet, and you wanted salty, so I remembered your father had the staff serve us tiropita during our meeting. I had her heat a few up. Won’t be as good as fresh, but they should hit that salt craving.”
“Not sure I’m up to the rice, but tiropita sounds delicious,” she confesses, struggling to sit up while I place her tray over her lap.
“First thing is first,” I tell her grabbing her pain medication and water. The woman in the kitchen said you prefer water with lemon, but I can always go get you—”
“No, this is perfect. Thank you. I wasn’t expecting it.” She stops talking as she swallows her pills. Once that is done, she looks up at me tentatively. “Do you want one?” she asks, holding up one of the cheesy concoctions and reaching it toward me.
I shake my head. “I’m good.”
“Are you leaving?” she asks, after taking a bite and I shake my head.
“I can stay for a little while to make sure you’re okay. Besides, it’s past time we should visit.”
“I’d like that. I was starting to think you regretted entering into the agreement.”
“You’re young,” I respond, which isn’t exactly an answer, but lets her know where my head is.
“I’m old enough to understand. I’m not a child, Marco.”
“You are compared to me,” I counter.
“I’m eighteen now. I can buy my own alcohol. If the powers that be say I’m adult enough to do that, I’m pretty sure they are saying I’m old enough to have a husband. You do realize I was at consenting age when I agreed to our marriage.”
She takes a bite, and chews at it like she wishes it was my head. For some reason that makes me want to grin. I don’t, but the urge is there.
“You are a child at fifteen and even sixteen. I don’t care what the laws in Greece say,” I grumble. “You need to experience life.”
