Knowledge was power. She must stack her arsenal to trump the powerful Greek she’d married.
Her past folly. She shook her shoulders. But it would not become her present, and certainly not her future. She fumbled in her step, and a smile feathered her mouth. Her future waited at home.
A moment later, she stood outside the near empty Le Bar. The fashion trendsetters would soon be descending to the delight of the cocktail waitresses waiting for customers and subsequent tips. Julia inhaled and exhaled several puffs of air, swiped her damp palms on her thighs, flicked a stray strand of hair off her shoulders and with her head held high marched into the intimately lit lounge. The melody from the pianist wrapped around her, soothing, but then turned abrasive.
She saw him.
A trickle of moisture between her breasts, her mouth went dry. He lounged at a table in the far corner of the room with drink in hand and clicked off a call on his phone.
Her heart thudded. Memories flooded her mind. Bittersweet, and she wished…but no, he’d destroyed everything they’d shared.
Destroyed her.
At that precise moment, he glanced her way, and the blue intensity of his eyes tacked her to the spot. Shockwaves ripped through her, rocking her world anew. She ground her teeth, determined not to feel anything for this man, except indifference.
The best defense was a good offense, so she stormed across the floor to his table. He at least had the good manners to stand up.
“Julia,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice jolting her senses.
“Michalis,” she murmured, her tone cool.
For a second or two neither one of them said anything, then he mocked a cough.
Resentment gnawed her insides. Not even a hello from him. This did not bode well.
“A drink?” he offered, motioning her to sit down.
“No thank you,” she murmured, standing her ground.
He sat back down, noted her defiance and waved to the waitress. “A sparkling water with lime.”
“You’ll have to drink it, Michalis.”
He hiked a brow, and sipped his bourbon on the rocks, his dark gaze glued on her. He only ever had one drink, max, of the hard stuff. Discipline. He always wanted to be in control of his faculties.
She smirked. In charge of everything and everyone. Including her. She wondered if the control tactics extended to his family. Then she blinked, realizing she knew very little about the man she married. It had been a whirlwind romance, a spur of the moment wedding at Our Lady Tourliani Monastery on Mykonos.
Emotion surged inside her, nearly suffocating her. She drew in a breath and exhaled a breath. A celebrity style wedding loomed on the horizon afterward he’d hinted. Under his magnetic spell, like a fool, she believed him. But no more. The magic had vaporized.
Then why are you quaking, and why is your heart pounding? She ignored the self-inflicted taunt, and at that moment, her stomach rumbled. Mortified, she slapped her hand over her abdomen.
“Hungry?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“No.” She’d skipped lunch and dinner to ensure she fit into the gowns, but seeing him again had made her lose her appetite. A sliver of a grin brushed her mouth. Something good might come out of this after all—a few lost pounds.
“Something amusing?” he asked, tone dry.
She shook her head and plunged into the depths. “Why are you here?”
He snared her in his sights. “Sit down and I’ll tell you.”
Julia collapsed onto the velvet chair and licked her lips, the cherry flavor of her lipstick spiking her taste-buds.
He shuttered his eyes, his jaw granite hard, and his grip on the tumbler tightened.
“Okay, I’m sitting,” she said, her tone defiant.
He remained silent and, swirling the liquid in his glass, kept her on tenterhooks. A delay maneuver? A control tactic?
Julia took the moment of reprieve to study him. A Ralph Lauren jacket framed his broad shoulders, the Trump original tie a contrast to the white shirt stretched across his chest. His chiseled features bespoke of his Greek ancestry, his skin tanned, his hands…strong, capable, tender…in the way he’d touched her, held her, stroked her…loved her. Anguish tore through her. She’d laid her head on his chest, the swirl of hair tickling her cheek, his heart thundering in her ear…but that had been a million years ago.
Before he—
A whimper built inside her, ready to burst from her mouth, but she couldn’t let him see he still affected her. Too dangerous for her mind, her emotions, her world. She must remain immune to his charm, his magnetism, and his potent sexuality. The whimper came out like a near snort, and he shot her a glacial look.
“I-I can’t stay,” she murmured.
“You’ll stay long enough.” He leaned back, hitched up a trouser leg and crossed one leg over the other.
Cool. Powerful. Wealthy.
She reached for the drink he’d ordered, took a sip and the fizz tickled her nose, the taste of lime fresh upon her tongue. Slowly she set it back on the table, controlling the temptation to hurl it in his face. But only just.
Impeccable in his suit, he exuded a debonair flair of the lifestyle of the wealthy and the beautiful. She’d been the opposite. Casual and ordinary in jeans, halter-top and sandals, her sunburned nose magnifying her freckles. Except when the fashion pros worked their magic, transforming her into a human mannequin, and every man’s fantasy.
“I deserve an answer, Michalis.” She foolishly imagined he’d been captivated by the real her, not the plastic copy, but obviously she’d been wrong. Plastic deteriorated. And so had their marriage.
Jitters sprang inside her, and she cupped the water glass with her hands, the condensation cooling her palms. If he so easily trampled on their marriage vows, he’d just as easily demolish her life again…for no other reason than daring to challenge him…daring to leave him…daring to keep a secret.
“You do deserve an answer,” he said, his tone cool, hard. “As I do.”
“What do you mean?” She bolted upright, letting go of the glass and gripping the arms of the chair.
“Hit a nerve, have I?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” she fired back, but didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Perhaps this’ll refresh your memory, yineka mou.”
“Don’t call me that…I’m not your wife.” Not if he could betray her like he had, the image branded her brain cells.
“Technically, you are—” He leveled her with a look that rammed her ribs into her backbone, squashing her heart. “—until the divorce papers are signed.”
Her heart flipped, but then relief rushed through her. He didn’t know. He was here because of the divorce.
She squinted at him. “You could’ve done that from Greece.”
“What, and not see your beautiful face again?” he mocked. “You can have your divorce, Julia.”
“Di-ivorce.” The word grated her tongue like gravel. “Y-yes.”
“But there is a penalty.”
Her