‘It hardly matters—it was five years ago,’ he said sardonically.
‘You lied to me and every person you met on Illya.’
You lied to him too, her conscience reminded her, and she felt her cheeks flame as she recalled how her one lie had been the most grievous of all, a remembrance that knocked back a little of her fury and allowed her to gain a touch of perspective.
Her lie had been the catalyst for everything.
He contemplated her a little longer before leaning back against the wall and folding his arms across his chest.
‘Let me tell you about life here on Agon,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Outsiders struggle to understand but Agonites revere my family and have done so for over eight hundred years, ever since my ancestor Ares Patakis led a successful rebellion against the Venetian invaders.’
‘Patakis?’ she repeated. ‘Is that where you got your assumed surname from?’
He nodded. ‘My family have held the throne since then by overwhelming popular consent. With my family at the helm we’ve repelled any other nation foolish enough to think it can invade us. To prevent any despotic behaviour down the years my ancestors introduced a senate, for the people to have a voice, but still they look to us—their royal family—for leadership.’
Theseus’s mind filtered to his father; the man who would have been king if a tragic car crash hadn’t killed him prematurely along with his wife, Theseus’s mother. Lelantos Kalliakis had been exactly the kind of man his ancestors had feared taking the throne and having absolute power. Yet, regardless of how debauched and narcissistic the man had been, the Agonites had mourned him as if a member of their own family had been killed. His sons, however, had only truly mourned their mother.
‘We live in a goldfish bowl. The people here look up to my family. They revere us. Children on this island learn to read with picture books depicting tales of my ancestors. I wanted to meet real people and explore the world as a normal person would. I was curious as to how people would react to me—the man, not the Prince. So, yes, I lied to you about my true identity, just as I lied to everyone else. And if I had my time again I would tell the same lies, because they gave me a freedom I hadn’t experienced before and will never experience again.’
The majority of this speech was one he had spouted numerous times, first to his grandfather, when he’d announced his intention to see the world, and then to his brothers, who’d seen his actions as a snub to the family name. After a lifetime of bad behaviour, when he’d effectively turned his back on protocol, taking off and renouncing the family name had been his most heinous crime of all. Even now he was still trying to make amends.
‘If I hurt your feelings I apologise,’ he added when she gave no response.
He didn’t owe Jo anything, but neither did he want working with her to be a trial. There wasn’t time to bring in anyone else to complete the biography and they’d already lost three precious days.
If getting her to soften towards him meant he had to eat a little humble pie, then so be it. He would accept it as penance for the greater good.
And, if he was being honest with himself, apologising went a little way towards easing the guilt that had been nibbling at his guts.
The only change in her demeanour was a deep breath and the clenching of her jaw. When she did speak it was through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t even know what to call you. Are you Theo or Theseus? Do I address you as Your Highness or Your Grace? Am I expected to curtsey to you?’
In the hazy realms of his memory lay the whisper of her shy smile and the memory of how her cheeks would turn as red as her hair whenever he spoke to her.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to call him Theo. Being Theo had been the best time of his life...
No. He would not let those memories spring free. He’d locked them away for a reason and they could damn well stay there.
‘You can call me Theseus. And no curtseying.’
Having people bow and scrape to him turned his stomach. All his life people had treated him with a reverence he’d done nothing to earn other than be born.
She nodded, biting her bottom lip. And what a gorgeous lip it was, he thought. How eminently kissable. He’d kissed that delectable mouth once...
‘I ask you to put your bad feelings towards me to one side so we can work together effectively. Can you do that?’
After a long pause she inclined her head and her long red hair fell forward. She brushed it back and tucked it behind her ears.
‘Do you remember the night those American travellers came into Marin’s Bar?’ she asked, in a voice that was definitely milder than the tone she’d used so far. ‘You were with the Scandinavians on the big round table...’