He gave her another one of those long, speculative looks, then nodded in the direction of the priest.
Ignoring the strange clutch of trepidation, Rose moved over to where he stood, sensing the scarred man’s huge, powerful presence at her side.
Her heartbeat was uncomfortably loud in her head as the priest began to say the words of the ceremony, but she didn’t hesitate when it came to speaking her vows. And then she listened to his rough, scraping voice saying those same words.
‘I, Ares Aristiades...’
Ares Aristiades. So, that was his name.
He didn’t look at her as he said the words. She might as well not have been in the room. Not that she cared. This wasn’t a marriage in any sense of the word, not yet. That would come later, and really, that was the least of her worries now.
She had greater concerns, such as what was going to happen next.
At the end of the ceremony, there were documents to sign, which she did.
‘You don’t have a second name?’ the scarred man—Ares—asked, the first words he’d said personally to her since the ceremony.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I had one once, but I can’t remember what it was. I’m just Rose.’
What he thought of that, she had no idea since he betrayed no reaction to the news whatsoever.
A few minutes later, a copy of the document was given to her.
‘Here,’ said Ares. ‘Your marriage certificate.’
Rose looked down and saw her own name.Rose Aristiades.
It gave her a little jolt. For years and years, she’d had no last name. For years and years, she’d only been Rose. But now she wasn’t. She had a last name now and a connection to someone.
She had a husband.
She looked up at him, but he’d already turned away, heading towards the door. He paused in the doorway and glanced back at her, enigmatic as a sphinx. ‘I will see you in three months, Rose.’
Then he was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
Summer
ARESSTOODINthe middle of the villa’s living area, looking through the big windows that faced the pool area, the deep, vivid green of the sea beyond it.
The pool was white stone and organically shaped with lots of flowing curves, and an infinity edge facing the ocean. Sun loungers in dark teak with white linen cushions stood around the pool, shaded by large white sun umbrellas. The garden surrounding the pool was lush and tropical, the scent of hibiscus and salt hanging heavy in the humid air flowing through the open windows of the villa.
A woman lay on one of the loungers. She was on her front, her head pillowed on her folded arms, the fading blue dye in her hair no match for the deep honey gold shining through it. The red bikini she wore fitted her as beautifully as he thought it would, lush curves spilling out of it, the sun highlighting a wealth of smooth, golden skin.
A sarong had been draped across the end of the lounger and on the low wooden table next to it stood a tall glass of orange juice and a book.
She’d been here in his villa, on a private island just near Koh Samui in Thailand, for a week already, which left him with only one more week of her presence. A pity, but he hadn’t been able to get away sooner.
He’d wondered if she’d keep her promise to him when the time had arrived for their first two weeks. He’d thought the lure of travel might be enough, especially given the gleam he’d seen in her big golden eyes that night in the helicopter when he’d mentioned his different homes. And indeed, that seemed to be the case since here she was.
His wife. The little maid. Rose.
You should not have agreed to marry her.
No, perhaps he shouldn’t have. Perhaps the urge that had taken him that night hadn’t been one he should have listened to. He’d rescued her, as he’d promised, and he’d have given her all the help she’d needed to build a life for herself. He didn’t require payment and he’d made certain that she knew that.
Except she’d insisted. She owed him, she’d said, a fierce light gleaming in her pretty eyes. He’d bought her and so she owed him.