She’d never thought that a man so hard and impassive, so seemingly wrought of iron, would do something so mundane as visit his ex-father-in-law.
It was...interesting, she couldn’t deny it. She was married to this man, after all, and while technically she didn’t have to stay married to him, she had given her word she’d spend two weeks of every season with him. And she was here now.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to get to know him, as he’d said.
Anyway, that was the least of her worries. She’d been thinking more and more about Athena, still trapped in that place. Kept in luxury and pampered, it was true, but still a prisoner.
Vasiliev needed taking down.
You can help her.
Rose bit her lip, staring sightlessly at the villa. Well, she wanted to, but how? She had no money and no power. And she didn’t know anyone who... Wait a second...
Ares.
Yes, he could help. He had the money and the power. He had the means, and she was his wife. She could ask him, couldn’t she? He might not agree—it was difficult to tell what he thought about anything—but... Maybe she wasn’t without something to bargain with.
She touched the knot of her sarong, remembering how his gaze had dropped there when she’d fussed around tying it. There had been heat in his gaze and perhaps she could use that. He’d said he wasn’t going to do anything no matter how she played with that knot, but was he really as controlled as he made out? He’d declined the first time she’d offered herself, up in that room in the compound, and he’d just refused her now, which meant a straight-up offer of sex didn’t move him.
She would have to do something more.
Still thinking, Rose slipped off the sun lounger and walked towards the big glass doors of the villa, stepping inside.
The past week she’d spent here on her own had been very pleasant. She’d done nothing but swim and lie around the pool reading books she’d found in the small library near her own room. In fact, she hadn’t been able to get enough of books. She’d been given a bare minimum of an education in Vasiliev’s compound, enough to read and write and some basic sums, so in the past three months she’d gorged herself on information.
She loved reading. There was something about escaping into another world and joining the characters of whatever book she was in the middle of, experiencing their journey with them that was very exciting. And it wasn’t just fiction she devoured, but nonfiction too, all kinds from science to technology, history to philosophy, and everything in between.
Most of the books in the library were in English, but there were a few in a strange-looking language that she’d discovered was Greek. The script looked familiar to her, which was even stranger, though she couldn’t imagine why.
She moved down the wide, breezy hallway, the dark wood of the floor gleaming as she made her way to her bedroom. It was situated in one wing of the villa that overlooked sharp cliffs, a green, translucent sea swirling around the base. The big windows were open to let in the humid air, while slatted screens drawn across them prevented any rogue insects.
A big four-poster bed piled high with white pillows was pushed up against one wall, the frothy mosquito net canopy pulled back. The bed had been made by the villa’s staff and she’d run a professional eye over it before she could stop herself. Initially she’d been suspicious of the staff here and had asked the housekeeper many questions about whether they were actually staff who’d been hired and who were paid regularly, since her experience of staff in rich people’s houses was that ‘staff’ was a very loose term. But the housekeeper had patiently explained that yes, the people who worked here were indeed staff and that Mr Aristiades paid them well.
She’d been encouraged by that, but not enough to trust him, of course.
Wandering over to the big dresser carved in a gleaming, dark wood, Rose pulled open a couple of drawers, thinking. When she’d arrived, she’d found the wardrobe and the dresser full of clothes and all in her size. Ares had obviously prepared for her even though she’d brought her own meagre supply of clothing.
Everything was beautifully made, in gorgeous fabrics, and obviously very expensive, and secretly she loved that he’d provided a few extra items. She’d had to check with the housekeeper—the poor woman had the patience of a saint—about why there were clothes in the drawers and the housekeeper had been very clear that they were for her. So, she’d spent at least a couple of hours going through all the beautiful things and admiring them. She’d never had anything so beautiful, and she found herself being slightly less suspicious of him than she’d been before. But only slightly. She still needed to be cautious.
Now, she rifled through a drawer and pulled out a gorgeous silk sarong in vivid golds and blues. There were gowns hanging in the wardrobe, but she didn’t want to wear a gown for dinner tonight. She didn’t want to look as if she was trying too hard. Yet she also wanted to look beautiful, because if she was going to bargain with him, she needed something to offer. Herself.
Again.
Yes, again. She just had to find out what would move him. What would...seduce him.
She held the sarong up and examined it critically. It was a little see-through, but not too much. At least, she hoped it wasn’t too much because perhaps it was temptation he needed. A glimpse of what he could have, rather than everything immediately.
Carrying the sarong over to the bed, she laid it down on the white quilt.
Was she really going to do this? She’d spent years avoiding men’s gazes, afraid of their touch, yet now she was considering actively courting one man’s attention.
A man she didn’t know and didn’t trust. A man who’d bought her and married her, yet freed her.
She didn’t understand that. When a man wanted something, he took it; that had been her experience and so while she understood him buying her and agreeing to marry her, she still didn’t understand why he’d then let her go. Or why he wanted to ‘get to know her.’ Or ‘dinner.’ In the helicopter that night, he’d mentioned teaching her what it meant to be a wife, which had been kind of patronising of him, but was all of this part of the lesson?
Whatever, she wasn’t here to understand him. She was here because she’d agreed to come, and her word was important to her. And because she’d decided that, since she was here she might as well use him the way he was using her.
She touched the silk on the bed, the material light and insubstantial against her fingertips.