by Jennie Lucas
Daisy’s jaw dropped. A ballroom! In a house?
The ballroom was big enough to fit three hundred people, with a ceiling thirty feet high. The walls were gilded, and mirrors reflected the light of chandeliers that would have suited Versailles. Waiters wearing black tie walked through holding silver trays with champagne flutes on them. On the small stage, musicians played classical music.
Daisy felt like she’d just fallen through the floor to Wonderland. And there, across the ballroom—
Was that Leo in a tuxedo? Talking to the most famous movie star in the world?
“I’ll tell him you’re here, Miss Cassidy,” Mrs. Berry said. “In the meantime, may I get you a drink?”
“What?” It took her a minute to understand the question. Yes. A stiff drink was an excellent idea. Then she remembered she was pregnant. “Uh...no. Thank you.”
“Please wait here, Miss Cassidy.” The white-haired woman departed with a respectful bow.
Across the crowds, she watched the housekeeper speak quietly to Leo on the other side of the ballroom. He turned, dark and powerful and devastatingly handsome. His eyes met Daisy’s, and she felt a flash of fire.
Nervously, Daisy turned away to stare at a painting on the wall. It was a very nice framed print, a Jackson Pollock she didn’t immediately recognize. Then her lips parted as she realized it probably wasn’t a print. She was looking at a real Jackson Pollock. Just hanging in someone’s home.
Although this didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a royal palace. The castle of the king of New York...
“Daisy.” Leo’s voice was husky and low behind her. “I’m glad you came.”
She whirled around. He was so close. Her knees trembled as her limbs went weak. “The puppy is fine,” she blurted out. “If you were worried.”
“Oh. Good.” His expression didn’t change. He towered over her, powerful and broad shouldered, the focus of all the glamorous guests sipping cocktails in the ballroom. And no wonder. Daisy’s gaze traced unwillingly from his hard jawline, now smoothly shaved, to the sharp cheekbones and his cruel, sensual mouth. How could she tell him she’d fallen in love with him? How could she tell him she was pregnant?
“Thank you for inviting me.” She bit her lip, looking around at the glittering ballroom. “Whose house is this really?”
His black eyes burned through her. “It’s mine.”
She laughed. Then saw he was serious. “But how can it be?” she stammered. Her forehead furrowed. “Are you a member of the staff here?”
“No. I work for Liontari.”
“Is that a store?”
“It’s a company. We own luxury brands around the world.”
“Oh.” She felt relieved. So he did work for a shop. “Your employer owns this mansion? They’re the ones throwing the party?”
“I told you, Daisy. The house is mine.”
“But how?” Did being a salesclerk pay better than she could possibly imagine? Was he the best salesman in the world?
Leo looked down at her, then sighed.
“I never told you my full name,” he said slowly. “Leonidas Gianakos...Niarxos.”
He stared down at her, waiting. A faint warning bell rang at the back of her head. She couldn’t quite remember where she’d heard it before. From the butler at the front door? Or before that? She repeated, “Niarxos?”
“Yes.” And still he waited, watching her. As if he expected some reaction.
“Oh.” Feeling awkward, she said, “So who is this fundraiser for?”
Looking relieved, he named a politician she’d vaguely heard of. She looked around the gilded ballroom. This party was very fancy, that was for sure. She saw people she recognized. Actors. Entrepreneurs. And even—she sucked in her breath. A world-famous artist, which impressed her most of all.
What was Daisy even doing here, with all these chic, glamorous people, people she should properly only read about in magazines or social media, or see on the big screen?
“How—” she began, then her throat dried up.
Across the ballroom, she saw someone else she recognized. Someone she’d glared at every day for a month. Someone she’d never, ever forget. A gray-haired villain in a suit.
Edgar Ross.
The lawyer who’d called the police on her father. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been sitting behind the prosecutor in the courtroom. A ruthless lawyer who worked for an even more ruthless boss, some foreign-born billionaire.
“Daisy?” Leo looked down at her, his handsome face concerned. “What is it?”
“It’s... It’s... What is he—”
At that moment, Edgar Ross himself came over to them, with a pretty middle-aged blonde on his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Niarxos.”
Daisy’s lips parted as Leo greeted the man with a warm handshake. “Good evening.” He gave the blonde a polite peck on the cheek. “Mrs. Ross.”
“It’s a great party. Thanks for inviting us.” Edgar Ross smiled vaguely at Daisy, as if he were trying to place her.
She stared back coldly, shaking with the effort it took not to slap him, wishing she’d taken a glass of champagne after all, so she could throw it in his face. Including the glass.
“Admiring your most recent acquisition?” Ross asked Leo. For a moment, Daisy thought he meant her. Then she realized he was referring to the painting on the wall.
He shrugged. “It’s an investment.”
“Of course,” Ross said, smiling. “It will just have to hold you, until we can find that Picasso, eh?”
The Picasso.
It all clicked horrifyingly into place. Daisy suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Edgar Ross.
The Picasso.
The wealthy billionaire reported to be behind it all. The Greek billionaire.
Leonidas Niarxos.
In the background, the orchestra continued to play, and throughout the ballroom, people continued to talk and laugh. As if the world hadn’t just collapsed.
Daisy slowly turned with wide, stricken eyes.
“Leo,” she choked out, feeling like she was about to faint. Feeling like she was about to die.
He looked down at her, then his expression changed. “No,” he said in a low voice. “Daisy, wait.”
But she was already backing away. Her knees were shaking. The high heel of her shoe twisted, and she barely caught herself from falling.
No. The truth was she hadn’t caught herself. She’d fallen in love with Leo, her first and only lover. He’d taken her virginity. He was the father of her unborn baby.
But Leo didn’t exist.
He was actually Leonidas Niarxos. Edgar Ross’s boss. The Greek billionaire behind everything. The real reason the prosecutor and the judge had thrown the book at her father, penalizing him to the fullest extent of the law, when he should have just been fined in civil court—or better yet, found innocent. But no. With his money and power, Leonidas Niarxos had been determined to get his pound of flesh. The spoiled billionaire, who already owned million-dollar paintings and palaces, hadn’t gotten the toy he wanted, so he’d destroyed her father’s life.
A year ago, when her father had been convicted of forgery, Daisy had been heartbroken, because she’d known he was innocent. Her father was a good man. The best. He never would have broken the law. She’d been shocked and sickened that somehow, in a miscarriage of justice, he’d still been found guilty. Then, six months ago, Patrick had died of a stroke, alone and scared, in a prison surrounded by strangers.
Daisy had vowed that if she ever had the chance, she would take her revenge. She, who’d never wanted to hurt anyone, who always tried to see the best in everyone, wanted vengeance.
But she’d naively given Leo everything. Her smiles. Her kisses. Her body. Her love. She was even carrying his baby, deep inside her.
Daisy
stared up at Leo’s heartbreakingly handsome face. The face she’d loved. So much.
No. He wasn’t Leo. She could never think of him as Leo again.
He was Leonidas Niarxos. The man who’d killed her father.
“Oh, my God.” Edgar Ross stared at Daisy, his eyes wide. “You’re Cassidy’s daughter. I didn’t recognize you in that dress. What are you doing here?”
Yes, what? The ballroom, with its gilded glitter, started to swim in front of her eyes.
Daisy’s breaths came in short wheezing gasps, constricted as her chest was by the too-tight cocktail dress. With every breath, her breasts pushed higher against the low neckline. She felt like she was going to pass out.
She had to get out of there.
But as she turned away, Leonidas grabbed her wrist.
“No!” she yelled, and wrenched her arm away. Everyone turned to stare at them in shock, and the music stopped.
For a moment, he just looked down at her, his handsome face hard. He didn’t try to touch her again.
“We need to talk,” he said through gritted teeth.
“What could you possibly have to say to me?” she choked out, hatred rising through her, filling every inch of her hollow heart. She gave a low, brittle laugh. “Did you enjoy your little joke? Seducing me? Laughing at me?”
“Daisy...”
“You took everything!” Her voice was a rasp. She felt used. And so fragile that a single breeze might scatter her to the wind. “How could you have lied to me? Pretending to love me—”
“I didn’t lie—”
“You lied,” she said flatly.
“I never claimed to love you.”
His dark eyes glittered as they stared at each other.
All around them, the glamorous people were frankly staring, tilting their heads slightly to hear. As if Daisy hadn’t been humiliated enough last year by the New York press gleefully calling her beloved, innocent father names like con artist and fraud, and even worse, calling him too stupid to properly commit a crime.
But she was the one who was stupid. All along, she’d known Leo was hiding things from her. She’d ignored her fears and convinced herself he was perfect. She’d trusted her heart.
Her stupid, stupid heart.
Her shoulders sagged, and her eyes stung. She blinked fast, wiping her eyes savagely.
“Daisy.” Leonidas’s voice was a low growl. “Just give me a moment. Alone. Let me explain.”
She was trembling, her teeth chattering almost loud enough to hear. There was nothing he could possibly say that would take away her sense of betrayal. She should slap his face and leave, and never look him in the face again.
But their baby.
Her joints hurt with heartbreak, pain rushing through her veins, pounding a toxic rhythm. Her heart shut down, and she went numb. Whatever he’d done, he was still her baby’s father. She had to tell him.
“I’ll give you one minute,” she choked out.
Leonidas gestured toward the ballroom’s double doors. She followed him out of the glittering, glamorous ballroom, away from the curious crowd, into the deserted foyer of the New York mansion. Wordlessly, she followed him up the wide stone staircase, to the dark quiet of the hallway upstairs.
She felt like a ghost of the girl she’d been. As they climbed the staircase, she glanced up at his dark shadow, and felt sick inside.
Discovering she was pregnant earlier that day, she’d felt so alone, so scared. Her first thought had been that she couldn’t raise a child without him. But now, Daisy suddenly realized there was something even more terrifying than raising a baby alone.
Doing it with your worst enemy.
* * *
As Leonidas led Daisy past the security guards in the foyer, up the wide stone staircase of his New York mansion, his heart was beating oddly fast.
He glanced back at her.
Daisy looked so beautiful in the emerald green cocktail dress, with high heels showing off her slender legs. Her long honey-brown hair brushed against her shoulders, over the spaghetti straps, past the low-cut neckline which revealed full breasts, plumped up by the tight satin. Against his will, his eyes lingered there. Had her breasts always been so big? Just watching the sensuous way she moved her hand along the stone bannister, he imagined being the one she touched, and he stirred in spite of himself.
But her eyes were downcast, her dark lashes trembling angrily against her pale cheeks.
Leonidas wondered what she was thinking. It was strange. He’d never cared before about what his lovers might be thinking. And with Daisy, he’d always been able to read her feelings on her face.
Until now.
She glanced up at him, her lovely face carefully blank. She looked back down as they climbed the sweeping staircase.
This was not how Leonidas had hoped this evening would go.
Thinking about it at the office, he’d pictured Daisy being dazzled by his mansion, by the glitter and prestige of his guests, by his wealth and power. He’d convinced himself that she would be in a receptive frame of mind to learn the truth. That Daisy would be shocked, dismayed, even, to learn his identity, but she would swiftly forgive him. Because he was so obviously right.
Daisy loved her father. But she had to see that Patrick Cassidy had been a criminal, protecting his accomplice to the end, refusing to say who’d painted the fake Picasso. What else could Leonidas have done but have his lawyer press charges? Should he have paid millions for a painting he knew was fake, or allowed someone else to potentially be defrauded? He’d done the right thing.
Obviously Daisy didn’t see it that way. He had to help her see it from his perspective. Setting his jaw, he led her down the dark, empty upstairs hallway and pushed open the second door, switching on the bedroom light.
She stopped in the doorway, glaring at him.
He felt irritated at her accusatory gaze. Did she really think he’d brought her into his bedroom to seduce her? That he intended to simply toss her on the bed and cover her with kisses until the past was forgiven and forgotten?
If only!
Leonidas forced himself to take a deep breath. He kept his voice calm and reassuring, just the way Daisy had spoken when she’d held that abandoned puppy in the alley.
“I’m just bringing you in here to talk,” he said soothingly. “Where no one else can hear us.”
She flashed him another glance he couldn’t read, but came into the bedroom. He closed the door softly behind her.
His bedroom was Spartan, starkly decorated with a king-sized bed, walk-in closet and a lot of open space. Through a large window, he could see the orange and red leaves of the trees on the quiet lane outside, darkening in the twilight.
Standing near the closed door, Daisy wrapped her arms around herself as if for protection, and said in a low voice, “Did you know who I was? The day we met?”
He could not lie to her. “Yes.”
She lifted pale green eyes, swimming with tears. “Why did you seduce me? For a laugh? For revenge?”
“No, Daisy, no—” He tried to move toward her, wanting to take her in his arms, to offer comfort. But she moved violently back before he could touch her. He froze, dropping his hands. “I saw a drawing of the trial, when your father’s verdict was read. It made me feel sorry for you.”
The emotion in her face changed to anger. “Sorry for me?”
That hadn’t come out right. “I heard your father died in prison, and I came looking for you because...because I wanted to make sure you were all right. And perhaps give you some money.”
“Money?” Her expression hardened. “Do you really think that could compensate me for my father’s death? Some... some payoff?”
“That was never my intention, it—” Leonidas cut himself off, gritting his teeth. He forced his voice to remain calm. “You never deserved to s
uffer. You were innocent.”
“So was my father!”
Against his best intentions, his own anger rose. “You cannot be so blind as to think that your father was innocent. Of course he wasn’t. He tried to sell a forgery.”
“Then he foolishly trusted the wrong person. Someone must have tricked him and convinced him the painting was real. He never would have tried to sell it otherwise! He was a good man! Perfect!”
“Are you kidding? Your father was selling forgeries for years.”
“No one else ever accused him—”
“Because either they were too embarrassed, or they didn’t realize the paintings were fakes. Your father knew he wasn’t selling a real Picasso.”
“How would he know that? No one has seen the painting for decades. How did that lawyer lackey of yours even know it wasn’t real?”
Leonidas had a flash of memory from twenty years before. His misery as a boy at his parents’ strange neglect and hatred. The shock of his mother’s final abandonment. His heartbroken fury, as a boy of fourteen. He could still feel the cold steel in his hand. The canvas ripping beneath his blade in the violent joy of destruction, of finally giving in to his rage—
Looking away, Leonidas said tightly, “I was the one who knew it was a fake. From the moment I saw it in Ross’s office.”
“You.” Daisy glared at him in the cold silence of his bedroom, across the enormous bed, which he’d so recently dreamed of sharing with her. “Why couldn’t you just let it go? What’s one Picasso to you, more or less?”
Leonidas’s shoulders tightened. He didn’t want to think about what it meant to him. Or why he’d been looking for it so desperately for two decades.
“So I should have just let your father get away with his deceit?” he said coldly. “Allowed him to continue passing off fake paintings?”
“My father was innocent!” Her expression was fierce. “He looked into my eyes and swore it!”
