by Caro LaFever
“Alex.” The pain in his voice blasted through her own heart, crushing and crashing. “That doesn’t mean—”
“I left. Angry.” The broad shoulders slumped, unable to carry the weight. “I thought he was being unreasonable. I needed some freedom for a while.”
“You were the only son.” Sophie saw it, the whole relationship in a snap.
“Yeah.” He glanced at her, his gaze dark and damp. “And I had responsibilities.”
She stared at him, uncertain. Telling him it wasn’t his fault wouldn’t work. Saying he was only a kid wouldn’t help. The fact that both of these things were true didn’t make them true for Alex.
“When I got home late that night, he’d been taken to the hospital.”
“Was he already—”
“Dead?” He shifted on the ledge, drawing her closer like a shield. “Not yet.”
Immediately, she sensed there was worse to come. “You saw him?”
“Yes.” He bit into the one word, his voice tight. “He was conscious. He knew he was dying. Everyone knew. But I think he stayed alive long enough to see me.”
Her heart trembled. “And?”
“And I promised.”
“Promised…what?”
His gaze met hers, the agony starkly written on his face. “I promised I’d be perfect.”
“Alex,” she hissed out his name in dismay.
“I promised I’d take care of my mother and sisters. I promised I’d buckle down at school. And I promised I’d be the successful architect he’d always imagined I’d be.”
“Very successful.” A wry tinge was in her words because she now realized what had driven this man to such heights so quickly. Yes, he had charm and talent. Yes, he was amazing in many ways. However, the pinnacle of his profession had been reached for his father, not for himself.
“Success was important to him.” His voice was precise and pain-filled. “For me, too.”
“Freedom was also important to him.”
“What?” He swung his head to stare at her, his wet hair curling in the mist. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t know your dad, but you’ve said quite a lot about him inadvertently.”
“Have I?” He leaned back, easing his hold on her, looking like he braced for a blow.
“He left Greece to be free, didn’t he?” She saw the crucial sword inside him now, the cruel cut of the blade, the stinging edge of the point. “He wanted more opportunity to do what he wanted to do, right?”
“Um. Yeah.”
“He made his own way, made his own place when he got to America, didn’t he?”
A quick flare of pride swept her love’s face. “Yes. He did. He always did exactly what he wanted to do.”
“He didn’t let your mother or anyone else dictate what he did.”
“No, he didn’t.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “He listened to maman, but he made his own decisions.”
“If your dad stood right here beside you, what would he want for you now?”
Thoughtfulness turned to bemusement. “I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.” Sophie lifted her hands and placed them on Alex's cheeks, turning his face to hers. “Don’t remember your dad as he lay dying. Remember him as the entire man.”
Confusion swam in his gaze. “I do.”
“You don’t.” She said it with conviction because her gut told her she was grabbing onto the hilt of the sword and she wasn’t about to release it. “Think of your dad when you were younger. When you walked Paris with him.”
A flash of memories lit his eyes.
“What would he say to you if you were walking those streets now?”
Another of their silences fell. A silence filled with the past and the present. A silence where the future lay in wait. She held him in her hands, willing him to find his way back to his true place and not the one his dying father had pushed him into by mistake. A loving mistake, yes, but one that had damaged his son for a long time.
“He’d say be happy.” The words blurted from him as if shot from a launch pad.
Sophie pulled the sword from his heart and threw it into the pit of the past. Gazing into his dazed eyes, she put the salve on his healing wound. “Be happy. That’s all your dad ever wanted for you.”
“Yeah?” Wonder laced the word.
“Yeah.” Taking in a deep breath, she kept her gaze on his. “And what makes you happy, love?”
He swallowed, hard. “I like being an architect.”
“Of course you do.” That was as clear as the water surrounding them.
“I want to do more than big designs, though.” The words rushed out of him. “I like working with Henry, but I don’t want a big IPO.”
“Okay.” She slid her hands across his cheeks to his jaw. “What do you want instead?”
“I want our employees to be a part of the company. To own part of the company.”
“That sounds fantastic.” And so like Alex, the heart of the man she’d found here in this lazy, hot pool and in his small hut. A man not driven to be the biggest, but to be the best. The best Alex Stravoudas he could be.
“There’s one more thing I want that will make me happy.” He tightened his grip on her and pulled her in.
“Oh?” Her heart pitter-pattered inside as she stared into his azure eyes and saw what he wanted before he claimed it.
“You, krotída mou.” He dipped his head and nuzzled her cheek. “You, in my life forever.”
Sophie gave him her best smile, the one she’d saved her whole life just for him. “That sounds perfect, Alex. Absolutely perfect.”
Epilogue
“Daddy?”
Alex turned in his drafting chair to glance at the open door to his hut. The summer sun splashed a lazy sprinkle of light across the stone steps. His five-year-old daughter stood in the puddle of sunshine in her usual way: one tiny fist on her hip, dainty feet stuck in her favorite princess-pink high heels, and a pronounced frown on her brow.
“Hi, mōró.” He shifted in his seat, preparing for the onslaught. “Come here.”
“Don’t call me baby.” Danaë marched into the room and her body mannerisms were so like her mother, he had to smile. “And don’t smile.”
“Okay.” Lifting her and her green, stuffed friend into his lap, he primed himself to soothe. “What’s wrong?”
“Phillip is bad.” She snuggled into his side, her tiara poking him in the chin, her beloved frog clutched in one arm. “He says I can’t play with them.”
Them being her two older brothers—Phillip and Henri. “You could play with Silas and Erich,” he proposed in a low, calm voice.
His daughter huffed. Exactly like her mother. “They’re only babies.”
“You seemed to like them when they arrived.”
Her pudgy hand swept her blond curls over her shoulder in a dismissive wave. “They cry all the time.”
“That’s what three-year-olds and babies do.” He tucked her little, round body closer in and leaned over to grab her favorite storybook. “Why don’t I read to you? That always makes everything better. We’ll forget about your brothers and be together here.”
Danaë glanced up to meet his gaze, her cocoa eyes brimming with sudden tears.
“Hey, hey.” His heart lurched and his arms tightened around his daughter. “This can’t be only about your brothers leaving you out.”
“No.” She sniffed into the pink sleeve of her dress. While her mother still paid no attention to clothes, letting him do the shopping, his little girl could not get enough of everything girly and had to be a part of every shopping excursion. Whenever they went to Paris, Sophie marched off with the boys to explore the Ménagerie du Jardin des Plantes, filled with the usual assortment of monkeys, snakes, and ostriches. Alex found himself following his only daughter into the Baby Dior shop.
“What’s wrong?” He moved his hand back and forth across her delicate shoulders.
“Mommy got mad at me.” Danaë pressed her wet cheek in
to his chest. “I did something really bad.”
“Did you?” Alex plucked the tiara off her head so he could press a kiss on top of her shiny curls. “We all do bad things once in a while.”
His little girl eased back, a crease of disbelief on her forehead. “You don’t.”
He did, yet now he knew the art of forgiving himself. There’d been a lot of hard adjustments in his life to get to the point where perfection wasn’t a goal or even on the radar. Sophie had married him believing in his ability to change and he had honored her gift.
Henry was still his best friend and partner, but now they ran separate divisions. Henry focused on getting the big contracts and Alex designed his family homes. Both were happy with the results.
His maman and sisters were so excited to finally have Sophie in the family, they’d willingly let go of their constant demands on his time. His wife had their respect and determinedly protected him, taking care of many of the family chores so he didn’t experience the horror of having to say no to his family of females.
Sophie said he needed to focus on their own family, mostly. And mostly, she was right.
His daughter rubbed her fists in her still-streaming eyes, bringing his attention back to her. “You’ve seen your mother yell at me a time or two.”
His little girl shrugged. “But usually, you’re right.”
Alex laughed, guiltily relishing the fact he had a staunch ally perched on his lap. “Not always.”
“Well, I know what I did was bad.” Sighing, his daughter lay her head on his chest again. “And I don’t know if she’ll forgive me.”
“She loves you, koritsáki mou.”
“Don’t call me your little girl. I’m not little anymore.” Her head popped up again, brown eyes glinting with an inherited Irish temper. “And just because she loves me doesn’t mean Mommy will forgive me this time.”
“Love means forgiveness every single time.” He said the words with complete confidence. Sophie had stood with him through the reorganization of his business. She’d been with him when he’d sold the penthouse, moving their growing family into a pre-war townhouse in Washington Heights. She’d been there, always, when he struggled to put his old promises to his father and everyone around him, to rest.
After twelve years, Alex Stravoudas knew with certainty that his wife would never leave his side and that she was the perfect fit for him.
“Really?” His little girl’s one word was dubious.
“Really.” Laying her favorite book down on his draft table, he decided to tell her something else. Something that still caused him embarrassment when he thought about his actions. “Let me tell you another story other than your favorite.”
Her shoulders drooped as if she were positive nothing he could say would make a difference in her dilemma.
“Once upon a time…”
“Daddy.” A reluctant giggle came.
“Once upon a time, I did lots of bad things to your mother.”
“I don’t believe you.” She dropped her head down, nuzzling into his cotton shirt, looking for comfort only a daddy could give.
“I did. Ask your mother.” He closed his eyes and went back a dozen years. Back to his anger and confusion and back to his crazy plot against Sophia Feuer. A plot that had blown him into the sky and landed him in the best life a man could wish for.
“What did you do?” His daughter’s question returned him to the present.
“I forced her to be my fiancée.”
“What does fiancée mean?”
“It means we were engaged to be married. But it was all fake and I forced your mom to be a part of that.”
She lifted her head and gazed at him with horror. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“I did.” He brushed a bright curl off her cheek. “I also threatened to close down her bakery.”
Danaë’s bow mouth fell open. “You didn’t!”
“I did.”
“But Mommy loves her bakery more than anything else except us.”
“True.” He smiled, thinking about the career Sophie had built around her growing brood of kids. She had a staff of ten now, a loyal crew who allowed her to focus on new pastry recipes and her children rather than doing the daily grind of baking. Her monthly TV appearances drew more business than her staff could handle and made his wife a very happy and rich woman in her own right. “And that’s why she had to do what I demanded.”
“She didn’t want to be engaged to you?” Danaë gasped as if this was too impossible of an idea to comprehend.
“Nope. Not at first. I had to convince her.” He grinned at his daughter. “She was extremely mad at me.”
A quizzical look filled his little girl’s gaze. “She loves you now, though. Lots.”
“Yeah.” He leaned back in his drafting chair, taking her with him. “She does, doesn’t she?”
Danaë took his words in, and he saw them dance through her mind, turning little ugly stones over and pitching them away. “So,” she finally concluded. “I can do bad things and Mommy will be mad, but she will still love me.”
“Always, koritsáki. Always.” Alex looked down at her round face, a face filled with growing happiness. A feeling of complete joy swept through him, making his eyes fill with happy tears. He’d done this right, made his daughter all better by showing her what was inside him—good and bad.
After a long moment of his contemplation, Danaë scrunched her face and reminded him of the love of his life all over again. “What?” she huffed. “Is something on my face?”
“Yes, there is.” He kissed her button nose. “Love.”
Thank you!
Thanks for reading A Perfect Man. I hope you enjoyed it!
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Check out the rest of the series. There are two other stories within the Greek trilogy of the International Billionaires series. You can check out A Perfect Love and A Perfect Wife by clicking on each title.
A Perfect Wife
A mogul intent on only success. A curious reporter searching for the real story. A journey back to a homeland rejected years ago.
A Perfect Love
A male bent on revenge. A female determined to prevail. Young lovers ripped apart...forever?
A Perfect Wife
International Billionaires V: The Greeks
by Caro LaFever
Click here to buy!
Aetos Zenos wants nothing more than to be left alone to make money. A new acquisition, one he’s worked to obtain for years, has finally fallen into his hands and his entire focus needs to be on business. Not a woman.
Natalie Globenko wants only to escape. Escape from the mob who’s after her non-existent money and escape from this angry male who found her hiding in his Upper East Side mansion. Yet he won’t let her go and she has no other choice but to fall in with his demands.
Both of them find themselves surrounded by a Greek past filled with tragedy and a Greek family intent on drawing them closer. While Aetos finds himself falling under the spell of a siren, Natalie finds herself falling in love with a man who doesn’t do that emotion.
Excerpt:
He had the perfect wife.
Aetos Zenos smiled into the mirror as he straightened his tie. Today was going to be one of the best days of his life and he had his wife to thank for it. Without her presence in his life, old man Tucker would never have agreed to the deal he’d proposed. A deal worth millions.
Nai. His wife deserved a hell of a lot of credit.
He turned around to his walk-in closet
and chose the steel-blue Armani jacket that matched his pants. Slipping it on, he adjusted the sleeves and the gold, eagle-encrusted cufflinks. He smiled at his image once more, a sly twinkle in his eye.
Not only had his perfect wife secured this contract for him, she also had many other sterling qualities to admire. She never nagged. She never quarreled.
She was never disappointed in him, demanding of him.
She didn’t require his time or emotions or attention.
She never spent a penny of his vast fortune.
What more could a man want in a woman?
There was the issue of sex. In this one area, she fell short. Not that he cared. He’d found other avenues to take care of that particular need. He didn’t blame his wife for not providing him satisfaction. He knew going into the marriage sex wasn’t in the cards. She wasn’t capable of it. And really, what was the saying?
Variety was the spice of life.
He chuckled. Looking down at his left hand, he eyed the plain gold band on his ring finger. He hadn’t taken it off since he’d put it on two years ago. The ring had saved him countless hassles. When confronted by a determined woman, all he had to do was wave the thing in her face and tell her no. He liked variety, true, but he was the one to choose and chase. When he did indicate interest, each woman he picked invariably came to his bed.
The ring was never mentioned. Neither was marriage or commitment.
A wife was very useful to have in many situations.
Glancing at his watch, he walked out of his bedroom, across the Persian rugs blanketing the long hall, and down the wide stairs to the foyer of his elegant, Upper East Side brownstone. He’d purchased the property right before his marriage. No longer had he wanted to project the image of a man-about-town. The image had been fine and well when he’d first started building his business seventeen years ago. It had garnered him attention, brought him connections, solidified his presence as a mover and shaker. The image the world saw had served his purpose as he rose in stature.
But two years ago? Well, let’s just say Tucker had been only one catalyst for his marriage. The existence of a wife had been important to show he was a solid, established citizen. However, the marriage had provided him more than a business deal.
