by Pamela Ann
I was attracted to Isobel. I wanted her like I had never wanted a woman before, but that was all it was—an animalistic desire to possess a beauty, nothing more.
Julien’s concern didn’t have any merit. There simply wasn’t. It was the bare truth.
Eighty-Five
Isobel
“How are the preparations going?” someone asked me the question from behind. I knew without having to see who it was that it was Hugo wanting to charm the life out of me. I could hear it from his voice. It dripped with it, reminding me of how we had been spending our nights together, always finishing locked in an embrace with our naked bodies.
Yes… Naked Hugo. He was beautiful naked. Most especially when he was on top of me, gazing down with such fierce passion it never failed to trap me as his captive.
“It’s… going.” I smiled, still not ready to see him yet because my heart was beating so rapidly I somehow felt faint. He did this to me. I was a hot mess where he was concerned. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be sitting at the helm, barking orders to some chap?”
“Oh, I bark orders…” There was laughter in his voice before his hands touched the sides of my hips and pulled me towards him, whispering into my ear, “Why don’t you come here and kiss me?”
Hell. I couldn’t believe he’d turn on his seductive voice in public. “There are people around.”
We were organizing the decorations and other preparations for Julee’s event in one of the vast ballrooms of his hotel. As a result, one could imagine how many people milled about and ran to get this or that done. Furthermore, with the boss hanging around, flirting with yours truly, I was flattered and at the same time could do without the wide-eyed curiosity.
“Come on, a little PDA can’t harm anyone.”
I was always at risk of harm by becoming one of those idiotic women who saw stars in their eyes.
“I usually don’t do that sort of thing,” I murmured before I spun around to face him. The moment our eyes clashed, my stomach dropped and my heart did a somersault. The intense combination made me lose my breath a little.
His eyes sought mine, as if he too was feeling the connection, before he pulled me closer, crushing my breasts against his chest. “Well, you do now,” he said when his lips were a tad away from kissing me fully. “You definitely do now, Isobel.” The second he captured me for a kiss, I was lost in him. His scent, his touch, and the feeling that we were spiraling out of control, washed over me.
I wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but the second he parted from the kiss, I regretted that it had to even end.
Gazing up at him, I had a shy smile on my face. “Just had to display it out there… couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
He matched my smile before his thumb brushed against the shape of my bottom lip. “I just had to see you before I go into a meeting. How about you come up for lunch?”
“You sure? I know you’re a busy man.” I wanted to spend time with him, too, but I didn’t want him to sacrifice work hours when we could make out more the second he got home.
“Oui, but I can always make time for you.”
Le sigh. “If you say so. I’ll meet you there at noon.” Gazing at my watch, I looked at him to double check. “Is that good enough?”
“You’re always good enough, Isobel.” He winked at me before leaving me gazing at his perfect behind. Though I was distracted by his perfect form, it didn’t leave my notice that there were a hefty amount of men and women checking the very man himself, admiring from afar.
Yet, of all the people here, he had chosen me. I shook my head, bubbling with silliness as I longed to see him in sixty minutes.
Time, I realized, went by at a snail’s pace when you were counting each minute.
Our lunch date was nothing like I had expected. The second I was ushered in to meet Hugo, I was surprised that he was waiting for me in the elevator.
“Are you ready?” he asked with a smile that made my pussy contract.
I looked at him with a sheepish expression. “For what?”
“Lunch.”
Oh, that. Lunch… Why had I forgotten about that for a second? It’s his smile, my pussy reminded me for the second time. “Right. So, where are we lunching?”
“It’s a surprise.” He took my hand to securely stick me to his side before he pressed one of the buttons on the top panel.
“I love surprises,” I breathed out like a giddy teenager on her first date. Keeping myself in check, I glanced at my shiny reflection against the gold-plated elevator doors, wondering when giggling had become a bad habit of mine.
Putting my worries aside, I refocused my attention on the man next to me. There were times to worry about these things, and surely this moment wasn’t one of those.
Just as he’d promised, he surprised me by taking me for a helicopter ride, having no clue where our destination was. Maybe it was the lack of affection from my father growing up that made me feel like, if a man went out of his way to make a woman special, one should always be grateful that they’d even thought of the kind gesture.
Hugo and my father were similar, but it was blatantly obvious that the man next to me, caressing the back of my neck as he pointed out the window, showing me a yacht in the middle of the sea, had a heart, that he’d cherish you once you were under his care. I respected that about him. I truly did.
Not only that, but he was a man of his word. I mean, how often had we had instances where he could have simply taken me and I might not have even cared because I was so out of it? And yet, he’d remained true to his word, holding out hope that, one night, I’d tell him to go all the way.
I wasn’t going to lie, each time we came together, kissing and touching, the thought always played out in my head. However, there was something always holding me back from uttering the words out loud. Though, in my head, yes, I did beg of it once or twice.
The yacht came closer into view. The size was just about as massive as Luca’s from that party, which I hadn’t realized on our previous trip to it. Once we landed on his yacht, Hugo was all smiles as he helped me out of the helicopter before directing us towards the back end of the vessel, towards an awaiting, smaller boat, which I was assuming was what we’d be riding in next.
Hugo hadn’t let go of my hand since he’d helped me out of the helicopter, and I found myself feeling at ease when he’d plant a kiss on my forehead or anywhere around my face, which he always managed to do. The back of my neck, my cheek, shoulder blade, my nose, you name it. Wherever skin was exposed, he’d bless it with his amorous lips.
It was a short boat ride towards the shore where our lunch waited, prepared with thorough detail and embellishments inside a white linen tent. His staff greeted us with a warm smile and a heavy dose of romance everywhere.
“Welcome to Corsica.”
“This is quite grand,” I breathed out, overwhelmed by the splendid gesture.
He shrugged before leading me towards the white linen-covered table where he pulled out a chair for me to sit on. After I was seated, he then took the opposing seat from mine.
“I only do grand when I happen to really like someone,” he flirted back with ease.
“I hope you’re not thinking tonight’s the night…” I hid my smile away. “I don’t put out on first dates. Just a thought.”
“Really, now?” He chuckled with pure amusement before he gestured for someone to pour us champagne then focused on me again. “I appreciate a woman who knows her value…” he trailed off in a sexy, husky tone. “It makes it all the more sweet once I have captured her, trapped in between my arms, trapped by my lips, impaled underneath me…”
“You really need to learn not to make a woman blush from head to foot in broad daylight.” I tried to scold him, but his deep, throaty laugh merely made me gaze at him in such awe and tenderness. He truly was beautiful. It became lethal when he smiled or when he laughed, eyes dancing as he gazed at me as if I was the most enchanting thing he’d ever set
his eyes upon.
“But I adore you more when you blush.”
Damn. With that, I went from soft pink to crimson.
“Now you’re just doing that on purpose to see how beet red I’d get.” I gave him an accusing look before he reached out for my hand that was resting on the table, gently taking it against his own before brushing a kiss against the skin on the back of my hand.
“When a woman blushes or seems flushed, it sends out a message to the rest of the male species that the man she’s with pleases her—that she finds him attractive.” He paused, giving me a breathtaking look. “I love knowing that they know you’re taken just by looking at you.”
Where was he going with this? Why did his words feel more intimate compared to how he used to say those things weeks back?
“Your possessiveness will get you in trouble one day. Besides, it’s so unnecessary, especially with me. It’s not like men would dare take you on.”
“True,” he agreed without hesitation. “But they still have eyes that wander around, appreciating what’s mine.”
I considered him a moment, uncertain if I found this trait of his baffling and disturbing, unimaginably beyond sexy, or all of the above. Okay, I conceded that it was the latter option. However, as much as I wanted to admit it to him by saying it out loud, I’d rather appear less interested than seeming to be overeager.
“Maybe it would benefit you not to act like you’re an alpha male all the time.”
“I am the alpha male.”
That statement was true. To that, I had no smart rebuttal. Instead, I chose to inflate his ego some more. “Alpha… you sure are very male—virile, potent, dominating to a point of madness.”
“Ah, ma belle.” He grinned whole-heartedly. “Are you beginning to compliment me?” His teasing tone made me roll my eyes.
“Almost…” I retorted back, enraptured at being in his company.
Later that night…
“Hello?” I took the call absentmindedly, as I was about to jump into the shower.
“Hello, Iso. How are you, koritsáki mou?” my paternal grandmother’s voice flittered through the phone, making me tense a little.
My grandparents spoiled my father rotten, nurturing a monster in the making, a man who knew nothing about being a husband, nor being a father.
“Grandmother,” I said, feeling cold. She was Greek, and I was supposed to call her nana, but saying that meant she was a woman who meant something dear to me, which wasn’t the case. Calling her grandmother was far more appropriate. It was much more formal, cold, and detached, just like the very woman herself.
“Your mother has fallen ill. Come home at once,” she demanded chillingly before ending the call without bidding me goodbye.
Staring at the phone, I didn’t even have to think twice about asking Hugo permission to go home for a week or so to see my mother. Besides, this was an emergency. I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to send me home with well wishes for my mother.
Home.
Greece…
Where my father awaited.
Where Damen was.
Damn, I had hoped I wouldn’t have to come across him, face him and lie or something worse.
I sighed deeply, feeling helpless.
Eighty-Six
Isobel
Last night, when I told Hugo about the news of my mother falling ill, he didn’t even question if I wanted to go home. He simply made arrangements for me to fly out first thing in the morning. And for the first time, after we started our gluttonous nightly festivities last night, he didn’t demand anything from me. He simply held me close all night long, kissing the back of my neck whenever he could. Without words, he found a way to comfort me because he knew that I was worried. It might’ve meant nothing to him, but to me, it meant so much.
The moment I arrived in Athens, I took a cab and headed straight to see my mother. Our home was huge, sitting atop a hill, but that was basically all it was, all for show. Behind it all, debts piled up, and my father’s uncontrollable spending and gambling habits had buried us so deep into debt that I doubted we’d all be able to pay it off even if I made a decent size income after I graduated from university.
There was no mistaking the scent of Athens. I knew I was on Greek soil the moment I stepped out of the terminal. It was the smell of home, yet I fully couldn’t call it home when most of my memories here were rotten ones. Apart from that, however, I loved the city—the country itself.
Even though I was only half Greek, there was something in our blood that made us proud—it was a part of us, imbedded in our hearts, centered in the very core of our souls—to share a part of something so significant that helped shape the civilization of today. Not only that, but our cities were rich with culture and destinations where the past met the present, magnificent beaches and islands, full of wonder and intrigue. Once a person met Greece—the real Greece—it never left their hearts.
Even with all this love I had for everything Greek, it never changed the fact that coming back still brought tremors to my body—that familiar feeling I got knowing quite well that, whatever happened to my mother, I was almost a hundred percent sure my father had some part in it. He always did. It was his way of “reminding” us of who was in charge, who we should fear, and who we should never fail to follow. He was a tyrant through and through. His damning views in life and beliefs was troubling, and yet no one—not fucking one of his family—ever dared question or put him in place. They watched in silence as their beloved son terrorized his family, beating my mother whenever his mood struck him.
My depressing train of thought had to take a backseat when the cab driver stopped right outside the house, giving me cold dread as I paid him before getting out of the car. From afar, the house looked great, but if you paid attention to close detail, it was apparent that the paint was chipped and cracked, the lawn in the garden was overgrown and in dire need of trimming, the once gorgeous rows of beautiful rose bushes were chaotic and in need of clipping.
Looking away from the disheartening surroundings, I pulled out my house keys from my purse before stepping inside the home. I wasn’t sure what I had expected to see when I came home, but I certainly wasn’t expecting complete, eerie silence. Mother was sick, wasn’t she? And knowing how my father weaved his evil spell, he’d never want to spend a dime on my mother by taking her to the hospital to have her checked over by a doctor.
I’d once asked him why he was so cruel, and he had merely shrugged and given me a look I won’t ever forget. “There’s no need to waste money when your mother isn’t dying. She’ll sleep it off. She’ll be good as new tomorrow.”
His selfishness knew no bounds.
It was right after he said those words when I fully understood that he was a monster. Before then, there was a part of me which hoped that he’d change. When I was young, gullible, and the optimism ran rampant, I thought that my father would eventually be enlightened, and he’d change to become a better man—a better husband to my mother, and a supportive father to Yannis and I. However, after he’d uttered those lines, there was surely no hope for him. What kind of man would say something like that about his sick wife?
On top of that, it was his fault my mother was sick, because she’d found out that he had been having an affair, and then my mother had refused to eat anything for days on end. She had been heartbroken, while my father mocked it as if it was a nuisance.
The memories flooded in the moment the stale, stagnant air of the house hit my nostrils. The fading décor and the surroundings that had seen better days made me feel like I had gone into a time capsule and was young again, feeling helpless each time mother had fallen ill.
Automatically, I headed straight to my mother’s bedroom. And just as I had predicted, she was there, seeming like she was sleeping with her faded, knitted, blue blanket held close to her stomach. The picture of her in this position was eerily familiar. The last time this had happened, my father had aimed at her stomach, punishing her for a useless u
terus, as he’d so vehemently accused her. He was a heel, the worst kind of man, and we were just unfortunate to be his family.
“Mum?” I whispered shakily as I slowly crept deeper into the dark bedroom. My small steps made the floorboards creek as I moved closer to her. “Mum?” I asked again. This time, I saw her blink her eyes wide open before searching for the source the voice had come from. Then, when our eyes met, the usual, tender mixed with immense sadness that reminded me of a miserable, lost puppy, greeted me once more. “What happened this time, Mum?”
My heart broke for her—for us. This was a hopeless case and wouldn’t ever stop until she walked away. Her undying love for my father made her stay, even though there was nothing left in their marriage besides their marriage certificate. Other than that, they were practically mere strangers. Him living in his own fantasy while my mother pined for him to come home. A decade and a half of never-ending repetition.
When would it end? When she was dead? Was that what she was waiting for? This very thought made me feel volatile, frustrated that my own flesh and blood—my own mother—couldn’t stand her ground and grow a backbone for once.
She gave me a weak smile before I reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze, letting her know that I was there for her.
“Mum…please…” I sobbed, needing her to see and understand that there was still a way out—that it was never too late to start over again and live the life she had once longed for. “You have to leave him and go back to England. He’s never going to stop hurting you—he’s that cruel.”
Her eyes moistened, agony etched on her face, before she brought my hand that held hers towards her chest, where her heart rested. She placed my palm over it, making me aware that she was still alive, before she looked away just as her tears started to slide down the side of her face.
