by Abby Green
There were chandeliers, gold-painted frescoes on walls and ceilings, acres of Carrara marble, Murano glass vases and lamps, oriental rugs on parquet floors.
When the manager had left, and she’d managed to pick her jaw up off the floor, she asked, ‘Do you own the place or something?’
Maks looked a little sheepish.
Zoe’s jaw dropped again. ‘You own this hotel...’ She couldn’t quite compute that information, so she walked over to the open double doors that led out to the balcony. She looked down over the Grand Canal and shook her head at the incongruity of her in this unbelievable place.
Maks came and stood beside her. ‘What are you thinking?’
She looked at him. He had his hands in his pockets, nonchalant. ‘I’m thinking that it was naive of me not to just assume you owned this hotel. It must be amazing...’
‘What must be amazing?’
Zoe shrugged. ‘To walk into a place like this and know that it’s yours... It’s kind of incomprehensible to me, and yet it’s all you’ve ever known?’
Now Maks shrugged and looked away, out to the view. He put his hands on the balcony. ‘I’ve had great privilege. I would never deny that. But if I could swap what my sister and I experienced for a far less privileged existence then I would, in a heartbeat.’
‘It was that bad?’
He glanced at Zoe, his face stark. ‘It was bad enough.’
Somehow Zoe knew exactly what he meant. It had been just ‘bad enough’ to blight both their lives for ever. Like hers had been blighted—albeit by very different circumstances.
She said, ‘I only had eight years with my parents and my brother, but they were wonderful years.’
So wonderful that she couldn’t bear to contemplate experiencing having a family again, only to have it ripped away from her.
Maks turned his back on the view. ‘You lived in Dublin?’
Zoe nodded and smiled. ‘We had a beautiful house on the coast, just south of Dublin city, overlooking the Irish Sea. I used to love sitting in the conservatory and watching the weather change over the sea, especially on stormy days. I’d watch how it rolled in with such a fury, and yet I felt so safe and protected...as if nothing bad could ever touch me.’
What an illusion that had been.
Maks reached out and cupped her face. His thumb traced the scar above her lip with such a light touch she was afraid she was imagining it.
He said, ‘And yet it did.’
Emotion tightened Zoe’s chest and throat. Maks must have seen it, because he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. But Zoe was too scared to let the emotion bubble up and out, terrified it might never stop. So she swallowed it down and pushed out of Maks’s arms, avoiding his eye.
‘I think I’ll go and freshen up.’
* * *
Maks watched Zoe walk back into the suite, pick up her bag and disappear into the bathroom. He rubbed at his chest absently. The raw emotion in her eyes just now had hit him squarely in the solar plexus. Normally, any hint of emotion made him shut down in response, but he hadn’t been able to ignore Zoe. And she’d been the one to push him away.
He turned back to the view of the canal, barely registering it. Which only made him think of Zoe’s comment about his jadedness.
Porca miseria. What the hell was going on with him? It was as if as soon as he’d laid eyes on Zoe something inside him had realigned into a new configuration.
Immediately an inner voice said, Ridiculous. It’s physical desire, pure and simple. Unprecedented. Raw. Insatiable. But just desire. A chemical reaction. Not emotion.
He heard a sound behind him and turned around. She’d changed into cropped jeans and a fresh shirt. Her scuffed trainers. Hair down. Minimal make-up. She looked young and fresh and achingly beautiful. Without even trying.
She was holding her camera and lifted it up. ‘I might go out and take some pictures. You probably have meetings to attend?’
Her dogged independence made Maks chafe, when he usually abhorred a lover trying to monopolise his attention. Something rogue inside him made him say, ‘Actually, I’m not under pressure today. I’ll come with you.’
* * *
Zoe couldn’t stop the rush of pleasure, even though a moment ago she’d actually been relishing the thought of some space from Maks. He saw too much, and he made her feel too much, but now she felt as giddy as a kid again.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Unless you don’t want me to come with you?’
Zoe just managed to refrain from rolling her eyes at that suggestion. ‘No, I’d like it.’
* * *
Several hours later, Zoe was drunk again. But not on anything more than Venice, some pasta followed by gelato, and Maks. He absolutely belonged in this milieu, against the dramatically beautiful backdrop of such an ancient and iconic city.
She’d taken a sneaky snap of him on a bridge, and she’d bet money that he’d been a Venetian prince in another lifetime. Albeit one in faded jeans that were moulded to his powerful thighs and taut behind and a dark polo shirt that did little to disguise the lean musculature of his chest.
And aviator glasses that made him look like he’d just stepped out of Vogue Italia for men.
Zoe sighed. Whatever anomalous moment or thing had led to Maks finding her attractive, she was sure it wouldn’t last for much longer. He turned to her and held out his hand and Zoe’s heart constricted.
She was in so much trouble.
As she took his hand and let him lead her into the labyrinthine streets, she knew that against all her best intentions and instincts she’d done the thing that she feared most in the world. She’d fallen in love with Maks. And she knew now that whatever she’d believed she’d felt for Dean had been nothing in comparison. Less than nothing. It had been driven by loneliness, and the fact that she’d known him from her past.
This had nothing to do with loneliness or weakness. It was wild, untameable and elemental. And she knew that whatever pain she’d felt before, even when she’d lost her entire family, would pale into insignificance compared to what Maks would do to her. And she was afraid it was already too late.
* * *
Maks looked at Zoe where she stood in the small osteria near one of Venice’s many bridges. She sipped at a small aperitif. He noticed men looking at her and instinctively moved closer. He’d never felt possessive before.
Zoe looked up at him. ‘What was the house that you grew up in like?’
Maks thought of her evocative description of watching storms rolling in over the sea and felt wistful. ‘Not like yours. No view of the sea. It was a grand palazzo in Rome. Beautiful, but austere. We weren’t allowed to touch things because they were all priceless antiques. Once, Sasha and I were playing and she knocked over a vase. I’m pretty sure it was Ming.’
Zoe put a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, sparkling.
‘Our father came out of his study and saw it. He took off his leather belt and asked who was responsible.’
Zoe’s hand came down from her mouth. Now she looked horrified.
‘Sasha stepped forward. She was nine. I think she thought he wouldn’t dare, if he knew it had been her fault. But I knew my father by then. I knew what he was capable of. So I pushed her behind me and told him I had done it.’
‘He beat you with the belt?’
Maks pulled down the collar of his polo shirt and Zoe looked at where he was pointing, to a faded scar just over his collarbone. A rough ridge of skin. She reached up and touched it. Her finger was feather-light against his skin, yet it burned.
She frowned. ‘I didn’t notice it before.’ She sounded almost angry with herself that she hadn’t.
Maks swallowed. ‘My father stopped when I grabbed the belt off him and started to hit him. I was fourteen by then, and almost as tall as him. He didn’t do it agai
n.’
Zoe took her hand down and Maks missed her touch.
She asked, ‘How did you know he would be capable of hitting a young girl?’
Maks’s insides felt like lead. ‘Because I’d seen him hit one of our young maids. And I’d seen him hit our mother when I was much younger, before they divorced.’
‘I’m sorry you experienced that.’
Maks took her hand back and kissed her fingers, relishing their coolness. ‘I think I would have liked your house.’
Zoe smiled, but it was sad. ‘I never saw it again after the crash. It was dealt with by lawyers and the state. They offered to let me go back and get my things, but I couldn’t bear to... Everything was put in storage for me, but I’ve never visited the storage unit.’ She shrugged and looked down. ‘I’m a bit of a coward.’
Maks’s chest felt tight. He tipped up her chin and saw her eyes were like two oceans of green and blue. ‘You’re not a coward, Zoe. Far from it.’
* * *
Zoe looked up at Maks. He should be the hardest person in the world to talk to, but things that she never spoke of to anyone tripped off her tongue with an ease that shocked her.
He threw back the rest of his aperitif and said, ‘Come on, let’s go.’
Go where?
Zoe didn’t even want to ask, not wanting to burst the incredible bubble of being with this man in this beautiful place. She felt like a miser, wanting to hoard every tiny moment.
After turning a dizzying number of corners they emerged into a small quiet square with a large ornate church at one end. Maks was leading her through to another street when she heard it. The sound of singing.
Zoe stopped. She walked over to have a closer look. Posters advertised an opera, due to take place the following evening. The singing was more audible now, coming from inside, and she looked at Maks, who shrugged and followed her into the dark interior.
People were up on a stage in costume, but no make-up. She whispered to Maks, ‘It must be the dress rehearsal. Can we stay a while?’
He nodded. She was about to sit down at the back, but Maks grabbed her hand and led her up a flight of narrow winding stairs. They came out onto a balcony on the upper level that had a view of the whole church and stage.
They were rehearsing one of Zoe’s favourite operas, La Traviata. The music swelled and washed over and through her. She was captivated. But not captivated enough to be oblivious to Maks beside her, his long legs stretched out carelessly.
The opera company stopped for a break. Zoe sighed as the echo of the music lingered in the church walls and rafters. She glanced at Maks, who was looking at her and smiling. She felt wary. ‘What?’
He snaked a hand to the back of her neck and tugged her towards him. ‘You constantly surprise me. They’ll be coming here tomorrow in ballgowns and tuxedoes, but I think you prefer this, don’t you?’
He saw her. Damn him.
She nodded. He pulled her closer and pressed his mouth to hers. The fire ignited instantly. Voraciously. It was only a discreet but forceful cough that made them pull apart.
A priest was standing in the aisle below the balcony, looking up. Zoe went puce. Maks raised a hand to indicate that they were leaving. When they got outside, Zoe broke into a fit of giggles. Maks caught her, and her giggles stopped abruptly when he kissed her again, stealing her sanity. Stealing her soul.
He stopped the kiss. ‘Let’s go back to the hotel.’
Zoe nodded. She couldn’t speak.
He led her down to the canal and they took a gondola. As they entered the Grand Canal from a smaller one the sun was setting behind the huge palazzos and bathing everything in a rosy golden light.
It was so beautiful that Zoe’s breath caught. She lifted her camera, even though she knew that to try and capture it would fail miserably. But she needed to have some record of this moment, even if it would be infinitely inferior. Because she knew it wouldn’t happen again.
When they arrived back at the hotel Maks barely acknowledged the manager who leapt to attention. Zoe shot him an apologetic smile as Maks pulled her into the elevator with indecent haste.
As soon as they got to the suite he closed the door and looked at Zoe. For a charged moment neither one moved. Zoe had no idea who moved first, but she was in Maks’s arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, her mouth on every bit of exposed skin she could find as he walked them into the massive bedroom.
The French doors were open, and the curtains moved gently in the warm evening air, but Zoe was oblivious to everything but the spectacle of Maks’s body being revealed, inch by delicious inch, as he stripped off his clothes until he was naked.
‘Now you...’
He started undoing her shirt, pushing it open, pulling the lace cups of her bra down so he could cup her breasts and push her nipples into pouting peaks, begging for his hot mouth. Zoe clasped his head in her hands as his wicked mouth tended to her sensitive flesh, his hot tongue leaving a trail of fire.
Her shirt and bra were dispensed with. Shoes kicked off. Trousers opened and pulled down. Underwear ripped. She didn’t care. She just craved contact. Mutual desperation fuelled their movements, and they took a simultaneous breath of relief when Maks entered her on a smooth thrust.
But the relief was soon replaced with urgency as the tension built and built, until Zoe was begging incoherently for Maks to release them both... And even though she’d been begging for it, when it came she still wasn’t ready.
She was tossed high, and then fell deep down into a whirlpool of pleasure so intense that she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Could only hold on as the storm racked Maks’s body too and only then the tumult subsided.
Maks slumped over her body, still embedded deeply, and Zoe wrapped her legs around him and wished that this moment would never end.
* * *
When Maks woke, the bedroom was filled with the pearlescent light of dawn. He felt drunk, but it wasn’t from alcohol. It was from an overload of sensual pleasure. Zoe lay curled into his side, one arm thrown over his chest and one leg over his thigh, her foot locked behind his knee, as if to stop him from going anywhere.
He extricated himself carefully from her embrace, the nerve-ends in his body firing to life as he touched the plump curve of one breast and felt the indentation of her waist...one silky thigh.
She curled up on her side, saying something in her sleep. Maks pulled a sheet over her. She was adorably slow to get going in the morning, sleepy and sexy.
Naked, he went to the open window and stood there for a moment, relishing the cool morning breeze on his overheated skin. He felt utterly sated, and yet a delicious tendril of anticipation coiled in his gut.
He heard movement behind him and looked around, a smile curving his mouth, his blood already heating at the thought of waking Zoe up in a very explicit—
Click. She was sitting up in bed and she had her camera lifted to her face. She was taking pictures.
At first Maks’s smile stayed in place. ‘What are you doing?’
Click. It was as if the sound of the shutter woke him from a trance. He was naked. She was taking pictures.
His smile faded. He said it again. ‘What are you doing?’
Zoe lowered the camera. Not even her bare breasts could distract Maks from the sudden cold rush of reality. And the feeling of intense exposure.
‘I woke up and you looked so beautiful in the light... I just... I didn’t think...’
Maks shook his head. ‘Don’t do that.’
She put the camera down in her lap. Her eyes were wide. ‘Maks, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You looked so beautiful in the light... I just acted on instinct.’
A sense of vulnerability prickled over his skin. A sense of waking out of a deep dream. He felt cold, all of a sudden. He needed to get away from Zoe’s huge eyes.
‘I’m taking
a shower.’
‘Maks...?’
But he didn’t turn back.
He stood under the hot spray a few seconds later, but it couldn’t melt the block of ice that had formed in his gut. He didn’t have to look at his phone to know that it would be blowing up after he’d rescheduled a whole day of meetings yesterday.
His brother Nikos had been renowned for this kind of behaviour—going AWOL and then turning up in the tabloids, falling out of a club with two women on his arm, in a different city to the one where he’d been due to attend meetings.
Sharif was a little more circumspect, but recently he’d been at the mercy of some unfavourable kiss-and-tells after one of too many discarded lovers had had enough.
Maks did not do this. Maks had had a well-honed instinct to keep out of the limelight after his parents’ toxicity had blighted his and his sister’s lives. He’d always been the solid brother. The one who never failed to turn up to meetings and was discreet in all matters.
He knew he and Zoe would be all over the papers by now, because they’d been seen together at more than one event. And if he wasn’t mistaken he was pretty sure a paparazzo had been following them yesterday. He hadn’t even cared all that much.
And yet it had taken her lifting a camera to her face to wake him up. He hadn’t been able to see her face. He’d only seen that lens. It had made him realise just how far under his skin he’d let her burrow.
All the way.
No. Maks rejected that thought as he stepped out of the shower. He slung a towel around his hips and saw his face in the mirror over the sink.
What was he doing? Letting a woman get under his skin like this? When there was no way it was going to last?
The most important person in the world to Maks was Sasha, his sister. As soon as he’d been old enough he’d taken Sasha out of his father’s house and had become her guardian. His father had died soon after, and anyway he hadn’t even noticed that his daughter was gone from his care. Because she hadn’t even been his.
