by SR Jones
The only issue now is going to be getting out of the grounds of Damen’s place without that man who is following me seeing … or, losing him somewhere else. If he follows me and tells Stamatis I met Papan, Stamatis might get the wrong idea, and I don’t want that.
Damn, I need a place I can lose my new bodyguard.
I rack my brains for the rest of the night. Gus and I eat, watch a movie, and then he goes to bed. And still I’m thinking, while at the same time going through the material I have, putting aside pieces that might be nice as part of a top for Maya.
I find a scarf I’d forgotten I had. One from my previous life, from before I entered the commune. It’s gorgeous. Silk with blues and golds; it’s richly decadent. The gold forms the chain print on the scarf, and the blue is in the ribbons flowing around it. It looks expensive, but I bought it for a song and used to use it to tie around my thick hair to hold it back from my face. I take it and smooth it out. Yes, this will be perfect. It’s big enough to make up much of the front, and the colors will look amazing on Maya.
The more I look at it, the more I see the top coming to life and envisage Maya in it. Despite not really having the room, I want to work on it now, so I drag out my sewing machine and set up on the small table in the kitchen area. As I begin to draw out patterns and measure the material, I lose myself in the flow. Hours later, fingers sore, and mind pleasantly numb, I look at what I’ve made.
The top is beautiful, if I say so myself. The colors of the various fabrics and the different textures work amazingly. Star’s top was all silk, but this one has some coarser fabric in the lower part of the back, from a top of my mother’s that I still had. It’s a thick cotton with a flower pattern that matches the colors of the silk at the front. It’s a totally unique, beautiful patchwork of materials.
I can’t wait to show it to Maya in the morning.
The next day, I hurry over to the main house while Gus plays basketball with his scary Russian friends. At first, I was wary of him making friends with them, but now I know his father is wanting to push for contact, and it makes me feel he is safer. I know those guys would protect him if his dad came for him. Know it deep down. So would Markos, Damen, and Alesso. As for Stamatis. I might not know what I am to him, but I know he’d do everything he could to protect Gus, and that’s why I’ve not told him anything. I’m scared he’ll overreact, hurt Papan, and get into trouble with the police. Although … I’m sure he knows about the school gate incident thanks to his man following me everywhere.
I press the buzzer, and a few moments later a bleary eyed Alesso pulls the door open. He blinks into the bright light, yawns, scratches the scruff on his perfect jaw and mumbles. “Come in.”
Such a charmer. I follow him into the blessedly cool house and realize it’s early. These guys clearly don’t get up at seven in the morning the way I do every day, even when Gus doesn’t have school. It’s late for me. At the commune, I would often wake around six and start my chores.
The soft tread of bare feet on the stairs has me glancing up in time to see Damen hit the bottom step. He’s wearing jogging bottoms, and one of those tops men wear without sleeves; he’s massive. His shoulders are like boulders. Maya is close behind.
“Hey, Rhea. Nice to see you. You okay?”
“Erm, yes.” Oh, lord above I feel stupid now. “I … erm. I made your top, last night.” I hold it up, my face burning.
Alesso hustles past us and heads to the kitchen, running his hands through his hair and yawning some more.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think how early it is. The soldiers across the way are all up, and Gus rises early, and… I didn’t mean to wake you all.”
“It’s fine, Rhea,” Damen gives me an easy smile. “Got a busy day anyway.”
“How long will you both be gone?” Maya asks.
“About eight hours or so. We’ll be back this evening.”
She pouts. “I hate the days you’re out for hours.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Baby, it’s called a job. If I had a normal nine to five, this would be a daily occurrence.”
“Well, be as quick as you can,” she demands, and then takes my arm and leads me upstairs.
“I’ll try it on now. I can’t wait. I can’t believe you made this in one night.”
She walks into her bedroom and closes the door behind us as she holds the top up to look at it.
“Wow, Rhea.” She fingers the material, her hands sliding down the silk, and stroking over the thicker cotton at the back. “It’s amazing. Where did you get this stuff?”
“I was going to go shopping,” I tell her. “But then last night I was looking through my material, and I realized I had a lot of nice stuff right there. I started to play around with some of it, fitting it together, and this came to me.”
“Let me try it on.”
She whips her strappy cotton top off, and she’s not wearing a bra. Embarrassed, I look away while she pulls on the top I made for her.
“Oh. My. God.” She stares and then twirls, and then stares some more. “This is insane.”
Is that good or bad?
“Totally insane. This is sick.”
Sick? That sounds bad.
“You are a fucking genius.” She hugs me, and she smells like roses and spice, decadent and expensive.
“I’m going out tomorrow night with Damen to this awfully boring thing, but it’s to help raise money for Stella’s rehoming center, and I’m going to wear this.”
“Really?” I’m amazed she’d wear a handmade top to something that sounds rather grand.
“Yes, it’s so unique. I have the most gorgeous pair of black Armani pants that this will look freaking amazing with. You’re so clever. You need to make more. I bet Stella would love one. That girl doesn’t do dressing up often, but when she does, she does it in style. Maybe one with sleeves? Could you do that?”
I think about it. “Yes, of course, loose sleeves that drape to about mid arm.” I’m thinking now. “You could make it in a generic size to fit around five different sizes with a tie around the waist. Loose, handkerchief style like this but with sleeves. It would take more fabric, but it could be done.”
“I want one. It would be gorgeous over skinny jeans. You need to make more of these. I am telling you Rhea, they’re really good.”
I smile at her, unsure what to say, but inside I’m glowing.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Stamatis
I stare at the paper, with the picture of my daughter on the front page of the entertainment section. It’s not my daughter that I’m looking at, though; it is the top she’s wearing. A top the paper claims is by exciting new designer Rhea Rose. Now I know for a fact that Rhea hasn’t set herself up in business, and she hasn’t come up with the name Rhea Rose; that’s all pure Maya, thinking on the spot.
“So now my phone has been ringing all morning with people wanting to know if I’ll make them a top,” Rhea finishes breathlessly.
She called me at eight this morning and asked me to come over. Gus is at summer school today, and I thought something was wrong from her tone.
“She gave them your number?” I ask.
“Yes, handed it out to all the women clamoring to know where she got the top from.”
Rhea’s nervous, but she’s excited too. There’s a light in her eyes, an aliveness I normally only see when she’s playing with Gus, or when she and I are getting down to business. The rest of the time, she floats through life like an introverted ghost.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go shopping, and I’m going to make some tops,” she says with a grin.
“Shopping where? Do you need money?”
“Oh, no, thank you. I go to the thrift stores, and the little out of the way vintage stores. I mostly buy old shirts and scarves, and it doesn’t cost a lot. It’s the fabrics I’m interested in, not designer brands. Although… I suppose if I did have some designer brands, it might mean I could charge more
for those tops. What should I charge? I have no idea.”
She drums her fingers on the breakfast counter, where we are sitting drinking coffee. “One woman offered me a thousand euros if I could make her one in time for next weekend. A thousand euros, Stamatis, for something I’ve made.”
She glances around the apartment, and her eyes take on a wild look. “I need a sewing room, an area where Gus won’t go because there will be needles, scissors, sharp things.”
“I have some Hermes scarves and ties with bright patterns on them.”
“What’s Hermes?”
“It’s an expensive, very expensive, designer brand. They do scarves, ties, leather goods.”
“I can’t take your scarves, Stamatis.”
“I never wear them. Lena bought most of them. I have a dark gray scarf I wear when it’s cold, that’s it. These are bright orange with blue geometric patterns on them, and one has horses all over it. They’re beautiful, just not something I reach for. You can have them, put them to use, for someone who will love them and get wear out of them. And it gives you a kick start. You put a Hermes scarf into one of your tops, you can quite easily ask for a thousand euros for it, and then you can put the money back into your business and buy more vintage things from top brands. That way, you build a name for yourself.”
“Thank you,” she says and smiles at me, bright and true. A real full on, rare Rhea smile, and something aches in my chest at how beautiful she is in this moment.
She slides from her stool, comes to me, and puts her arms around me. I don’t know how we go from one minute a soft peck on the cheek, to the next our mouths and teeth clashing as we kiss ferociously. She tastes of coffee and cinnamon, and I want to devour her.
I lift her onto the breakfast bar in front of me and go back to kissing her as I stand between her spread legs. She’s wearing a long white skirt, a navy blue t-shirt, and has no shoes on her delicate feet.
Acting on pure instinct, not even thinking, I slip my fingers into her panties. She’s already soaked for me.
Shit, I need to be inside her now. I undo my zip and am shocked to notice my fingers are shaky. Since when did I get so needy for a woman?
I pull her panties to one side and line myself up. She’s on the counter dressed, and I’m between her legs dressed. If anyone happened to pass by the small kitchen window and peer in, they wouldn’t be able to see anything much from behind her. From this angle, though, is a whole different matter.
I look down to see her glistening pussy lips exposed by me pulling her panties aside. I line my cock up and rub all around her clit and her entrance with the head. She lets her head drop back on a sigh. “Stop teasing,” she moans.
I smile, a prideful smile full of satisfaction.
In the weeks we’ve been doing this, she’s lost a lot of her inhibitions.
“Say it,” I demand.
She lifts her head, looks me right in the eyes, and whispers, “Fuck me, Stamatis, please.”
It’s a shot of pure lust-filled adrenaline to my veins hearing her say those words.
“Your wish is my command,” I say as I thrust into her.
She clings to me, and we move together, kissing, fucking, getting as close as we can, both needing this as much as the other.
Soo, she’s grinding against me, working for it, chasing what she needs, and I’m right there with her.
It only adds to the thrill to know there are soldiers probably right outside her kitchen as we do this, playing basketball and completely unaware.
We come at the same time, her cries tipping me right over the edge. We hold onto one another as the waves ebb and die down, and then I take her face in my hands and kiss her, and it’s unlike any of the other kisses I’ve given this woman. There’s meaning in this kiss. Rhea is worming her way in.
Yet, I don’t want her to.
I’m poison, and she deserves better.
The fact is, though, she’s starting to mean a lot more to me than the odd fuck.
I’m not sure I like it, or that I want it, but I can’t deny it. I’m not a coward, and I’m not about to start lying to myself now. This is becoming more than I thought it would.
Liar. A voice in my head mocks me. Didn’t I always know, deep down, from the first moment I met her, the moment when she handed me her number on a piece of paper ripped from a tiny, old-fashioned notepad? I thought then I’d burn down my whole world to get a taste of her. What did I think? I’d have that taste and walk away?
Trouble is, where do we go from here? She’s the mother of a woman who is with one of my men. If we start something serious and it doesn’t work out, how will it affect Star and Markos?
I’d love to go into this believing everything will be fine, but experience has taught me otherwise. Things can go wrong. You can start off loving someone deeply … wait, love? I don’t love her. Not yet, but I could. Easily.
I look at her, into her beautiful eyes and her heart shaped face, and take in all that is Rhea. Maybe I’m starting to fall in love, though. This isn’t mere lust. It’s more. I want to protect her, keep her safe, help her, be there for her. I want to fix the things that are broken in her life and stop anything from hurting her.
Lena hasn’t needed me for the longest time. In fact, she’s looked at me with nothing but disdain for years now. Rhea needs me. She needs someone to be there for her, to help her navigate the choppy waters of life out here. When Rhea looks at me there is worship in her eyes. It’s a potent aphrodisiac to have such a beautiful woman look at me like I’m her hero.
To be her hero, though, I need to sort my life out. I want Lena exorcised from it, and to be able to offer Rhea a home if we get to that stage; not a house half empty, and full of people painting, cleaning, and building.
Maya got told she had a blank check, but to fill me in on the expenses, and so far I’m pleasantly surprised. She’s found some amazing pieces of furniture, and none of them have cost me the earth. Of course, I could simply use my contacts in places like Morocco and Afghanistan to get the rugs and lamps she’s filling my home with, but she’s doing a damn good job herself, and I like giving her a role.
She can’t spend the rest of her life doing nothing more than a few hours a week at the homeless shelter and shopping. Of course, I’d prefer her to be busy making a baby with that husband of hers because I want to carry on the legacy I’m building, but she seems to have no interest in doing so.
I sigh. Maybe Maya isn’t the maternal type.
“What is it?” Rhea touches my face as she looks at me.
We’ve both tidied ourselves away, and look the picture of respectability. Thank fuck, because I clearly forgot to lock the door, and at that moment Stella walks in.
She stops, looks at us both, and turns bright red. I glance down to make sure my dick’s not hanging out or something, the way she’s reacted, but no, it isn’t.
“Sorry,” she mumbles. “I’ll come back later. The door was ajar, and I wanted to talk to you about making me a shirt, Rhea.”
“It’s okay,” Rhea hops off the counter as if I’ve not just moments before fucked her brains out on it. “What do you want?”
“Something with sleeves, more muted colors than you did for Maya and Star, and if you can find anything with dogs on it that would be awesome! I have an interview in four weeks for the shelter, and I have to be photographed for it. I’d love to wear one of your handmade tops. It would be awesome if it had dogs on it somehow in one of the prints?”
“I think I can find fabric with dogs on it,” Rhea tells her.
“Okay, so … see you guys later,” she says with a twitch of her lips.
“I don’t get why she reacted that way,” I say as she shuts the door behind her with a click. “It’s not as if we’re naked.”
“You can practically smell the sex in the air.” Rhea laughs.
Well, when she puts it that way.
My phone goes, and I take it out of my pocket and smile. “It’s Mikhalis,” I tell R
hea.
“Dad?” he sounds concerned.
“Yes, son, is everything okay?”
“I’m calling to ask you that. I got a drunk call from Mom last night. I thought you said the divorce was mutual … amicable.”
“It was … is,” I say. I haven’t told him that before she agreed to it, Lena spent most of her waking hours doing nothing but hating me.
“Well, Mom didn’t sound amicable last night. You might want to watch your back. That’s not the only reason I’m calling. I have some news.” He pauses. “It’s big news.”
“Yes?”
“I’m coming home. Back to Greece, I mean.”
“What? Why?”
“Jeez, Dad, you could sound a bit more pleased.”
I turn away from Rhea and walk back and forth as I speak. “I am pleased. It will be great to have you closer to home, but I thought your plan was for a life in America.”
“It was, but I met someone, and she wants to be based in Greece, near to her parents.”
“Whereabouts in Greece?” I can’t lie, the thought of having Mikhalis back home makes my heart sing. I would never pressure my son to move back, and indeed for a while, the plan was for him to set up as a lawyer in America to help the family business, but he chose to go totally legit. The fact that he is coming home makes me glad.
“Who is she?”
“No one you know. She’s not from a wealthy family, Dad, but I love her. We’re planning on getting married. We didn’t tell you or her parents for a long time because we wanted to be sure. It means me uprooting myself and starting over again, career wise. It won’t be easy, but she’s worth it. Her name is Cora, and her mom is a bank teller, and her dad works as a mechanic. They live in Pangrati. I told her we could maybe stay with you for a while when we first get back, but then when Mom called; she begged us to stay with her. I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that, Dad. She’s still convinced Costas was a good boy really, and we’re all simply in denial about how good he was. I don’t need to be hearing that rubbish for days on end. I thought staying with you might be better?”
