Chapter Eighty Three
Chapter Eighty Three
Eros
“Stupid. Stupid. You damn fool,” I cursed myself silently, standing beneath the cold spray of the shower.
I hadn’t meant to kiss her—despite how often the thought had plagued me. Since the moment I laid eyes on her again, the idea had rooted itself in my mind. I'd wondered if the spark would still be there, that same electrifying jolt from years ago. And the moment our lips met, it was like being struck by lightning.
The truth was undeniable now—I was so hopelessly in love with Athena that I couldn’t think straight anymore. I knew she belonged to someone else, yet I couldn’t stop wishing—aching—that she was mine instead.
If only I hadn’t let pain and anger cloud my judgment thirteen years ago... She would’ve been mine. Not Lysander’s. Mine.
I turned off the water before my thoughts could spiral any further, pushed the shower door open, and stepped out. Grabbing a towel, I wrapped it around my waist, then took another to quickly dry my hair. Once done, I tossed it into the hamper near the door and walked out of the bathroom.
The phone had just stopped ringing—and then immediately started again as I entered the bedroom. Crossing the room to the table, I picked it up from the charger.
A sigh left me when I saw my grandmother’s picture on the screen. I swiped to answer and brought the phone to my ear while heading toward the bed.
“Hey, Grandma,” I greeted.
“Hey, darling. How are you doing?” she asked warmly.
“I’m good. How’s Grandpa? He’s staying off his feet like the doctor said, right?”
My grandfather had fractured his ankle and suffered a serious concussion after a bad fall. The doctor had assured us he’d recover from the concussion within a few days, but he needed complete rest for the ankle to heal properly.
Grandma had taken that advice to heart. She hovered around him constantly, anticipating his every need before he could even speak.
Every time I saw them together, I found myself wishing for a love like theirs. They argued, sure—they were both stubborn—but they always made their way back to each other without hesitation.
If Leonardo had shown even an ounce of respect toward my mother, maybe she’d still be alive. Maybe Athena’s mother would be, too. His choices had led to three deaths, and the man had never once shown remorse.
“He’s being a good boy,” Grandma said fondly.
I chuckled. “That’s good to hear.”
A brief silence followed before she let out a sigh. “Darling, I know we’ve talked about this before, but—”
“Grandma, not the arranged marriage thing again,” I groaned, dragging my fingers through my damp hair. “I’m not interested in her.”
“Constance is a lovely girl from a respectable family. She’d make a wonderful wife,” she insisted.
Constance Welling—the daughter of the Minister of Defense. Grandma had been trying to arrange a match between us for months. Her biggest fear was not getting to meet my children before she passed.
Never mind that she already had over twenty grandchildren and at least seven great-grandchildren.
“I…” I hesitated, rubbing a hand over my face. “I can find my own bride, Grandma.”
“If I leave it to you, you’ll never get married,” she retorted. “Just meet her. Once—or twice. Form your own opinion, not someone else’s. Who knows, she might surprise you.”
I sighed in defeat. Danetta Baez-Belmonte was a force to be reckoned with, and saying no to her was practically impossible.
“Fine,” I muttered.
She let out a delighted squeal. “I’ll make the reservations and send you the address. Lunch is okay? Or would you prefer dinner?”
I tried to recall if I had any appointments tomorrow afternoon, but nothing came to mind. I’d have to double-check my schedule.
“Lunch should be fine,” I replied.
“Perfect!” she chirped. “Love you, darling.”
“Love you too—” I began, but the line had already gone dead. I sighed.
Opening my email, I scanned my schedule and confirmed I had at least two free hours tomorrow afternoon.
Still, I told myself, I’m only giving her forty-five minutes. Tops.
\~~~~~
The next morning, I waited for Athena by the car, sipping on a lukewarm coffee I didn't really want. The chauffeur opened the back door, and she slid in beside me without looking up from her phone.
“Morning,” she said, her voice calm, polished—too polished.
“Morning,” I replied, watching her from the corner of my eye as I slid in after her.
She was dressed in her usual quiet elegance—taupe pantsuit, low-heeled nude pumps, and her hair pinned in a loose bun. Professional. Detached. Untouchable.
We were barely two blocks from the Royal Palace when I cleared my throat. “I’ve got a lunch date today.”
That got her attention. She paused mid-scroll, glanced up briefly, then returned her gaze to the screen.
There was a beat of silence, just long enough for hope to rise in my chest that she might say something—anything.
Instead, she simply asked, “Would you like me to make a reservation?”
That was it.
No flicker of jealousy. No narrowing of her eyes. No subtle shift in tone. Just that same professional, detached calm she always carried around like armor.
I leaned my head back against the seat, annoyed by how disappointed I felt. “No need. My grandmother already took care of it.”
“Okay,” she replied simply, then went back to her phone as though I hadn’t said anything noteworthy.
I stared out the window for the rest of the ride, irritated with myself for wanting a reaction that never came.
The restaurant was one of those old-money places with dark wood paneling, crisp white linen, and wine glasses tall enough to double as art pieces. I was early, which wasn’t like me, but I needed a moment to brace myself.
Constance Welling arrived five minutes late, and true to her image, she made an entrance.
She wore a blush pink silk blouse tucked into high-waisted cream trousers that flared slightly at the hem. Her heels clicked softly on the marble floor as she approached, her platinum-blonde hair sleek and shiny, lips tinted in a soft rose.
“Eros,” she said, offering a perfectly practiced smile. “You’re looking well.”
“Constance.” I stood to greet her with a polite nod, then gestured toward the seat across from me.
We ordered quickly—she asked for a salad with grilled salmon, I ordered the steak—and then the obligatory small talk began.
“I was surprised when your grandmother called,” she said, stirring her iced tea delicately. “She said you’ve finally come to your senses.”
I gave her a tight smile. “Something like that.”
“Not that I mind,” she added with a light laugh. “It’s just funny how things turn around. We’ve known each other practically since we were kids.”
“Except we were never really friends, were we?”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You were too brooding to be anyone’s friend. But you were always interesting.”
I didn’t respond. She liked the sound of her own voice too much to need encouragement.
“I heard you’ve been working closely with that Sanderson girl. Athena, right?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yes. What about her?”
“Oh, nothing.” She smiled like she knew something I didn’t. “Just curious. I’ve seen a few photos of you two at events. She’s… striking. Not your usual type.”
I clenched my jaw slightly. “She’s my assistant.”
“Right.” Her smirk widened. “Of course.”
I glanced at my watch. We were only twenty minutes in.
She kept talking—about her family, her travels, the gala she’d be attending next weekend. She was poised, educated, and everything my grandmother wanted for me. But as I sat there, nodding at intervals, I couldn’t stop thinking about Athena.
About how unreadable she'd been this morning. How I’d hoped—just a flicker—that she’d ask who I was meeting. That she’d care. But she hadn’t.
I set down my glass and looked Constance in the eye. “Let’s not pretend we’re something we’re not, Constance.”
She tilted her head slightly, no offense taken. “Fair enough. But just so you know, I don’t mind pretending. Sometimes that’s how real things begin.”
I offered her a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
Forty-five minutes, I reminded myself. Just forty-five. Then I could go back to my real chaos—the kind that involved a woman who refused to show her cards, even when she held every one that could ruin me.