A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks (28 page)

“Yeah.” The blue of his eyes turned brilliant. “Yours.”

Happy wasn’t the word for what boomed inside her. Happy didn’t cover the joy of finding her mate or the desire she felt as she lay in his arms. Happy didn’t convey the inner conviction she’d found her place or the feeling of boundless freedom they would find together exploring their new world of
us
. “My heart is yours too.”

He smiled, his Sophie smile, the one he only gave to her. “I know.”

There was an edge of smugness in his voice that made her laugh. She slapped his shoulder. “You.”

His smile turned to a grin.

Even though neither of them had said the three words every lovers and love story demanded be said, she didn’t need them. Not right now. Because she had him. All of him—his body, his heart. Now, she wanted his past and his soul. Then she’d say the three words, and he would, too. “Let’s get back to your dad.”

The light went out of his eyes.

“Alex.” She kissed the skin right above his heart. “Tell me. Trust me.”

His lean body tightened, every muscle taut as if he were about to run into battle. Straightening in his arms, she saw his Adam’s apple move when he swallowed. She met his gaze, a gaze no longer glowing with love. Instead, the old turbulence had engulfed the love, replacing it with the ugly brew raging inside him. “Alex—”

“Okay. Fine.” His hand clutched on her hip. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Clearly, it was a very big deal, but if he wanted to take this path, it was all right with her. “Then just tell me.”

“He died.” He closed his eyes, his blond lashes long, the tips darker, like toasted amber.

“Right,” she coaxed him forward. “When you were seventeen.”

“I was a jerk.”

“When he died?” Frustrated, she peered at his face, wishing he’d open his eyes so she could tell what was going on in his head.

“No.” She got her wish; his eyes opened, yet instead of giving her a window into his pain, they were blank. “Not after. Never after.”

“So…you were a jerk before he died.”

“We had a fight.” He blinked, the blue still blank. It was as if he were staring back into the past, forced to look, but not willing to feel. “We had a lot of fights.”

Sophie had a hard time believing this. The few times Alex had talked about his dad, she’d seen the love and the pride he’d held for his father. And she’d lay high odds the feelings had been mutual. “You were seventeen. Most guys at seventeen tend to be jerks.”

His gaze snapped to hers and her tragic story flowed between them. He chuckled again, a husky sound. “Yeah. I guess.”

Silence fell, and she let it go for a while. Intuition told her to let this sink in. The water bubbled around them and the haunting call of a thrush trilled from a barren tree. Finally, she decided another poke might be in order. “Lots of seventeen-year-olds fight with their dads.”

His long fingers flexed. “Not like me. I was far worse than most.”

“Really?” Her lover could be arrogant and even vindictive, but she’d never detected an iota of cruelty or violence in him. “I’m having a hard time believing this.”

“Believe it.” The words were clipped.

“You’ll have to explain before I’ll believe.”

The water seemed to grow hotter, as if the heat from his self-anger burned from his body into the pool. Glaring at her, he punched the confession out. “He didn’t think I was concentrating enough at school. He thought I was goofing off too much.”

“Hmm?” She let him go, let him spit the ugly from his conscience.

“He said he’d worked hard to give me every opportunity and I was taking it for granted.” His eyes burned and yet, the blankness had fallen once more, telling her he was back in the past.

“A lot of kids—”

He brushed right past her words. “He was right. About everything.”

“Everything?” She smoothed her hand over his shoulder. “No one’s right about everything.”

“That night, the last night.” He took in a deep breath, his shoulders straightening as if he were taking on a load of guilt. “He said I was going to give him a heart attack if I kept going the way I was going.”

“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.”

“
D
addy
?”

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 into 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.”