The Greek Billionaire and I

The last two transactions were completed online in the morning of their wedding day. The first was another check of $100,000 transferred to her lawyer Lester Wilkins. The remainder, a sum amounting to a little over $2,000, was withdrawn as cash.

Her second account was even more perplexing. She had opened it a week ago. And when he read the details of the one and only transaction for the account, Mykolas realized that it was the $100,000 check he had given to her.

It remained untouched, even today.

Mykolas moved on to the next group of documents, and that was when the alarm bells started to ring. They were application forms for a non-profit foundation intended to benefit victims of crimes related to drug abuse. The initial capital was $100,000.

Was the non-profit to be a front? Would she use it to ask for more money from him for her lover?

The thought had his fist clenching, and he had the strongest urge to flip his table and destroy every piece of evidence that suggested Velvet Lambert had been untrue to him.

Why? Why, damn you, why?

She had sobbed and screamed the question at him. He wanted to roar the same question at her. The pain of her betrayal was so great it nearly crippled him. Same f*cking question, but at least he meant his. With her, he knew it was all a f*cking act. She did not care about him. All she had ever cared about was his money, and God, how skillfully she had played him. She would probably be laughing her way to the bank when she found out that on the same morning she had sent Wayne Greenfield a hundred grand, he, Mykolas Sallis, had torn their prenup contract.

The memory of his stupidity was like acid, and a second later he did end up destroying his desk. Punched the wall. Smashed glass into pieces with his bare hands. He destroyed everything in sight, but the pain remained because he could not destroy the memories he had of Velvet.

Why? Why, damn you, why?

****

It was almost ten in the evening when he arrived at his home. His manservant received him stony-faced, and Mykolas was tempted to fire the damn man on the spot. In all the years Dodds had been working for Mykolas, he had rarely spoken or given his opinion. The old man had even preferred to work around the apartment only when Mykolas was not there to “disturb” him when he was cleaning. But somehow, Velvet had managed to fool the old man, too. It was obvious in the way Dodds looked at him that the crusty old man blamed him for Velvet’s absence.

“You have a visitor,” Dodds informed him woodenly. “A Mrs. Chantal Blakely.”

The shock of realizing that his stepmother was in his home was enough to make Mykolas briefly forget his black mood. When he strode into his living room, Chantal was indeed there. The years that passed had made little difference to her, other than the fact that she wasn’t as thin as she used to be.

“Do I merit a hug, Mickey?”

She had been the only one to call him that. It had first been her way of getting his attention by making him angry but in the end, it had turned into a term of endearment from mother to son.

His fury over Velvet’s betrayal had left him tired, vulnerable, and looking at Chantal, Mykolas wasn’t even able to summon up an ounce of resentment. All he could remember were the good times. He said gruffly, “Of course, Chubby.” That had been his way of retaliating when he was a boy.

She laughed, he smiled, and they were in each other’s arms. When Chantal was seated across him and Dodds had finished serving them drinks, she said wistfully, “I’ve always hated myself for giving in to the pressure, you know.”

“You were young,” he murmured. “I understand what you went through—”

“I wasn’t the young one then. You were. I loved you like a son. I made you see me as a mother and yet in the end, I gave you up and I’ll never…” Chantal inhaled sharply. “I’ll never forgive myself for that.” Tears made her eyes hazy. “Even when I remarried and gave birth to my children, I always thought of you as my child – my firstborn and I…I told my children about you, too. I told them that maybe one day, you’d be able to forgive me for not standing up to your father.”

Mykolas’ lips twisted. “If you mean you wished you had been able to change him so that we could remain a happy family, then that would have been impossible.”

Chantal shook her head. “No. Not that.” She looked at him with dawning realization – and pity. “You don’t know, do you?” Before he could answer, she sighed, “Oh, Mickey. How you must have hated me all these years.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I asked your father if I could see you again. And it seemed to hurt his pride, offended him somehow, that I wanted to see you more than him, so he threatened to destroy my life – even my parents’ – if I ever attempted to contact you.”

Mykolas’ face was white by the time Chantal finished speaking. Damn his father. He had always been a vain, jealous fool and Mykolas could easily see how his pride had made him see his own son as a rival. “You are right,” he said tightly. “I should have realized you would not give me up so easily—”

Chantal started to cry at his words, and Mykolas drew his stepmother into his arms. “I’m sorry you married the old bastard.”

“I’m sorry the old bastard is your father.”

Chantal’s teary quip somehow reminded him of Velvet, but he stoically pushed the thought away. He would get rid of her, every f*cking memory, even if he had to die trying.

When Chantal pulled away, she asked with an eager smile, “And your bride? Where is she?”

Mykolas stiffened. “She’s…not here.”

“Oh.” Chantal’s smile became teasing. “She seemed to be a very headstrong woman. I bet she can easily run circles around you. When I first read her letter—”

He asked sharply, “She wrote to you?”

“Surely you know—you don’t?” Chantal paled. “I thought…when you didn’t throw me out of the door, I thought she had told you everything and you were expecting me.”

Alarm bells started to ring inside his head, and there was a heavy aching sensation in his chest that made it hard for Mykolas to breathe. “When did she write to you?”

“Yesterday. She sent an express mail and gave me a roundtrip ticket to Athens. I live in the States now. I actually went to your house in Santorini first and when I learned you were still here, I thought there had been a mix-up and I…I didn’t want to waste this chance to meet you again so I came here.” She looked at him entreatingly. “Please tell me you’re not angry at her for contacting me?”

“No,” he heard himself say hoarsely. “I’m not.” Confused was what he was. And terrified. So damn terrified that even if it did not seem possible, he had gotten everything wrong.

“I was hesitant and scared to meet with you, you know. But her letter was so beautiful. She told me that I was her wedding gift to you. That she wanted you to feel it wasn’t wrong to trust or love someone. When she said those words, how could I not risk saying ‘yes’? Because I have always loved you like a son, Mickey. And this time I wanted to prove to you that I really do love you.”

When Chantal left, Mykolas made another call to his head of security. “I know you’ve uncovered everything you could about Velvet, but this time I want you to look for any connection possible between her and Lester Wilkins – a lawyer – and an American named Wayne Garfield. I don’t give a f*ck what you have to pay or whose arm you have to twist, but I want information. Now.”