âYOUâD rather remain locked here in the convent than marry me?â
Disbelief echoed in Christos Paterasâs voice. How could this girlâwoman, actually, although she didnât look a bit like the twenty-five her father claimed she wasâprefer living in the spartan convent over marrying him?
He was no barbarian. Compared to the Greek men sheâd been raised with, he was downright civilized.
âYou had my answer earlier,â Alysia Lemos retorted coolly. âYou neednât have wasted your time coming here.â
He turned his back on the anxious nun hovering in the background, intentionally making it harder for her to hear. The abbess might have insisted on providing Alysia with a chaperone, but that didnât mean the sister needed to be privy to the conversation.
âYou told your father no,â Christos answered, his tone mild, deceptively so. âYou didnât tell me no.â He rarely raised his voice. He didnât need to. His size and authority generally were persuasive enough.
But Alysia Lemosâs fine dark eyebrows only arched higher. âSome women might find such persistence flattering. I donât.â
âSo, your answer isâ¦?â
Alysiaâs incredulous laughter contrasted sharply with the dark blaze in her eyes. âI know youâre an American, but surely you canât be this much of an idiot!â
Her cutting dismissal might have crushed a man of lesser ego, but he wasnât just any man, and Miss Lemos wasnât just any woman. He needed her. He wasnât going to leave Oinoussai without her. âYou dislike Americans?â
âNot all.â
âGood. That should help ease the transition when we move to New York.â
Her eyes met his, the dark irises all the more arresting against her sudden pallor. âIâm not moving. And Iâd never agree to an arranged marriage.â
He dismissed this along with her other protestations. âIn case youâre worried, I consider myself Greek. My parents were born here, on Oinoussai. They still call this home.â
âOh, happy people, they.â
He almost smiled. No wonder her father, Darius, was feeling desperate. She was not an eager bride-to-be. âI donât know if theyâll be happy with you for a daughter-in-law, but theyâll adjust.â
Bands of color burned along the curve of her cheek. âIâm sure your mother dotes on you.â
âEndlessly. But then, most Greek mothers live for their sons.â
âWhile daughters are disposable.â
He gave no indication that heâd heard the hurt in her voice, the small wobble in her breath as she spat the bitter words. âNot mine. My daughters will be cherished.â
At thirty-seven, he needed a wife, and Darius Lemos needed a husband for his wayward daughter. This was no love match, but a match made in a bank in Switzerland. âIâm an only child, the last of the Pateras in my branch of the family. Iâve promised my parents a grandchild before my thirty-ninth birthday, and I shall deliver.â
âNo, you hope Iâll deliver!â
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. âI stand corrected.â
Alysiaâs hands balled. She longed to smack his smirk right off his gorgeous, arrogant face. Sheâd never met a man more sure of himself than he. Except for her father, that is.
She swallowed convulsively, her stomach heaving, as she struggled to understand why her father had reached across the Atlantic for a husband for her. Her father despised the new rich. Her father must be feeling desperate. Well, so was she. He was practically auctioning her off to the highest bidder, his sole heir up for grabs.
Hot tears rushed to her eyes but she held them back. Her mother would never have let her father do this.
âThere are worse bridegrooms, Miss Lemos.â
She felt the irony but couldnât even smile. âA husband is a husband, and I donât want one.â