Page 17 of Secrets, Lies and Love
Cecily
CHAPTER NINE
“Miss Bradley?”I hear a powerful voice call, and my body shakes because I know that the moment of truth has arrived.
He doesn’t need to be announced; I’m sure I’m about to meet Dionysus Kostanidis.
“Yes, it’s me,” I answer, trying to convey calm.
Breathe, Cici, I order myself as soon as the man I have longed to meet for the last few months enters the hospital room.
I can’t, though. I’m too stunned by the Greek’s presence to even remember what I planned to do when we saw each other. I barely remember my name, actually.
I knew he was handsome from the research I did on the internet. In fact, if there is one thing that can be said about the Kostanidis brothers, it’s that they have blessed genetics.
No photo did justice to his presence, however.
I estimate that he’s more than six feet tall, with straight, broad shoulders and a solid, muscular body. He really looks like a god.
His hair is dark and reaches his shoulders, longer than I remember. A full, perfect beard shapes a face with an angular jaw.
I purposely focus on his clothes—a black suit, shirt, and tie that fits him like a second skin—just taking a quick look at his eyes and not coming to a conclusion as to whether they are green, blue, or gray. Perhaps a combination of these three colors, creating a unique nuance.
It’s not the hue that impresses me most, however, but the direct way in which he looks at me. I don’t need anyone to tell me that he’s a man who fears nothing.
There is coldness in his eyes, which makes him even more intimidating. They stand out against naturally golden skin, a contradiction. Everything about the man screams heat and fire. His expression, however, says “stay away”.
If it weren’t for my current situation—or rather, mymission—I would ask for permission to escape as soon as possible from this tycoon, because it’s clear that I am facing someone who should not be trifled with.
My God in heaven, what have I gotten myself into?
My stomach somersaults from anxiety.
I know I have limited time and I can’t just stare at him like I’m catatonic, so I try to remember all the information I have about him.
He’s the third of the four Kostanidis brothers and was widowed a few months ago—that last part makes my nausea worse.
Does he know who he was married to?
There were photos of him and Sue on the internet, and I couldn’t tell from any of them whether they were happy. Despite that, they made a beautiful couple.
What I doubt, however, is that his wife told him the whole story about Joseph’s father.
I’m working up the courage to speak when, suddenly, before I can say a word, he blurts out, “My name is Dionysus Kostanidis, Miss Bradley, and I will arrange for you to return to your city as quickly as possible. Maybe the next time you throw yourself in front of a car, you won’t be so lucky.”
What? Of all the things I imagined he would say, nothing even came close to that.
I mentally repeat his words, and little by little, the nervousness is replaced by anger.
Did he just walk in here, introduce himself, and say he would send me back home?
Who does he think he is to make decisions for me?
I can’t even blame him for the last part of what he said, because I acted like a crazy person, getting in front of that car. After talking to Mr. Anderson, I felt really guilty because I realized that I scared the driver, but none of that gives the Greek the right to think he can determine what I’m going to do with my life.
God, how stupid I was to think that a man like him, used to having the world at his feet and being king of his universe, would listen to me.
“I’m not going back to Kansas,” I say calmly, though inside I’m boiling.
