A shiver ran down her spine as Makros leaned over the edge of the bed, tilting her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Who is he?" His voice was even and controlled.
Her lips opened, she hesitated, and he could see the conflict in her eyes. She was debating. Debating what to say. Debating what not to say.
"I—" She swallowed. "He's a broker. Someone who was supposed to help me."
Makros pressed his thumb to her bottom lip, stroking the softness there. "Help you... how?"
"How else? I wanted to get out of this stupid country." The words came quickly, rushed, as if she wanted to get past them. "I thought we would be able to arrange for that."
Makros felt hurt. He disliked that she felt there was more for her somewhere else than from him. He wrapped his fingers around her neck, squeezing just enough to make her breath catch. "And where did you meet him?"
She hesitated, but just for an instant.
And he squeezed her neck a little harder.
"How did I meet him?" she gasped. "It was arranged."
Makros scoffed, dragging his fingers over the damp skin of her throat, then down to her bare shoulder. "Arranged in what way? How did you guys communicate? With a phone? Through a messenger? Tell me."
"I—" She hesitated once more.
His fingers trailed lower. Over her ribs, down her stomach. "No lies, Leila. Just the truth."
She shivered, and he wasn't sure if it was from his touch or from fear or both.
"I—I don't use a phone." Her voice trembled. "It was all a part of Stefanos' plan."
Makros blinked in surprise wondering if he had misheard her.
Leila saw the shift in his demeanour, the brief flicker of doubt in his facial expression before it hardened into something sharper.
He didn't believe her.
She needed to fix that.
"Stefanos wanted to help me get out of the country," she lied smoothly. "To a nice private island where he could be with me."
Makros exhaled calmly, letting his fingers graze over her skin.
"Stefanos," he echoed, as if he didn't recognise who the name belonged to. "No. That's impossible."
Leila nodded, reinforcing the lie further. "Impossible? He—he's had his eye on me for a long time, hasn't he?"
Makros's expression didn't change much, but there was a sliver of doubt and she felt the slight shift in his touch.
Leila pressed forward.
"He tried to force himself on me once," she whispered. "The first time you left me alone to go to Naples. Happened in your father's study. But I fought back. I smashed his head with a paperweight, rendering him unconscious. Your father walked in on us. If you doubt me, ask him yourself."
Makros raked his hair backwards with his fingers.
"You're lying," he said in a clipped tone.
Leila let her breath hitch, let the emotion waver in her voice. "Am I?" she whispered.
His eyes darkened.
