Six Greek Heroes. Cathy Williams
Greek island that her mother had not redecorated. In the past, this room with its rich red upholstered chairs and dark wood paneling had been the setting for two of her happiest moments: the evening Matthias had told her she no longer had to attend her mother’s parties despite Andrea’s demands and the day the old man had told her he was sending her to university in America.
However, today promised no joy.
She had been called down to attend the reading of the wills. Since her conversation at the graveside with Sebastian the day before, she’d spent most of her time in her room. The Kouros and Demakis families were in residence and she had no desire to make herself a whipping boy for their grief and entirely righteous anger. Justified it might be, but she was not the one who had destroyed Matthias Demakis’s life.
Sebastian’s accusation that she should have tried to stem Andrea’s devastating behavior had been ludicrous, but she’d had no desire to laugh. He held her responsible for her mother’s sins and that hurt more than she wanted to contemplate.
The one man in all the world she’d ever wanted physically, the only man she’d trusted enough to swim with or talk to alone on a balcony of the old villa late at night, hated her. Her mother’s death had not resulted in personal anguish, but the knowledge Sebastian was forever out of her reach did.
She’d paid the price for being Andrea’s daughter for twenty-three years. Must she keep paying it, even now that the other woman was dead?
“Miss Long, won’t you take a seat?” The white haired lawyer had been on Matthias’s retainer for decades, but still maintained an aura of vitality she couldn’t help but admire.
As Matthias had…before he’d married a woman more than twenty-five years his junior.
Rachel tried not to make eye contact with anyone else as she made for a small ottoman in the back of the room set against a bookcase. She sat down, smoothing her hands nervously over the oyster white loose trousers covering her legs. The current trend of tight clothes that showed strips of skin had not made its way into her closet despite the fact she lived in Skin Central—Southern California.
Phillippa Kouros, Sebastian’s mother and Matthias’s niece, came into the room to take a seat beside her son. Although the powerful man’s back was to her, Rachel had no problem reading his body language as he solicitously cared for his mother and then turned to the lawyer and gave him permission to begin.
Andrea’s will held few unexpected details. She’d left all her worldly goods to her husband, except in the event he preceded her in death, then her possessions were to pass on to Rachel. The sequence of bequeathals did not surprise her. Andrea would never have expected Matthias to outlive her and had no doubt made the stipulation as some manipulative attempt at making him believe she valued him even above her daughter.
However, Matthias Demakis’s last will and testament was somewhat surprising. Although he had left a few things of sentimental value to his family members and Rachel, the bulk of his estate had been passed down to Sebastian Kouros, including the villa.
He had made no provision at all for his younger wife, nor had he left instructions for Sebastian to care for the widow. Knowing how his family had felt about Andrea, that omission was telling to Rachel’s way of thinking. Evidently, Matthias had grown completely disenchanted with his wife’s peccadilloes and scandalous behavior.
The white-haired lawyer set the document down after he had finished reading it and fixed his blue gaze on Rachel, which effectively brought the attention of the other occupants of the room as well.
Rachel squirmed inside at the stares directed her way.
“The coroner was unable to determine which of the occupants of the car died first.” The lawyer’s gaze shifted to Sebastian. “However, I’m sure the family will not dispute you taking possession of your mother’s personal belongings.”
Sebastian’s head shook in a slight negative.
Rachel felt nothing, certainly no joy in possessing anything resulting from her mother’s misbegotten lifestyle. The one thing she would have gladly received from Andrea, the other woman had taken to the grave with her.
The identity of Rachel’s father—a piece of information her mother had refused to part with throughout Rachel’s life.
Sebastian looked up at the sound of a knock on the study door. It was open, but Rachel did not come in. She stood framed in the opening, her face cast in shadow by the light coming in from the hallway so he could not see her expression.
He didn’t like that and he waved her inside impatiently, having expected this visit, but not pleased his cynicism had been proven right. As much as he knew she was Andrea’s daughter, he’d always wanted to believe she didn’t share her mother’s avarice.
“Come in. You don’t have to stand in the hall.”
She stepped forward, entering the room like a wary doe in the hunter’s sights. “I didn’t want to intrude.”
“If I needed privacy, the door would be shut.”
“Of course.” She took a deep breath, avoiding direct eye contact, her hands fisted at her sides. “Do you have a moment? I have some things I need to discuss with you.”
He nodded toward one of the red leather chairs he and his mother had occupied when the wills were read earlier. “Have a seat. I know what you want to talk about and I’m sure we can come to an amicable arrangement.”
Rachel had taken the news she’d inherited virtually nothing with too much calm acceptance earlier that day. Any offspring of the scheming Andrea would have expected a large settlement on the death of her wealthy stepfather. Rachel had to have been seriously disappointed.
The small set of books on Hellenic culture Matthias had bequeathed to her had been nothing more than a sentimental nod to the evenings he had spent discussing Greek history with his stepdaughter. Even if she sold them, they would net her only a few thousand dollars.
Sebastian saw no reason to refuse Rachel a settlement…in exchange for a vow of silence on her mother’s years as Matthias Demakis’s wife. He had no desire to read sleazy stories in the gutter press given credence by paid for interviews with Andrea Demakis’s daughter.
Rachel slid into the red chair, its oversize winged back giving her the appearance of a child. Or perhaps a fairy queen. Children did not have curves that haunted men’s dreams and sparked their libidos. He knew Rachel did, even if the white pants and top she currently wore did nothing to reveal the hourglass figure he’d seen on the few occasions she’d swum with him in his great-uncle’s pool.
She was as unassuming and conventional as her mother had been flamboyant and morally corrupt. At least on the surface.
How much of that innocence was real?
Considering the discussion they were about to have, he would have to assume a very small part.
“I shouldn’t be surprised you expected me.” A smile briefly lifted the corners of Rachel’s mouth. “You’ve always seen things others tend to ignore.”
“Certainly more than my uncle did when he looked at your mother.”
An emotionless mask descended over Rachel’s porcelain features, all vestiges of her smile dissipating like mist under a warm sun. “No doubt.”
“And I suppose this is what you wish to discuss with me?” The fact Matthias Demakis had finally wised up to his grasping, faithless wife leaving neither her, nor her daughter anything of real value in his will.
“In a way, yes.” She sat up straight in the chair and then shifted her legs so that one crossed over the other. “I need to return to my job fairly soon.”
“Yes?”
“And there are my mother’s things to be gone through.”
“Did you want to delegate that task to the servants?”
“No.”