Modern Romance October 2019 Books 5-8. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Leonidas told himself he was simply doing what Hannah deserved. That it was easy for him to deliver on her dreams and that someone should do that for her, after everything she’d lost.
She was marrying one of the richest men in the world—she could have anything she wanted in life and Leonidas was going to make sure she knew that.
He couldn’t give her his heart, he couldn’t give her the version of happily ever after she wanted, but he could spoil her with every material possession so that she never noticed there was a gaping void inside her chest.
He told himself a thousand and one things but as he observed Hannah with undisguised interest, watched the way her face glowed with happiness and wonderment, he knew there was something more base in his reasons for bringing her here, to Paris.
The idea had come to him while they were swimming, earlier that day. They were marrying for somewhat pragmatic reasons, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make some of her dreams come true. And she had always wanted to see Paris, had grown up staring at a tourist souvenir of the Eiffel Tower, and he could give her the real thing. He’d wanted her to have it.
Why?
Because it had mattered to him.
Because he could.
Because someone should spoil Hannah May.
‘Leonidas.’ She turned to face him, tears in her eyes. ‘It’s so much more beautiful than I’d imagined.’
Their penthouse hotel room looked over the glowing construction of the city’s heart, the Eiffel Tower. He handed her a glass of non-alcoholic champagne, moving closer to her, still unable to tear his gaze from her face.
‘Many locals would beg to differ.’
But even his cynicism couldn’t dampen her mood. ‘Then they’re crazy.’ She grinned. ‘I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.’
‘Haven’t you?’ His voice was thick and guilt rolled through him. He banked it down. This wasn’t about him and Amy and Brax and the mess that was his life. This was about Hannah—she deserved to be happy, she deserved to feel joy, she deserved this. And he wasn’t going to ruin it by brooding and regretting.
She lifted her eyes to his and heat seared him, as it had the first night they met, as it always did.
‘I guess you come here all the time. You’re probably used to it.’
He skipped his gaze to the Eiffel Tower thoughtfully. ‘Often enough.’
‘I can’t imagine seeing it as just another landmark. It’s extraordinary.’
As she looked at it the hour struck and the tower went from glowing gold to glistening with silver and starlight. Hannah drew in a sharp breath and moved closer, through the billowing curtains and onto the small Juliet balcony with an unrivalled view of the tourist favourite.
‘Tomorrow I want to go right to the top,’ she said with a broad grin, turning back to face him.
‘Why wait until tomorrow?’ he prompted, holding a hand out to her.
‘Because it’s eight o’clock. Surely it’s not open to visitors?’
‘It’s open until midnight,’ he said with a smile.
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ she asked breathlessly, yet he didn’t move. He stared at her, drinking in the sight of her like this, and something shifted in his gut—hope, lightness, release.
He ignored it, taking her hand and squeezing it tight in his own. ‘Not a thing. Let’s go, agape mou.’
Hannah slept with a smile on her face and woke with it still drifting over her lips. Her sleeping mind had been full of all the dreams that Leonidas had made a reality. The surprise trip to Paris—touching down in his private jet at Charles de Gaulle and being whisked through the ancient city in his sleek black limousine.
She hadn’t been able to speak, she’d been too thrilled, too fascinated, intent on catching every detail she possibly could. She’d craned forward in her seat, staring at the city as it passed and her heart had begun to throb and twist and race for how much the city lived up to her every dream.
And for how close she felt to her mother here. It had been Eleanor’s favourite city—she’d spent a lot of time in Paris for the UN and had come home speaking about it, bringing the city to life in a young Hannah’s imagination.
The Stathakis Hotel was in the heart of this thriving metropolis, poised on the edge of the Seine, showcasing views in one direction of the Eiffel Tower and in the other of the Arc de Triomphe, and in between all the winding streets and tiny little houses that made this city so singularly unique.
The penthouse was exquisite, just like the one on Chrysá Vráchia, only it was different—there was more of a flavour of France in its styling. The artwork was done by the hand of famous Impressionists, the furniture a little more elaborate and baroque; everything about it was sumptuous and romantic.
And it had been waiting for them when they arrived.
It had all been so perfect and Hannah had almost been able to ignore the presence of the security officers who’d accompanied them on the flight and through the streets of Paris. Constantly walking a discreet distance behind but always there, always watching and waiting.
And despite the joy of this city, a frisson of alarm travelled down her spine, a hint of worry at what had befallen Amy and Brax and the threats Leonidas seemed to imagine were still out there.
She turned over in bed, lifting a finger to his shoulder and tracing an invisible circle distractedly across his tanned flesh.
His eyes lifted and he turned to face her, a look on his face she couldn’t interpret before he smiled.
Her heart turned over in her chest.
‘Bonjour.’
His smile widened. ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle.’
‘I like it here,’ she said simply, dropping her head to his chest but keeping her gaze trained squarely on the picture-perfect Eiffel Tower beyond the window. It was a perfect day—a bright blue sky called to her and Hannah was already excited to explore this ancient city.
‘I thought you might.’
And so he’d arranged this. Something pulled inside her chest—pleasure—and she smiled softly. ‘Is it possible, Leonidas, that you are a romantic at heart?’
His chest slowed, his body completely still. ‘No.’ The word was like thunder in the midst of a sunny day. She pushed up to look at him, not cowed by the stern expression on his face. A week ago, she would have bitten her tongue, but something had shifted between them; she was different now. He’d made her different.
Hannah liked to think she wasn’t the same girl who’d agreed to marry Angus, who’d taken her aunt’s decrees as gospel. She bit down on her lower lip, watching him, thinking, and then said, ‘How did you meet her?’
His eyes dropped to hers, his expression unreadable. She wondered if he was going to plead ‘off limits’, as he had at the start, but he didn’t.
Though it clearly gave him no pleasure and considerable pain, he spoke slowly, quietly, the words dredged from deep within him. ‘Through my brother.’
Silence. She didn’t fill it.
‘Thanos has a broad social circle.’ Scepticism filled the words. ‘Amy had just started modelling. She got pulled along to a party by some friends. I happened to be there.’
‘She was a model?’
Leonidas