of her parents, her grandparents, her brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews, and choked back her tears, causing her throat to throb. “No. I need to talk to them now.”
“I already gave you my answer. No.” He abruptly stood up from the bed. “There are a variety of new clothes in the closet for your stay. Enjoy your breakfast.”
He left. Rose stared at the closed door.
With a weary sigh, she rose from the bed and went to the closet. There, just as he’d promised, she found an entirely new wardrobe, laundered and pressed, in a variety of sizes.
She ran her hands over all the hanging clothes softly, then looked at the shoes stacked neatly beneath.
There was every style of clothing possible, everything any woman could want—from bikinis and cocktail dresses to oversized sweatpants and T-shirts. Schlubby to chic and everything in between.
Very unlike Lars, who’d always had a very specific way he’d wished her to dress. He hadn’t even allowed her to pick out her own wedding dress. “You’re beautiful in anything, petal,” he’d said. “But I prefer you to wear the jewels and furs you deserve.”
She’d tried to tell him that she didn’t feel comfortable in those things, but he never listened to her. So she’d worn his fancy clothing in the hope it would make her feel like she belonged in his aristocratic set.
Grimly, she went back to the bed and poured herself some hot coffee into a pretty china teacup on the tray. Taking a sip of the steaming black coffee, she stared at herself in the vanity mirror.
She looked awful. Like a raccoon with circles under her eyes, or maybe a Halloween ghost, pale and thin. Yesterday’s wedding makeup was still smeared on her face, black mascara dark beneath her eyes from weeping.
With Lars constantly telling her she was perfect, when she knew she wasn’t, she’d been afraid to stick up for herself or even, heaven forbid, start a fight. She’d told herself she was just inexperienced at dealing with relationships. Couples were supposed to compromise, weren’t they?
But instead of compromise, she’d given herself up completely—when all he’d offered her in return were lies.
Rose choked down another sip of black coffee. Her eyes fell upon the wedding dress, still lying in a crumpled heap on the floor where Xerxes had dropped it the night before. Crossing the room in her bare feet, she picked up the couture gown with two fingers and dragged it into the trash.
There. It was gone. Brushing off her hands, she turned her back on it and felt immediately better. And then—she was hungry.
Going back to the breakfast tray, she dumped three heaping spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee, followed by copious amounts of real cream. She took a long drink of the hot, fragrant coffee and it was so sweet and creamy that she gasped with pleasure. She reached back for the buttery, freshly made chocolate croissant and polished it off in three bites.
Carrying the tray to the vanity table, she ate a big bite of sweet roll. Still chewing vigorously, she pulled Lars’s expensively tarty lingerie off her body and dropped it onto the floor. She stared at it for a moment, then kicked it into the trash as well.
Going into the ensuite bathroom, she turned on the shower. Beneath the hot water, she scrubbed her face clean with a rough washcloth, washing off all the old smeared makeup from yesterday, rubbing at her skin until it was half-raw.
Toweling herself off afterward, she automatically looked around for a hair dryer. Then she stopped herself. No. No more hair dryer. No flatiron. No more fuss.
Going back into the bedroom, she flung open a drawer and found a wireless bra and comfortable white cotton panties that would actually cover her backside. Looking through the closet, she bypassed the fancy satin cocktail gowns and reached for a soft cotton skirt and a tissue-thin knit top. After getting dressed, she looked at herself again in the vanity mirror and took a deep breath.
She looked like her old self again. Regular old Rose Linden from California, the waitress who was working toward a college degree, the loving daughter who brought her parents homemade candy on weekends, who babysat for her nieces and nephews on Friday nights. No jewels, no furs, no tiara. Just her.
But her eyes had changed. They were exhausted and puffy from weeping, but it was more than that. Though still a virgin and no longer a bride, Rose knew she would never completely return to the idealistic girl she’d been.
But without all the makeup and confining clothes, letting her long blond hair air dry into its natural wave rather than wasting a precious hour of her life with the flatiron, she felt a new freedom. She went out to the chair and table by the window. Opening the screen door, she looked out at the view as she ate the rest of her breakfast, devouring the fresh fruit, potatoes and buttery pastries with equal relish.
She felt light. Freedom coursed in waves against her skin, as cool and refreshing as the soft sea breeze blowing through the window. Setting down her coffee cup beside her empty plate, she wandered outside on the balcony and looked out at the blue Aegean. The air was warm and smelled of salt and flowers and freshly exotic scents from faraway lands.
Last night, she’d been overwrought and exhausted and afraid. This villa had seemed full of darkness and shadows. But today, in the sunshine, she saw that it was beautiful. Bright pink flowers laced over white stucco on the edge of the bright blue sea.
As the cool morning wind blew against the bare skin of her legs and the tissue-thin cotton of her T-shirt, she closed her eyes in pleasure, turning her face toward the sun like a flower that had been deprived of it too long. For the first time in three months, she didn’t feel jittery or stressed. She felt…happy.
“Buy it then.” Xerxes’s low voice floated up from below. “But not until the price hits forty. By then their shareholders will be screaming and they’ll have no choice but to sell.”
Looking down with an intake of breath, Rose saw him pacing by the shaded grove near the pool as he spoke into his cell phone.
Khaki shorts revealed the strength of his thighs. The black tank top showed his broad shoulders and taut waistline as sunlight glistened off well-muscled arms.
He looked different to her today, too. The sunlight, now moving against the gray clouds, softened the hard lines of his face. He no longer seemed so fearsome and brutal. He just looked ruggedly handsome. And strong.
Was it because she no longer feared him? She no longer hated him, either. How could she? If Xerxes hadn’t kidnapped her from the castle last night, she would have given herself to Lars in bed, believing she was his wife. She would have made the biggest mistake of her life.
All along, her body had told her something was wrong with Lars. The more often he’d insisted to Rose that she was absolutely perfect in every way, the more imperfect she’d felt. Rose knew she was a goofball, impulsive, and all kinds of other silly things, not perfect at all. Besides, what did love—real love, the kind that lasted a lifetime—have to do with sterile, frozen perfection?
All along, her body had known he was wrong for her. Her body—so much smarter than her brain!
“Fine.” Still speaking into his phone, Xerxes suddenly lifted his head and looked right at her.
Sucking in her breath, she jumped back on the balcony, back into the shadows. A moment later, she heard his phone snap closed.
“Rose,” he said with a low laugh. “I can see you.”
She stepped forward, blushing with embarrassment. “Oh, hello,” she said, wincing at her own pathetic effort to sound casual. “I, er, didn’t see you there.”
Xerxes just gave her a lazy smile. “Just come down,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
FROM the instant Rose had