faces...they dragged me out of the room. I had no idea what was going to happen. One of them had a knife.’ She stopped, expelling a trembling breath, and heard Angelos mutter a curse. ‘They didn’t actually hurt me,’ she said. ‘They held a knife to my throat, but it was only for a picture. A ransom note. I didn’t realise that at the time though. I couldn’t think about anything. I could barely stand up.’ She tried to smile ruefully but her facial muscles felt like they weren’t working properly. ‘They took the photo, and then they pushed me around a bit, and then they shoved me back in the shed.’
‘I cannot imagine, Talia,’ Angelos said. He was gripping the armrests of his chair, his knuckles white, his face bloodless.
‘They weren’t as smart as they thought they were though,’ Talia continued, trying to inject a cheerful note into her voice and failing. ‘They sent the photo of me to my grandfather, and he used his resources to locate me from what they’d seen in the photo and then to prosecute the kidnappers. Just twenty-four hours after they sent the photograph a helicopter came with a SWAT team to rescue me.’
‘A helicopter,’ Angelos repeated after a pause. ‘Is that why you are scared of helicopters?’
‘Sort of. The sound reminds me of that whole time, and the rescue effort was...intense.’ She remembered the shouts, the staccato gunfire, the stranger who yanked her arm so hard he nearly dislocated her shoulder as he pulled her towards the waiting helicopter. At that point she hadn’t even known if the man was friend or foe, or if she was facing freedom or death. She’d collapsed inside the helicopter, watching in disbelief as a man was shot and killed right in front of her. And then the soul-freezing terror had morphed into an incredulous and numb relief, both emotions overwhelming.
‘But really,’ she told Angelos, ‘any confined space is difficult. From...from being in that shed. I’ve tried some different therapies for it, but none of them have worked.’ She gave him a lopsided smile. ‘But I supposed claustrophobia and a fear of thunderstorms is a small price to pay for my freedom.’
Angelos shook his head, his hands still clenched on the armrests. ‘I don’t know how you survived such a thing.’
‘How does anyone survive?’ she answered. ‘And survive is the right word, because sometimes it’s felt as if that’s all I’m doing.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Coming to Athens was the first time I’d got on an airplane in seven years. The first time I used public transportation, or ventured out of my comfort zone at all. After the kidnapping I dropped out of college and retreated to my grandfather’s estate. I couldn’t face people, and just being in a small space, even in a classroom, sent me into a blind panic. My grandfather was understanding, and he let me hide myself away. I think he thought I’d come out again, but I never did.’
Confusion clouded Angelos’s eyes and he shook his head. ‘But you must have. You said you were an artist—’
‘I have a private studio there. Clients come to me. I hardly ever leave. I can’t stand crowds, or cities, or small spaces. Which leaves me feeling pretty limited sometimes, but I’ve been happy. At least, I thought I was happy.’ But now, with a taste of what it felt like to truly live again, to feel excitement and happiness and desire, Talia knew she hadn’t been. She’d been content, maybe, but that was all. She’d been living a half-life without realising it, telling herself it was enough.
‘But you did come to Athens,’ Angelos said. ‘You tried. That’s important, Talia.’
‘Yes...’ But he didn’t know why she’d tried. Talia could tell that Angelos assumed she’d come to Greece simply to break out of her cocoon. Now would be the perfect time to tell him about the book, the real reason she was here.
And yet she stayed silent. She might have been brave in coming here, but in many ways she was still a coward. Because she didn’t want to risk Angelos’s anger at learning her true motives, feeling deceived. She didn’t want to leave Kallos or Sofia. She didn’t want to leave him.
The realisation of how much she was starting to care about this man drove her upright. ‘I should go. Sofia’s lessons will be finished, and we were going to sketch today, outside.’
Angelos rose also and reached for her hand. The slide of his fingers along hers was infinitely, achingly sweet, and it lit a flame of need in her belly. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘For telling me all of that.’
‘Thank you,’ Talia answered, ‘for comforting me last night.’
And then, because she didn’t trust herself not to throw herself into Angelos’s arms just as she had last night, she yanked her hand away and hurried from the room.
CONSIDERING EVERYTHING SHE’D confessed, everything that had happened, Talia expected to feel embarrassed and exposed. Yet sitting on the beach with Sofia, sketchpads on their laps, she found she wasn’t squirming internally with humiliation at how much she’d revealed. She felt...free. At peace in a way she hadn’t expected.
For the last seven years she hadn’t talked about the kidnapping to anyone. She knew Giovanni blamed himself for the whole affair, because the men had kidnapped her for money, knowing her to be an heiress. But Giovanni had rescued her; it was he who had accessed satellite photos to identify where she was being held from the picture the kidnappers had sent. She’d never blamed Giovanni. He’d been her saviour. And she’d respected his desire to forget the whole episode...or at least act as if she had. Her siblings had followed suit.
But secretly, or not so secretly considering her phobias and isolation, the kidnapping had tormented her with its terrible memories. For years she’d suffered nightmares that left her shaking, and the tiniest things could set her off: the sound of a lock turning, the creak of a door. She’d tried therapy, but talking to a stranger had only made her feel more exposed and raw. She’d learned to avoid triggers and read up on PTSD and kept everything buried deep inside.
Until Angelos.
Amazing, how validating it had felt when he’d told her it must have been terrifying. To have him sympathise and understand without pity or judgement.
She wished she could do something in return, help him in some way, for she knew that Angelos must have his own dark memories, his closely guarded secrets. But despite the comfort he’d offered her last night, she knew they still didn’t have the kind of relationship that would allow that conversation.
‘Hello, you two.’
Talia stiffened in surprise, pleasure flooding through her as she saw Angelos strolling down the beach. Sofia’s face lit up as Angelos came to stand in front of them, the wind off the sea ruffling his hair.
‘How’s the sketching?’ he asked, and Talia nudged Sofia to show her father her work. Shyly she offered up the paper and Angelos took it and studied it carefully.
Talia couldn’t understand the Greek he spoke to her, but even she basked in his smile. She loved that he was trying more with Sofia, and that it was working.
They spoke in Greek for a few moments and then he turned to Talia. ‘It is Sofia’s birthday in a few days—’
‘Is it?’ Talia interjected in surprise. She wagged a finger at Sofia, smiling. ‘You should have told me.’
‘Perhaps we can do something to celebrate,’ Angelos said, and Talia felt as if her heart was a balloon expanding in her chest, full of hope. He almost sounded as if they were a family.
‘Of course we must celebrate,’ she said. She turned back to Sofia. ‘What would you like to do?’
Timidly Sofia spoke in Greek to her father. Angelos listened, a frown furrowing his forehead, and the balloon inside Talia started to deflate. Why did he have to look so angry?
He spoke