LITMIR.BIZ

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move on. She’d accepted she’d been nothing but a one-night stand for him and had found peace with that idea. Or so she’d thought.

      Because somehow that was the worst part of it. Her body still reacted to him in exactly the way it had on Illya, with a sick, almost helpless longing. If he looked closely enough he’d be able to see her heart beating beneath the smart black top she wore.

      His indifference towards her cut like a scalpel slicing through flesh.

      He couldn’t give a damn about her.

      A swell of nausea rose in her and she knew she had to say something.

      She couldn’t spend the next ten days with such an enormous elephant in the room, even if she was the only one who could see it.

      Heart hammering, she plunged in. ‘Before I start work there’s something we need to talk about.’

      He contemplated her with narrowed eyes that showed nothing but indifference.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she continued, swallowing back the fear, ‘but if you want me focused I need to know why you let me and everyone else on Illya believe you were an engineer from Athens, travelling the world on the fruits of an inheritance, when you were really a prince from Agon.’

      ‘It hardly matters—it was five years ago,’ he said sardonically.

      ‘You lied to me and every person you met on Illya.’

      You lied to him too, her conscience reminded her, and she felt her cheeks flame as she recalled how her one lie had been the most grievous of all, a remembrance that knocked back a little of her fury and allowed her to gain a touch of perspective.

      Her lie had been the catalyst for everything.

      He contemplated her a little longer before leaning back against the wall and folding his arms across his chest.

      ‘Let me tell you about life here on Agon,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Outsiders struggle to understand but Agonites revere my family and have done so for over eight hundred years, ever since my ancestor Ares Patakis led a successful rebellion against the Venetian invaders.’

      ‘Patakis?’ she repeated. ‘Is that where you got your assumed surname from?’

      He nodded. ‘My family have held the throne since then by overwhelming popular consent. With my family at the helm we’ve repelled any other nation foolish enough to think it can invade us. To prevent any despotic behaviour down the years my ancestors introduced a senate, for the people to have a voice, but still they look to us—their royal family—for leadership.’

      Theseus’s mind filtered to his father; the man who would have been king if a tragic car crash hadn’t killed him prematurely along with his wife, Theseus’s mother. Lelantos Kalliakis had been exactly the kind of man his ancestors had feared taking the throne and having absolute power. Yet, regardless of how debauched and narcissistic the man had been, the Agonites had mourned him as if a member of their own family had been killed. His sons, however, had only truly mourned their mother.

      ‘We live in a goldfish bowl. The people here look up to my family. They revere us. Children on this island learn to read with picture books depicting tales of my ancestors. I wanted to meet real people and explore the world as a normal person would. I was curious as to how people would react to me—the man, not the Prince. So, yes, I lied to you about my true identity, just as I lied to everyone else. And if I had my time again I would tell the same lies, because they gave me a freedom I hadn’t experienced before and will never experience again.’

      The majority of this speech was one he had spouted numerous times, first to his grandfather, when he’d announced his intention to see the world, and then to his brothers, who’d seen his actions as a snub to the family name. After a lifetime of bad behaviour, when he’d effectively turned his back on protocol, taking off and renouncing the family name had been his most heinous crime of all. Even now he was still trying to make amends.

      ‘If I hurt your feelings I apologise,’ he added when she gave no response.

      He didn’t owe Jo anything, but neither did he want working with her to be a trial. There wasn’t time to bring in anyone else to complete the biography and they’d already lost three precious days.

      If getting her to soften towards him meant he had to eat a little humble pie, then so be it. He would accept it as penance for the greater good.

      And, if he was being honest with himself, apologising went a little way towards easing the guilt that had been nibbling at his guts.

      The only change in her demeanour was a deep breath and the clenching of her jaw. When she did speak it was through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t even know what to call you. Are you Theo or Theseus? Do I address you as Your Highness or Your Grace? Am I expected to curtsey to you?’

      In the hazy realms of his memory lay the whisper of her shy smile and the memory of how her cheeks would turn as red as her hair whenever he spoke to her.

      It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to call him Theo. Being Theo had been the best time of his life...

      No. He would not let those memories spring free. He’d locked them away for a reason and they could damn well stay there.

      ‘You can call me Theseus. And no curtseying.’

      Having people bow and scrape to him turned his stomach. All his life people had treated him with a reverence he’d done nothing to earn other than be born.

      She nodded, biting her bottom lip. And what a gorgeous lip it was, he thought. How eminently kissable. He’d kissed that delectable mouth once...

      ‘I ask you to put your bad feelings towards me to one side so we can work together effectively. Can you do that?’

      After a long pause she inclined her head and her long red hair fell forward. She brushed it back and tucked it behind her ears.

      ‘Do you remember the night those American travellers came into Marin’s Bar?’ she asked, in a voice that was definitely milder than the tone she’d used so far. ‘You were with the Scandinavians on the big round table...’

      He raised a shoulder in a shrug, unsure of what day she was speaking of. He’d hit it off with a group of Scandinavian travellers on the ferry from Split to Illya and had spent the majority of his fortnight on the unspoilt island in their company. Marin’s Bar, which was two steps from the beach, had been the only place to go, but with its excellent beer, good food and a juke box that had pumped out classic tracks, it had engendered an easy, relaxed atmosphere.

      Jo and her friends, whose names he didn’t think he’d ever known, had always been on the periphery—there but in the background, rather like wallpaper.

      ‘They were touching us up,’ she reminded him.

      ‘Ah.’

      Now he remembered. The Americans—college graduates taking time out before joining the corporate world—had drunk far too much of the local liquor and had started harassing Jo and her friends. He remembered there had been something nasty about it, well beyond the usual banter one might expect in such an environment. He’d taken exception to it and had personally thrown the men out, then he had insisted Jo and her friends join him and his friends at their table.

      And now her face did soften. Not completely—her cheeks were still clenched—but enough that her lips regained their plumpness. They almost curled into a smile.

      ‘You stepped in to help us,’ she said. ‘Whether you were there as a lie or not, in that one aspect it doesn’t matter. You did a good thing. I’ll try to hold on to that whenever I feel like stabbing you. How does that sound?’

      A bubble of laughter was propelled up his throat, startling him. He quickly recovered.

      ‘I think that sounds like an excellent start.’

      She rocked her head forward. ‘Good.’

      ‘But just in case

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