113
The wind in Greece was different, crisp but carrying a salty scent that reminded Yalda of citrus groves and endless seas.
The flight back had been quick, and though she had thought they'd go to the villa instead, Ioannis told her there's a thing or two he needed to tend first so they would spend a day or two in the suite instead.
However, she sensed something different about Ioannis. She could feel it in his voice when he asked her.
“Will you accompany me to a dinner tomorrow evening?”
She looked up from her book, surprised. “Dinner?”
“A formal one,” he added, tossing the last of his espresso. “Tuxedoes. Gowns. Champagne flutes and conversations that last too long.”
She smiled faintly. “Sounds painful.”
He shrugged. “It will be. But you’ll make it bearable.”
She blinked. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“I took care of it.”
Of course he did.
By the time she stepped into the private dressing room the next morning, she realized he hadn’t just taken care of it but he’d thought of everything.
There were two gowns on hangers, one a deep emerald satin, the other a wine red that made her breath falter. There were heels in her size, delicate jewelry laid out on velvet trays, and even a makeup artist waiting with a polite smile.
It was overwhelming. Elegant. Distantly familiar. She had done this before. Not with this level of tenderness. This time… everything felt different.
When she emerged in the red gown, fitted at the waist with a low, draped back, Ioannis didn’t speak. He simply stood there in his tailored tuxedo, dark and still, his eyes drinking her in appreciatively.
“You look…” he started, but shook his head, then offered her his arm. “We’re going to be late.”
She chuckled. “You couldn’t even finish that sentence?”
“I could. But we’d never leave this room.”
Again, she sensed it; he was a bit moody, not his usual self. Something seemed to be on his mind, something that bothered or unsettled him. Or did he just hate formal dinners so much?
The car ride was smooth and quiet. Too quiet.
She watched him from the corner of her eye, noting the way his jaw tensed and his thumb tapped an uneven rhythm against the door panel. It wasn’t like him. He was usually composed, even when he wasn’t saying much, his silence carried power, not restlessness.
“You’re different tonight,” she said softly.
“Am I?”
“You seem…” She hesitated. “Wound up.”
He looked at her, his mouth twitching into something between a smile and a sigh. “It’s nothing.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
But she didn’t believe him.
She let the silence stretch, choosing not to pry. Not yet. If he wanted to talk, he would.
They arrived at a luxurious hall that glowed golden under the night sky. The steps were lined with photographers, flashes blinking like fireflies, and the valet opened her door before she could exhale.
It was nothing new to her but it wasn't something she had gotten used to over the years.
Ioannis helped her out, his hand warm around hers, steadying her. She held his arm as they walked through the lobby and into the grand ballroom, where a glittering chandelier hung above a sea of suits and satin.
The room buzzed with quiet power; people shook hands with sharp smiles, conversations bloomed in corners, champagne glasses chimed.
But then, just as the waiter passed with flutes of gold liquid and Ioannis leaned down to murmur something in her ear, she saw her.
Black hair. Green eyes. Poised. Regal. Effortlessly graceful.
The woman wasn’t facing her directly, but her profile was unmistakable. Yalda’s heart skipped, then lurched.
Why did she seem so familiar? Where had she seen her before? it took her a moment. A long one. And then it hit her like a glass shattering inside her chest.
The woman wasn’t tall. In fact, she was petite, dainty in the way of old-world dolls, with slender shoulders and a narrow frame wrapped in silver satin that shimmered ethereally.
The gown hugged her delicately, sleeveless with a plunging neckline softened by translucent beading. Its hem just brushed the floor, skimming the tips of metallic heels that added barely any height.
Her black hair was pinned into a soft French twist, not a strand out of place. There was elegance in the simplicity; no showy jewelry, no bold colors. Just the quiet confidence of someone used to being looked at.
Her skin was porcelain pale, with a flush of muted rose on her cheeks and lips painted in a soft plum tone that made her look older than she likely was. Not mature, just polished, composed.
Her eyes were lined in black, deepening the jade of her irises until they seemed almost unreal, like something out of an oil painting.
And her beauty wasn’t loud. It didn’t demand attention. It simply… was.
Maria.
Ioannis's ex wife; she had seen her picture once and it seemed to have stuck. She was here, real, and she was gorgeous.
She was standing with an elderly man who seemed to be her father from the great resemblance they bore. He exchanged pleasantries with people while she stood there smiling politely, like a princess being introduced into society.
Did Ioannis know she'd be here? Was that why he had been so unsettled?
Ioannis noticed her attention has drifted, he turned to her, eyebrows pulling together slightly.
“Yalda?”
She cleared her throat quietly as her gaze returned to his.
"Are you alright?" He asked her.
She nodded. She was fine, she had just been shocked to see his ex wife here, that's all.
"You sure?"
She nodded once more.
Her gaze subconsciously flickered back to Maria and Ioannis followed her gaze to see what had her attention, and at that moment, Maria's gaze flickered to them. She watched her eyes swirl with emotions she couldn't quite read.
Maria stared at Ioannis for what may have been a few seconds which felt like hours, and then her gaze moved to Yalda who suddenly felt awkward and out of place.
Was she intruding? What was she even doing here? She didn't know the story between these two and for
all she knew, everyone in the hall was looking at her like the bad guy or something, like..... the other woman.
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