115
Maria had always been quiet. Quiet in the way that made people underestimate her. But Ioannis had learned early in their marriage that her silence was not submission. It was survival. She watched more than she spoke, felt more than she let on.
Now, as they stood in the dimly lit corridor away from the music and the laughter of the ballroom, that same silence hovered between them. The years had changed her face slightly, her cheekbones were more pronounced, and her frame was a touch thinner.
And for a brief moment, Ioannis felt the ache of a memory he had tried not to revisit.
“How’ve you been?” he asked, his voice low, carefully casual.
Maria’s lips curled into a tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Fine,” she replied.
“Just fine?” he probed, tilting his head. There was obviously more to her response.
Her gaze shifted away for a second. “Isn’t that what we all say when we don’t want to dig too deep?”
That made him smile faintly. “Some people just say ‘good.’ You always did prefer precision.”
She chuckled softly, the sound small and sad. “It’s been a while."
“I know.” His voice was gentler now. It has indeed been a while. He almost couldn't believe that he had once lived with her in the same space, that they had had breakfast and dinner together everyday for two years.
He blew out a breath again. Why was this difficult? Why was it.... uncomfortable?
"Have you been well?" He asked. And this time, they both knew he was asking for the truth.
“No." she admitted quietly.
They hadn’t spoken since the divorce. Not really. The papers had been signed with clean efficiency. There were no custody battles, no mutual property to fight over, only a silent understanding.
She was supposed to be free now, after being forced to marry him to strengthen the partnership between the two families. His father and Leandros had been partners for a very long time, and the arrange was made between both men just before he took over.
She had been young then, she had been in love with someone else and she had been depressed. It made no sense to him, nothing made sense; she was sad and suffering, and he didn't even love her so why keep her trapped?
He'd ended it once he could to spare them both the waste of time.
“I thought you’d have left Greece by now,” he said after a beat, watching her closely.
That had been the plan. She'd go off with her boyfriend and they'd get married. He'd made sure she had a lot of money to sustain her just in case things went south.
She hesitated.
“I thought so too,” she replied, then sighed. “Dario, my boyfriend, the one I told you about, it turns out my father offered him a job here. A very... comfortable job. One he couldn’t refuse.”
Ioannis’s expression darkened slightly. “So he accepted?”
Maria nodded. “And here I am. Still dancing to my father’s music, even when I thought I’d finally learned how to unplug the damn radio.”
He scoffed. “Still a pawn in his game.”
Leandro was manipulative. He didn't want Maria leaving him. Her presence made other partners hopeful that they'd marry her one day; they were all lustful people who wanted to prey on young flesh.
“Still the perfect daughter,” she whispered, bitterness threading through her tone. “Funny, isn’t it? Even after we divorced, thinking I’d finally carved out a life of my own, I’m still tethered to him.”
"Why didn't you tell me?” Ioannis asked softly, his eyes unreadable. “You left because you were suffocating. You were supposed to be free. You could have called me."
Maria looked up at him then, her gaze open and vulnerable. “You were suffocating too. You weren't as open with your sadness as I was with mine.”
He said nothing, and for a moment, the silence spoke volumes.
They stood quietly, a gentle breeze from the open balcony brushing against them as if nature itself wanted to acknowledge the tenderness hanging in the air. Not passion. Not desire. But the tenderness of having once been something to each other. Of having shared a bed and a life, even briefly.
“Do you regret it?” she asked suddenly.
Ioannis blinked. “Ending it?”
“No. Everything.”
He hesitated. “Sometimes. But not in the way you think.”
They'd been intimate a few times. He had been a little drunk, and she had been overwhelmed by her sadness, both of them hadn't been thinking straight and they had ended up having sex.
The other times had been because she asked him to make her forget her misery, and he had done just that; he'd made her mind blank those nights, he'd made her forget her name and everything else.
She nodded slowly, as though she understood. Perhaps she did.
“I saw you with her,” she murmured after a pause. “She’s… very pretty.”
Ioannis didn’t respond to that.
“She looks at you the way I used to. Like she doesn’t know if she should trust what she’s feeling.”
“Maria—” he started.
She shook her head. “It’s not a judgement. Just an observation.”
His gaze softened. “Will you happy?”
She didn’t answer right away. Then: “I think I’m trying to be. But the truth is, I don’t even know what happiness looks like outside of someone else’s expectations.”
Ioannis reached out then, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, an old habit that returned before he could think twice. She stiffened slightly, not out of fear, but out of the kind of ache that comes when someone touches a wound that had long since scabbed over.
“It’s good to see you, Maria,” he said, and there was something sincere in his voice, something almost wistful.
She offered a tight smile. “You too.”
Then she stepped back, and the moment passed. She turned around and headed back inside looking poised and composed to everyone else except him.
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