Lahat ng Kabanata ng Keeping a secret from the Greek Tycoon: Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 90

JUSTINAMarina pointed at me. “Agreed. Let’s see what you’ve got.”Julian started pulling items free, one by one, holding them up like prizes. The first was a dress the color of dried blood, heavy velvet with a neckline that plunged to the navel.“Well… It is a bit… em…”“Absolutely not,” Marina said before I could even finish my sentence.Julian faltered. “The color is perfect for her. Rich, deep—”“She’ll look like she’s attending a vampire funeral,” Marina interrupted. “Next.”The next was a pantsuit in mustard yellow. I didn’t even need to speak. Marina’s expression said everything.“No,” she snapped. “She’s not a mustard person, and she’s certainly not a condiment. I could have sworn we agreed on gold.”Julian’s smile was starting to strain at the edges. He pulled out a sequined gown, silver, that looked like it weighed forty pounds.“Too heavy,” I found myself saying. The word surprised me. I’d meant to stay quiet, to let Marina handle the rejections, but the dress looked like a

GREGORThe phone buzzed against the console just as I merged onto the avenue. I hit the button, cutting through the static of traffic noise."Tell me you're ready," I said, adjusting my collar. It had been a while since I'd worn a suit, and I'd nearly forgotten how inconvenient they could be.Marina's voice came through crisp and amused, entirely too pleased with herself. "Trust me, we are ready.""How ready?""Gregor." She dragged my name out like she was scolding a child. "Your woman looks like she could be the reason wars are started in her name. Full-scale territorial disputes. The hair alone should be classified as a fucking weapon of mass destruction."My grip tightened on the wheel. "Hey, language.""Oh, please, I'm not at work. But you should see her; she looks like a Greek goddess walked off a fresco. I'm almost jealous. I might start styling my hair like hers.""Stop talking about her hair.""Why, does it make you nervous?""Quite the opposite. It makes me drive faster.""Gr

GREGORThe hostess disappeared into the restaurant with our champagne order, leaving us at the table beneath a low amber light.For a while, Justina didn't say anything.She looked around instead.Not obviously. She wasn't turning her head from side to side or staring at anything long enough for anyone else to notice. Her attention simply moved, taking in the room piece by piece. The exposed brick. The dark beams overhead, softened by vines that had been trained around them. The fire burning behind a glass screen at the far end of the room. The windows beyond it, where the city had turned into a scatter of lights against the dark.Her fingers kept moving along the edge of the menu.Back and forth.Back and forth.I watched her do it for another few seconds.“You're thinking.”She looked at me. “Well, I do have a brain. I'm always thinking.”“I know.”“Then why point it out?”“Because I am curious… what are you thinking about?”Her fingers stopped against the edge of the menu.She glan

CHARISSAThe ceiling tiles had that particular shade of institutional beige that only hospitals manage to perfect, somewhere between a nicotine stain and the look of an old bone. I stared at them for what felt like hours, or maybe minutes, time sliding around me in thick, syrupy waves. My lungs burned with each inhale, a ragged, scraping sensation that made me aware of every rib, every bruised muscle beneath the thin cotton gown. Tubes snaked from my arm, clear liquid dripping with obscene regularity into the vein, and somewhere to my left a machine beeped in steady, insulting rhythm. Alive. The word tasted metallic in my mouth, copper and bile and the ghost of those pills I'd swallowed.A shadow crossed the light. I turned my head, the movement sending a spike of pain through my temple, and saw a woman in scrubs checking the IV bag. She had kind eyes, the sort that probably saw death regularly and hadn't yet learned to harden completely."It's so good you're awake," she murmured, adj

JUSTINAThe voice cut across the restaurant floor with the kind of familiarity that made my spine straighten before my brain even caught up. It was male, warm, carrying that particular lilt I’d learned to associate with corners of the city where the streetlights didn’t work and the deals got done in whispers.I turned my head.Liam stood three tables over, half rising from his chair like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing either. He looked wrong in this place. Not wrong like the blonde model at the spa had looked wrong—which had been soft, entitled, and faux fragile. Wrong because he looked right. His hair, cut close to his skull now, looked neat and expensive, and he wore a jacket that probably cost more than three months of my old rent. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been wearing a hoodie with a burn hole in the sleeve and shoes held together with electrical tape."Justina?" He took a step toward our table, grinning wide. "No fucking way."Gregor’s hand tightened over mi