'I Do' For Revenge
Chapter 209: Looks Like Her
CHAPTER 209: LOOKS LIKE HER
~LAYLA~
The sun in Santorini hit different. It was refreshing having the warmth soaking into your skin and melting away the tension that had lived in my shoulders for months.
We were staying in a private vi lla in Oia, perched on the edge of the caldera. Below us, the Ae gean Sea stretched out in an end less expanse of sapphire blue, dotted wit h white sailboats that looked like toys from this height.
I sat on the ed ge of the infinity pool, my legs danglin g in the water, watching Axel.
He wa s swimming laps. The water was good for his back, the physical therapist had said. I watched the wa y the muscles in his shoulders bunched and re l eased, the way the scars on his back from the explosion were fading from angry re d to silvery white.
He reached the edge and pulled himself up, shaking the water fr om his hair like a dog. He looked healthier than he had in years. The hospital pallor was gone, replaced by a light tan that made his eyes l ook even more striking.
"You’re staring," he said, wiping his face w ith a towel.
"I’m admiring the view ," I teased, sipp ing my iced lemon water. "It’s a very expensive view. I should get my money’s worth."
Axel smirked and limped over to the lounge chair next to me. He didn’t use the cane in t he villa, relying on the furniture and walls for balance. He sat down heavily and pul led me into his lap.
"Careful," I said, laughing. "Your back."
"My back is fine," he murmured, nuzzling his face into my neck. "And I’ve missed jus t us. No Board of Directors, no FBI, and no doctors poking at me every five mi nutes."
"It’s perfect," I agreed, running my fingers through his damp hair.
We spent the a fternoon like that, lazy and entangle d. We talked about everything and nothing. We talked about maybe b uying a house in the Hamptons, something away from the city where we coul d breathe.
About the New Horizons F oundation and how Helena’s brothers were thriving in their new school. We didn’t talk about Henry, who was awaiting trial, or Charles, who was still a ghost in the wind.
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky i n shades of orange and pink, Axel shifted me in hi s lap to look at me pr operly.
"We should go o ut tonight, " he said.
"Out?" I raised an eyebrow. "But we have this amazing villa. We have privacy and a chef who comes in every morning."
"I know," Axe l said, his thumb traci ng circles on my hip. "But I want to take my wife to a real dinner. At a res taurant w ith other people and wine and music. I want to show y ou off."
"Sh ow me off?" I laughed.
"Yes," he said seriously. "I want the world to see that I’m married to the most beaut iful, brilliant, and terrifying woman alive. And I want to eat overpri ced fish while I do it."
"Well, when you put it like that," I said, kissing him. "How ca n I refuse?"
"You can’t," he said. "I alr eady made reservations. Ambrosia, seven o’clock. Tye recommended it."
"Tye recommend ed a romantic restaurant?" I asked skeptically.
"Helena recommended it," Axel corrected. "Tye just paid for the reservation."
—
We were at Ambro sia, one of the most famous restaurants on the isl and. It was perched on the cliffside, th e tables set on a small terrace that seemed to hang over the volcanic caldera.
It was crowde d, bustling with tourists and locals, filled with the sounds of clinking glasses and laught er.
The sun was setting, casting a golden-pink glow ove r everything.
"To the Phoenix," Axel said, raising his glass of white wine.
"To the Wolf, " I countered, clinking my glass against his. "For surv iving."
"For thriving," Axel amended.
I took a sip, feeling the co ol breeze off the ocean. I wore a backless emerald green dress that Axel had picked out, and for the first time in forever, I didn’t fee l like a CEO, was just a woman in love.
"This is nice," I said, reach ing across the table to take his hand. "We should do this more often. The escapi ng-to-Greece thing."
"We sh ould make it annual," Axel agreed. "Every year, two weeks, no phones, and no work."
"No bo mbs either," I added.
"Definitely no bombs," Axel said, squeezin g my hand. "That’s a hard requirement."
I was laughing at somethi ng Axel said about Tye’s obsession with the new s ecurity pro tocols when a shadow fell over our table.
I assumed it was the waiter returning with our appetizers.
" More wine , plea..." I started, looking up but paused.
It wasn’t the w aiter.
Standing next to our table were two men who were wildly out o f place among the tourists in linen shirts and sundresses.
T hey wore heavy, dark wool suits despite the Mediterranean hea t. One was built like a linebacker, clea rly security. The other was older, thin, with silver hair and a posture so stiff he looked like he’d swallowed a coat hanger.
Axel’s smile vanished instantly. His hand subtly moved to the steak knife on the table. "Can we help you?" he asked, his voice dro pping to that dangerous, low timber I knew too well.
The older ma n bowed. It wasn ’t a nod but a formal, waist-bending bow that looked like something out of a period dra m a.
"Mrs. O’Brien," the man said. His accent was incredibly posh. "My deepest apologies for interrupting your dinner. We have been trying to locate you sin ce your plane landed in Santorini."
"Who are you?" I aske d, setting my glass down carefully. "And how do you know who I am?"
"My name is Arthur Pennyworth," he said. "I am the Royal Solicitor for the House of Huntington."
"Huntington?" I f rowned. "I don’t know any Huntingtons. Maybe you have the wrong table."
"I assure you, I do not," Pennyworth said firmly without moving. "We saw the broadcast f our months ago. The press conference regarding Eclipse Beauty success and the O’Brien restructuring. The ’Phoen ix’ speech, as th e media called it."
"So you’re fans?" Axel asked dryly, his hand still near the knife. "Send an e mail to her assistant. We’re eating."
"Not fans, Mr. O’Brien," Pennyworth said gravely.
He reached into his breast pocket. The bodyguard tensed, eyeing Axel warily, but Pennyworth simply pulled out a glossy photograph. He placed it on the white tablecloth, right next to the candle.
"Lady Martha Huntington was wat ching the news that night," Pennyworth explained. "She fainted when she saw you on the scr een, Mrs. O’Brien. Because she thought she wa s seeing a ghost."
I looked down at th e photo.
The air lef t my lungs. The restaurant noise seem to disappear, replaced by a loud ringing in my ears.
The photo was old, maybe twenty-five or thirty years old. It showed a young woman standing in a garden o f roses, wearing a wh ite summer dr ess. She was laugh ing, looking over her shoulder at the camera with her hand ra ised to shield her eyes from the sun.
What truly took my breath away was the face staring back, it was mine. The eyes, the nose and the smile, everything was an exact match. Even the pre cise line of my jaw and the way my hair fell were identical.
But the date in the corner was from three years befor e I was born.
"Tha t’s..." I whispered , my hand trembl ing as I reac hed for the photo. "Is that my mother? Sarah Stuart?"
"Her name was not Sarah," Pennyworth corrected gentl y. "Her name was L ady Victoria Huntington. And she ran away from her family’s e state twenty-six years ago so as to marry the love of her life."
Axel leaned for w ard, looking at the photo, then at me. His face went pale. "Layla..."
"We have been looking for her for two decades," Pennyworth continued. "We found her death certificate years ago, died i n an accident with her husband, but no trac e of her daughter. We had thought that was it until we saw you on televisi on."
Pennyworth reached into his briefcase and pulled out a second ite m. It was a letter, se aled with red wax bearing a crest of a lion and a shield.
"What is this?" I whispered, still trying to wrap my head around these re velations.
"Yo ur grandfather, the Duke, is dying, Mrs. O’Brien," Pennyworth said. "He has perhaps weeks left. He has sent a plane. It is waiting at the Santorini airport right now, ready to depart."
He slid th e le tter across the table toward me. "He is begging you," Pennyworth said quietly. "Please. Come home."