Sway With Me (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (19 page)

She blurted out the question which had played through her mind for the last hour.
“Did Ryan already sign them?”

George frowned, his bushy eyebrows merging to become a unibrow. “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll have a little chat.” Holding her hand, he led her to a chair and pulled it out for her. After she sunk down, he moved to his side of the desk and grabbed a file. For a moment, neither one of them spoke. The strange attorney just stared, causing her to shift in her chair.

“When I arrived at my office suite at eight this morning, Ryan was waiting for me,” George finally said. “He explained the situation, and I drafted the necessary documents to effectuate the transfer.” George plopped a piece of paper on the middle of the desk.

“Transfer?” She slowly slid the document closer.

“Yes. Ryan signed over his half ownership of the mansion to you. If you sign where I’ve indicated on these pages, you’ll own the property outright. Congratulations, my dear.”

Her jaw dropped. “But . . . but I can’t afford to pay Ryan for his share.”

George pointed out a figure on the property deed. “He’s only requested one dollar in consideration. Surely you can afford that.”

He was giving up two-million dollars. For her. “No.”

George rocked back in his chair. “No? You can’t afford to pay one-dollar?”

She shook her head. “No, I won’t allow him to transfer the property to me. I don’t accept.”

The lawyer ran his finger over his mustache. “This is . . . unexpected. I was under the impression you had both agreed on this.”

If she’d harbored any lingering doubts of his feelings for her, Ryan had completely dissolved them with this. He loved her.

She shot out of her chair. “I need to speak with him. Do you happen to know where I could find him? He’s not answering his cell phone.”

A smile broke across George’s face.
“I do believe he was going over to the law school to re-enroll for next semester.”

Nodding, she turned around and headed toward the exit. She couldn’t allow Ryan to give up his art. After all, she was his Muse. And the woman who loved him.

She stopped in the doorframe and faced George. “Does the paperwork for the property need to be signed today?”

“Yes, but if you can come to a mutual agreement, I’m working until six. I’ll hold off filing anything until I hear from you.”

“Thank you, George.”

She gave the attorney a smile before leaving his office. Now that she understood Ryan loved her, she would convince him to sell the house and use the money to follow his passion. She didn’t care why or how he’d lost his money. She loved him. She knew his soul, and Ryan would never have frivolously spent his money.

She checked the time on her phone. Eight hours to find Ryan and return to George’s office to sign the paperwork.

On her way to the elevator, she passed a man wearing a University of Detroit Law School sweatshirt. Thinking of her mother’s advice, she smiled. All she had to do was follow the signs.

Chapter 19

But now I was the lord

Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,

Queen o’er myself. And even now, but now,

This house, these servants, and this same myself

Are yours, my lord’s.

William Shakespeare,
Merchant of Venice
, act 3, scene 2

Hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, Ryan sat on the cold metal bench in front of the admissions’ office. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d arrived, but he couldn’t manage to walk inside the building. It was the right thing to do. Portia deserved the mansion. Deserved a home. He’d start out in the mail room if he had to, but he’d find a job within Stavros Industries to cover the house’s taxes and utilities so that Portia would have the time to grow her clientele at her own dance school without worrying about money. Once he passed the Michigan Bar, he’d join his family’s business as planned.

He couldn’t help wondering if Portia had gone to George’s yet. He patted his coat pocket, confirming his cell wasn’t lost. Why hadn’t she called? He thought once she discovered he’d deeded the home to her, she’d understand how much she meant to him—how much he loved her. Every woman who passed him on their way inside the building reminded him of her. One had her raven-colored hair, but none of its sheen or vibrancy. One had her height but none of her grace. One had her bow-shaped upper lip, but none of the warmth of her smile. And now, he swore he smelled vanilla.

“Ryan?”

Great, now he was hearing things. Good thing law school didn’t require a psychiatric evaluation.

A figure circled from behind the bench to stand in front of him. This one had Portia’s legs. Those amazingly erotic legs which had captured his imagination from the day they’d met.

His gaze ran the length of this doppelganger’s legs to her tiny waist to her coat-covered chest to her beautiful, slightly upturned lips, to her sparkling and hopeful eyes.

Portia.

He tried to stand, but he was either too overwhelmed or his ass had literally frozen to the bench from the winter chill. “What are you doing here?”

“May I sit?” She pointed to the spot next to him on the bench, her sneakers in what he’d come to learn was fifth position.

Still in shock, he took a moment to process her words then scooted a few inches, giving her enough space to sit, but not enough that their legs wouldn’t touch. If she’d come to end things, he needed to have her close one last time. She dropped on the bench and angled her body toward him. He took that as a good sign.

“Thank you,” she murmured, placing her hand on his knee. “I went into the ballroom—the dance studio. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed. And the carving of the dancer . . . I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

He joined his hand with hers on his knee, interweaving their fingers. “I have.”

Her brows furrowed. “You have?”

“Yes.” He brought her petite hand to his lips and kissed it. “The model for the ballerina—you. In any reincarnation, you are the most beautiful woman in the world. You’re my Muse, Portia. Without you, I’m just a homeless, jobless, directionless shell. I swear to you, I didn’t want Samantha to kiss me last night. There’s only one pair of lips I want on mine and that’s yours.”

“I believe you.” Her eyelids drifted shut then opened, glittering with what Ryan hoped was love. “You gave up your half of the house for me.”

He shrugged. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

He shifted on the bench, wishing he didn’t have to share the parts of his life that shamed him. But if he’d come clean with her prior to the fundraiser, they could’ve avoided the entire fiasco and spent the remainder of last night making love. He owed her the entire truth even if it meant she’d never look at him the same. Even if he lost her.

Unable to witness the disappointment in her eyes, he lowered his gaze to her lap. “A couple of years ago, Uncle Alexander’s home nurse got sick while on shift and had to leave. My family called his other nurses and the agency, but no one was available. Since I was home from college for the summer, my father told me to go sit with him. I went over and helped Uncle Al to bed then went downstairs to watch television. My girlfriend, Samantha, called and invited me to the bar. I figured my uncle was asleep for the evening and the night nurse would get there within a couple of hours. So I took off and forgot my cell in the house.”

He stopped to take a breath and couldn’t help but look up at Portia to gauge her reaction. What shined in her eyes blew him away—understanding, forgiveness, and love. It gave him the courage to continue. “When I came home the next morning, my parents were waiting for me in their kitchen. Apparently, Uncle Al woke up, thought he was camping, and built a bonfire, lighting up some paper in a trash can. Luckily, the night nurse showed on time to get him out of the house and call the fire department. He was in the hospital for days from the smoke inhalation. He could’ve died.”

“And you think because you made a mistake you don’t deserve the house,” she said softly.

“I shouldn’t have left him alone. It was all my fault, and I disappointed my parents.”

The grip on his hand tightened. “That’s not true. Last night, they mentioned the fire. They’ve never blamed you. It could’ve happened even if you were there. And as evidenced by his Will, Uncle Alexander never blamed you either. You’re the one who can’t seem to forgive yourself.”

Was that true? He thought back on the last three months and how he’d shut down any question Portia raised about how he’d lost his fortune. Had he done the same with his family? Of course they’d been angry and disappointed in him when he’d left Uncle Alexander alone in the house. But he hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out if they’d forgiven him. He’d immediately dropped out of school and donated his money, which instead of proving his contrition, fed into the image of a spoiled degenerate. Portia was right. If his family could forgive him, wasn’t it time to forgive himself?

“Everything I had was given to me. Unlike you, I didn’t have to worry about a roof over my head or food in my stomach, and unlike Braden, I had two parents always around and ready to bust my ass if I didn’t do my best. Samantha and I weren’t meant to be, but she did teach me humility. I wanted to prove myself and be more than a bank account. I needed to show my parents, my uncle, everyone, I could succeed on my own, so I donated my entire trust fund to the Children’s Hospital and the Make a Wish Foundation. Samantha and I dropped out of school and applied to volunteer for Habitat for Humanity in Africa. Right before we were supposed to leave, I got a ‘Dear John’ letter. She took off without me claiming she didn’t think I could handle giving up my lifestyle.”

Portia’s eyes flashed with fury. “That bit—I mean, that’s horrible.”

His little pussycat bared her claws on his behalf. He stifled a laugh and threw his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer. “Yeah it was. I’d lost all my money, dropped out of law school, and got dumped by my girlfriend all in the same week. When my parents assumed I’d done something stupid with my money, I just let them.”

Her soft hand cupped his cheek. “Why? They would have been proud of you for donating your money. What was wrong with telling the truth?”

“At first, it was my pride. Then I got angry. I’d tried so hard to make amends for failing Uncle Alexander and it backfired on me. No one believed I could make it on my own. In a way, they were right. Instead of going back to school or figuring out what I wanted to do with my life, I moped around for two years, waiting for something to fall into my lap. And then you did.”    

He brought his hand to the top of her head and gently unbound her ponytail, swallowing hard when her tresses tumbled down her back as it had in the elevator three months ago. Only this time, he plunged his hand into the thickness, sliding it between his fingers. “When you’ve got money, it’s easy to think it’s not important because you don’t know any different. Even when I’d lost it all, Braden let me move in with him and gave me work. I thought I was tough because I wouldn’t take a handout from him when in truth, I wouldn’t have managed without him. But you’ve gone without a roof, without food. You understand. I love you, Portia.”

She leaned in, breathing hard as her lips hovered over his. “Money is important, but in the end, it’s nothing without love.” She softly kissed him then drew away. “Which is why I can’t accept the mansion.”

His heart plummeted to his feet. Had he misunderstood? “I’m sorry. I thought you—”

“I love you,” she interrupted, her fingertips brushing his lips. “But a house without you isn’t a home. I want to share it with you. I don’t know how we’ll make enough to cover the bills and pay the taxes, but I want to try.”

A lightness flooded his system and he couldn’t stop from smiling.

She loved him.

He’d always take care of her. He never wanted her to feel less than one hundred percent secure again, and he’d sacrifice anything to make that happen. “I know how. I’ll go to work at Stavros Industries.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “As your Muse, I can’t let you give up your carving.”

He chuckled. “Whittling.”

“What?”

“That’s what it’s called. Whittling.”

She smiled. “Well, then I can’t let you give up your whittling. I have faith we were meant to be together, and somehow, we’ll find a way to make it work. Uncle Alexander went through all this trouble, it would be a shame to disappoint him.”

“You really believe he played matchmaker?”

“Yes, I do. After all, he was at our dream wedding.”

Suddenly, Ryan recalled the violin player in his dream who had led them through the village for their wedding reception. Alexander held the special honor of uniting them in that lifetime. Apparently, he could claim the same in this one. And, he’d provided the perfect segue way into Ryan’s question.

Ryan stood from the bench, then knelt on the cold, wet ground, but he didn’t feel the dampness. He was too filled with warmth for the woman in front of him. “He was at that dream wedding. It’s too bad he’ll miss our next one.”

Portia let out a little gasp. “What . . . what are you saying?”

His hands shook as he seized hers. “I’m not saying anything. I’m asking. I can’t afford a diamond ring or a mansion or anything you deserve, but I do promise this: I will love you forever. I’ll keep you protected and warm in my arms. There will always be dancing and art and laughter wherever we choose to call home. Because my home is with you, whether it’s in a house, a shack, a tent, or on the ground underneath the stars. Portia Dubrovsky, will you marry me?”

“Yes.” She began to cry happy tears and threw her arms around his neck. “I’ll marry you. You are my everything.”

They held each other tight until clapping alerted them to their audience. Reluctantly, he broke away to peer over his shoulder at one of his old professors and a couple of students. He got to his feet and nodded to them in greeting.

Her cheeks flushed, Portia went on the toes of her sneakers in an obvious ballet pose. “Let’s go tell George and get that paperwork signed so we can go home.”

Home had never sounded better.

Leaving the Lexus behind, they took the Corvette straight to George. He couldn’t stop touching her as if she’d disappear if his hand left her thigh. A couple times his fingers unintentionally drifted higher up her leg—okay, maybe not exactly unintentionally—and she playfully swatted his arm with a wicked gleam in her eye filled with promises of what was to come as soon as they walked through the front door of their home. He doubted they’d make it past the foyer. Or the door. Good thing he’d fixed it.

He parked his car, and hand in hand they crossed the street into George’s building. They smiled to each other as they stepped into
their
elevator and kissed before they strolled into George’s office suite. Yeah, they were one of those obnoxiously sweet couples who couldn’t keep their hands off each other even in public. And he didn’t care one bit.

Sitting behind her desk, the receptionist took one look at them and picked up the phone. “Mr. Pappas, I have Ms. Dubrovsky and Mr. Sullivan here for you again.” She grinned as she listened to her boss and hung up. “Follow me.” With a slight bounce to her step, she led them through the door, down the hallway, and ushered them into George’s office.

With a half-eaten sandwich and a Big Gulp in front of him, George reclined in his chair, his feet dangling. “Have you two come to an agreement?”

Ryan slid a chair out for Portia and settled in the seat beside her, immediately taking her hand. “Yes. We’ll both sign the deed. Even though it won’t matter soon.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Portia has agreed to marry me.”

“That’s wonderful.
Na Zisete!
Congratulations!” He came around his desk and kissed their cheeks. If Ryan didn’t know better, he’d say the man was downright giddy.

George clucked as he plopped back down in his chair, opened a file, and handed them a couple of documents. “Sign here. I’ll file the paperwork with the county and you’ll need to file the affidavit at city hall.”

Portia added her signature and passed it to Ryan. “Thank you, George. For everything.”

“You’re very welcome, my dear. A couple more items to complete before you go.” George rummaged through his bottom desk drawer and brought out two items covered with Christmas wrapping paper. “Alexander left you each an additional gift.”

What else could his uncle possibly have left them? He’d already given Ryan the most precious gift in the world—Portia. He watched Portia attack the paper with vigor then take the lid of a box.

“Oh, my goodness.” With both hands, she lifted her present reverently. It was a stuffed brown bear with a red bow around its neck, matted hair, and a missing eye. Hadn’t Portia mentioned a stuffed bear to him once?