Chapter Fifty

Greta paused near the patio doors that led to her meeting with the damn ISA agent. She brought her hand up and felt the cool glass below her hands, contemplating the darkened section of the garden. Only a few lamps lit the place. "Damn him for this anyway," she cursed viciously, conveniently overlooking the fact that she had been a willing participant in the bet. "Let's get this vile task over with." With a toss of her elegant head, she flicked open the door and stepped out into the brisk night air.

Her footsteps echoed off the cobbled stones as she traveled down few steps of the terrace and then paused at the main pathway. Moonlight spilled with riotous abandonment, bathing the entire area with its iridescent glow. Intrigued when she couldn't find Ethan, she hesitatingly followed the path to the center of the far gardens, uneasily glancing over her shoulders. She dropped her sparkling purse on one of the four stone benches that surrounded a clear pool and approached a low wall that overlooked the magnificent gardens. Greta splayed her hands on the top of the wall and tapped her foot incessantly, impatient for her ordeal to begin.

Ethan observed her with a cunning smile and decided to announce his presence. "You arrived just in time." His voice cut through the stillness of the night like the harsh sound of a cannon blast.

Greta jumped back, startled, and whirled around, her hand pressed tightly to her rapidly beating heart. "Oh, good god in heaven, why the hell did you have to scare me like that?" she let out shrilly, glancing wildly in the direction of the voice, her composure momentarily shaken.

Ethan stayed off in the shadows, out of her line of sight. Which was just what he wanted for the time being; to be able to witness every nuance of her reactions but not have that ability reciprocated. Indeed, he much preferred to be cloaked in relative darkness. "I didn't mean to frighten you, Greta. I merely assumed you were expecting me."

Alerted, Greta zoomed in on his voice and understood why she had missed his presence earlier. She could make out his outline, almost completely hidden by the shadows of the trees behind him. Most likely his intention, she realized as her heart started its normal rhythmic beating again. "Care to come out where I can see you?"

He smiled wider, his white teeth clearly visible through the dim night. "No, I don't bloody think so," Ethan answered smoothly, granting her a mocking bow. Then, he added, aiming his eyes deliberately over her, "I have found that I prefer the view from here."

Greta flushed scarlet as she physically felt his eyes rake her from head to toe and back again. She resisted the urge to squirm. Instead, she settled for a good show of haughty disdain. She threw her shoulders back and faced him with her nose held high in the air. "You are a brute and a lout, incapable of understanding or following societal rules. I, on the other hand, am a Princess, born with innate elegance, grace, and a deep appreciation for protocol. I do not have to take any of this boorish behavior." She flounced away but was halted in mid-step by the sound of loud clapping.

"Very good, Greta." Ethan brought his hands together and applauded her performance as the haughty ice princess. "But you are wrong. You do need to take anything I can dish out. For the next twenty-seven minutes, thirty-three more seconds, in fact. You're mine, fair and square, and by your own agreement."

Greta hissed out an infuriated breath. Furious, she whirled around and held out her arm, insistently pointing to it. "Rub it in some more, why don't you? Princess Greta, famed baccarat player, loses to the egotistical James Bond," she scoffed with a laughing undertone.

"You keep comparing me to James Bond," Ethan noticed, choosing to overlook the return of her cutting sarcasm. "I'm inclined to think that's complimentary. A very suave, handsome man, famous for all of the girls who simply can't get enough of him. Known for being suave, debonair, as well as a little on the dark and dangerous side. Any of that appeal to you?" he asked in voice coated with silk.

"In your wildest dreams, maybe!" Greta tossed back disdainfully, her upper lip curled with disgust. "I am only here to fulfill a debt and to prove to you that DiMera's do have honor, whether you want to believe it or not."

"Oh, Greta, how wrong you've got it," he replied with a sorrowful shake of his head. "Your honor was never called into question. Well, except for those few seconds when it looked like you weren't going to show. No, the only honor I have ever questioned, and with good reason, is your father's."

"Leave my father out of this!" she exclaimed, each word punctuated with loud hiss. "My father does not need to be brought into this travesty of a conversation. He has no place here. It's simply between me and you." She sat down angrily on the white stone bench, her arms folded across her chest, a sullen expression on her beautiful face.

"Well, it appears that Stefano DiMera is off-limits for the time being," Ethan announced cheerfully. He briefly considered his strategy before he left his post and moved next to the bench. He positioned himself behind Greta. "Not a problem. Personally I didn't really want to discuss that son of a bitch anyway." His eyes danced with laughter while he waited for the expected explosion.

High dungeon shot Greta off the bench, facing the grinning man with livid fury that was tangible. "Damn you! Can't you respect my wishes? This is going to be hell, pure hell." She flopped back down on the bench, talking to herself. "It could have been so easy, should have been. Beat you at baccarat, force you to go to your room, and then I would not have been forced to endure your presence for the rest of the evening. Such a glorious plan. But no, I had to go on an unprecedented two game losing streak. I never lose two games in a row. Never! Oh, my mother would be so ashamed." She rubbed her temples where a headache was beginning to brew and hung her head in shame.

Enjoying Greta's unprecedented lack of control, Ethan's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Aww," he declared with sham sympathy, "poor baby lost a game." He hesitated but then laid a hand on her shoulder in sarcastic comfort. "So sad."

Greta's dejection dissipated, leaving behind her righteous anger. She violently shook off his hand with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders and pivoted around on her heels to glare at him. "Do not touch me. Got it? Do it again and this godforsaken meeting will be called off. Bet or no bet" She rolled her shoulder once as if to rid herself of the memory of his vile touch.

Ethan held his hands up in front of him, palms out in recrimination, inwardly amused by how quickly she had fallen apart. "I promise. Secret agent honor. No touching for the duration of our meeting…" His voice trailed off before he added suggestively, "Unless you invite me."

Laughter tinged with slight hysteria broke through her slack lips. "Rest assured, then. It'll be a cold day in hell before I ask for your touch," Greta muttered under her breath. She walked over to the low garden wall and checked the time on her dainty watch. "Twenty minutes left," she announced, looking out over the garden.

Ethan's shadow fell over her. Against her better judgment, Greta slowly rotated around until she could see the man standing off to her side, ready for battle. "Well? Why did you insist on this meeting?" she inquired nastily. "Is there a point to this French farce or what?"

Ethan placed his elbow on the wall and leaned against it, only a few inches away from Greta. Much too close for her comfort. He crossed his ankles and shared an unfathomable look with Greta. "I merely wanted a few moments of your time, Greta, a few moments without any of your watchdogs hovering."

Greta smiled sharply, dangerously. "Watchdogs? That's a good one. I'm sure Brady and my father would love to hear the comparison." She rolled her eyes sarcastically. "But, to set the record straight, I do not need to hide behind anyone. I am completely capable of taking care of myself."

Ethan's lips curved, satisfied by her admission. He probed infuriatingly, "I suppose that is why you are out here, with me, a noted enemy of your family, instead of within the safety of your father's presence." Soft chuckles of glee rolled past him, filling the garden with the delighted sound.

"Stop laughing at me!" Greta ordered. She gripped the edge of the wall tightly. The stone actually cut into her hand but she didn't feel it, too incensed by the man in front of her who dared to laugh at her. After all, she was a princess!

Ethan's chuckles slowed. Throwing caution to the wind, he reached into his pocket. When Greta jumped, he smiled humorlessly and assured her, "Nothing to worry about, Greta. No gun, no hypodermic needle designed to knock you out. Nothing remotely threatening. That is not my style. It's someone else's but we have agreed to leave him out of the conversation for now."

Giving into her curiosity, Greta ignored the implication. "What is it, then?" she asked, her voice quivering with a mixture of fear and obvious interest. Her eyes widened while she watched him pull his hand out of the inside of his tuxedo jacket.

Ethan pulled out the white envelope that he had packed in Salem, hoping for just such an opportunity as this. "Here," he said gruffly, holding the envelope out to her, his earlier lighthearted teasing tone gone. When she only stared at it like it would bite her, he taunted her softly, "What? Scared? It's not going to hurt."

She curled her upper lip at him and boldly reached for the envelope. Then, giving him her shoulder, she opened the envelope. "Pictures?" she mumbled to herself, pulling them out. "Oh, what a cute baby!" she said before she could stop herself, smiling down at the sunny little baby who was laughing at the camera. A baby with laughing cobalt blue eyes and dark hair. She flipped through the pictures quickly, chuckling softly at each new picture of the baby, and refused to answer the question why he was showing her the pictures. "A boy?"

"Yes," Ethan answered steadily as he gauged her reaction. He had chosen the last picture carefully, the one that she would unearth shortly. He held his breath, waiting for the moment when she would realize the parents of the cute baby.

Greta tucked a stray strand of her hair back and placed the picture of the baby in the bathtub behind the others. The last picture in the bunch stared at her. The pictures fluttered to the ground from her suddenly numb fingers. A hand slowly reached up to cover her mouth in shock.

Ethan bent down to pick up his pictures, uncertain how to read Greta's expression. A mixture of shock, horror, incredulity…he couldn't get a good read on it. Taking the only neutral course available until she broke through her stunned amazement, he motioned to the pictures of Troy. "Beautiful, isn't he?" he said, breaking the all-consuming silence.

"He's your son." Greta turned shocked eyes on the man crouching near her feet. The last picture haunted her, forever branded into her mind. A smiling Ethan Sinclair had his arms around a woman who looked so much like Greta she could be her twin. And in that woman's arms had rested the happy baby. "Your son," she whispered faintly.

"Yes, he is. His name is Troy Matthew Sinclair." Ethan slowly stood up, the pictures held firmly in his hand, and waited some more.

"And his mother…" Greta's voice trailed off. She cleared her throat and continued breathlessly, all traces of the haughty princess gone, "She looks so similar to me."

Ethan sucked in a deep breath before he declared, "That's because she is you, Greta. You are that adorable little boy's mother. You are my wife." His direct gaze probed her as he willed her to believe the proof she had just seen with her very eyes.

All other emotions drained from Greta's face, to be replaced by a return of her livid fury. "NO!" she denied heatedly. "You are a liar! Such a liar! I am Princess Greta Von Amburg, a DiMera to the core!" She clenched her hands together into fists and pounded on his chest. Tears of anger sprang to her eyes. One spilled down her face before she could blink them away.

Ethan stood stoically, his arms hung uselessly at his sides, while he let Greta pound out her frustration on him. The blows didn't hurt, were obviously not meant to hurt, but were used as an outlet for her confusion and her anger. When she stopped and stood back from him, gasping for much-needed air, he informed her calmly, "One day you will see that I am right about who you really are. That you are so much more than the person Stefano DiMera has turned you into."

"Dammit, I have not been turned into anyone! I know who I am!" Greta screamed at him, her fury unleashed. "Why do you have to torment me like this?"

Ethan's mouth twisted into a morbid grin. "Torment? You think this is torment?" He laughed harshly. "Try finding out that the love of your life has died in a horrible car accident. Try having to raise a baby on your own. Try discovering that your soulmate is really alive, only transformed into a person completely opposite their caring nature. Try having to look that person in the eyes, eyes that once reflected a bottomless love but now only show disdain." He drew in sharp intake of breath. "Then you'll know what true torment is."

Greta lifted her hand, her desire to slap him for his taunts plain to see, but slowly dropped it back to her side. She could perceive the pain in his eyes, the large amount of pain and anguish caused by the loss of his beloved wife. Even though she didn't believe for a minute that this man was her husband, he was obviously hurting. She couldn't inflict any more pain on him. Instead, she turned her back on him. "Five minutes left," she informed him tonelessly, the fury that had driven her for most of this meeting receding rapidly.

Emotionally drained, Ethan slammed the pictures down on the lower wall. "Still counting the minutes," he noted with self-directed sarcasm. He stared up at the sky, suddenly hopeless about the shattered pieces of his life, and damned himself for instigating this meeting.

Greta slanted him a look under her lashes as he stood near, completely silent, stoic, and somber. She blinked away fresh tears for the man's obvious anguish. Before she realized her intention, she tentatively reached a hand out to him.

Ethan started when her hand hesitatingly touched the one he had laying on the wall. The touch was fleeting, but it was certainly a touch, of her own free will. He was too surprised to do anything more than breathe.

"I'm sorry about your wife," she offered haltingly, blushing at her extraordinary action. Never in a million years did she think that this meeting would end with her offering condolences to the odious man but she simply couldn't hang onto the vein of anger in lieu of his pain. "It's quite clear that you loved her very much."

Ethan cleared his throat. He was silent for a moment before he admitted, his voice a husky rasp, "I still love her very much." They stood silent as the minutes slowly ticked down. When there was less than a minute left, Ethan turned to her, his cool mask back in place. "Almost midnight."

"Yes. Almost midnight." Greta tilted her head up to the sky. The moonlight slowly bathed her face in a luminous glow, amazed that they were able to spend the last few moments in nearly companionable silence.

An impulsive thought occurred to Ethan, a thought more for him than for her. He simply couldn't resist. As the seconds counted down their time together, he moved closer until he was a mere inch away. When she turned, shocked, by his nearness, Ethan placed his finger under her chin and tilted it up. Her mouth gaped open. Before Greta had the chance to protest, his lips covered hers, briefly, softly, without any force behind it. Just a slight brushing of the lips. It was over almost before it began.

He dropped his lips from hers and stepped back. "Midnight." His voice came out in a rasping tone, his eyes too dark to read. Without looking back, he left her standing at the garden wall.

Greta watched his departure, bemused. She wanted to summon up the strength of blessed anger at his daring kiss but she couldn't. It had been too light, too soft, too astounding. Too moving, she reluctantly admitted. She touched a finger to her lip and stood there for a long time, motionless. Then, she shook her head and stepped away from the wall.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the moonlight reflecting off of something and stopped her progress. Curious, she walked back. "The pictures," she breathed out. She reached out for them but drew her hand back. Second thoughts were running rampant through her mind. "They are just pictures, Greta," she scolded herself. "Nothing to be afraid of." Forcing herself, she picked them up in her trembling hand and looked around guiltily before she dropped them swiftly into her small sparkling purse.