The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby / The Innocent's Emergency Wedding

His nod showed agreement with her words and, she thought, a little gratitude.

He didn’t want to be saddled with a clinging housemate any more than she intended to be one.

‘I will show you around, after dinner.’

‘I’ve already had a look around,’ she murmured, but her mind was zeroed in on his use of the word ‘dinner’. It had all happened so fast she hadn’t stopped to think about what their marriage would look like. Would it be this? Dinner together? Two people living in this huge house, pretending to be here by choice?

Or polite strangers, trapped in an elevator with one another, having to stay that way until the moment of escape? Except there was no escape here, no one coming to jimmy the doors open and cajole the lift into motion.

This was her life—his life.

‘And I mean what I said. Please don’t feel you have to keep me company, or have dinner with me or anything. I know what this is.’

‘Ne?’ he prompted curiously.

Mrs Chrisohoidis appeared then, carrying not only some bread, but a whole platter, similar to the one they’d shared on the flight, but larger and more elaborate, furnished with many dips, vegetables, fish, cheeses and breads.

‘I make your favourite for dinner.’ She smiled at Leonidas as she placed the platter on a table towards the edge of the terrace.

‘Thank you, Marina.’

They both watched her retreat and then Leonidas gestured towards the table.

‘She’s worked for you a while?’ Hannah eyed the delicious platter as she sat down and found that, to her surprise, she was in fact hungry after all. She reached for an olive, lifting it to her lips, delighting in its fleshy orb and salty flavour.

‘Marina?’ He nodded. ‘For as long as I can remember.’

That intrigued her. ‘Since you were young?’

He nodded.

‘So she worked for your parents?’

‘Yes.’

A closed door. Just like his wife and son.

Hannah leaned against the balcony, her back to the view, her eyes intent on the man she was going to marry. ‘Did you grow up here?’

He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘No.’

‘Where, then?’

‘Everywhere.’ A laconic shrug.

‘I see. So this is also “off limits”?’

Her directness clearly surprised him. He smiled, a tight gesture, and shook his head. ‘No. I simply do not talk about my parents often. Perhaps I’ve forgotten how.’

She could relate to that. Aunt Cathy had hated Hannah talking about her own mother and her father. ‘He was my brother! How do you think it makes me feel to hear you going on about them? Heartbroken, that’s how.’ And nine-year-old Hannah had learned to keep her parents alive in her own mind, her own head, rather than by sharing her memories with anyone else who could mirror them back to her.

Angus had asked about them, but by then she’d been so used to cosseting her memories that it hadn’t come easily to explain what they’d been like.

‘They divorced when I was young.’

‘That was hard on you?’

‘Yes.’

Mrs Chrisohoidis appeared once more, this time with a little bowl of chocolates. ‘For the baby,’ she said, and winked as she placed them down on the table.

‘But there was a silver lining, too, because part of the divorce was a new brother.’

‘How does that work?’

‘My father had an affair. Thanos was the by-product. It caused my parents’ divorce, but they’d been catastrophically miserable, anyway. I was glad they were separating; glad there would at last be some peace. And Thanos arrived, only three months my junior.’

‘That must have been strange. How old were you?’

‘Eight.’

‘And he lived here?’

At this, Leonidas’s expression was thoughtful, darkly so. ‘His mother gave my father full custody.’

‘That must have been hard for her.’

Leonidas shook his head. ‘Hardest of all for Thanos, I’m sure.’

‘How so?’

‘His mother gave him up quite willingly,’ Leonidas said softly, his expression shifting to one of compassion so Hannah’s heart turned over in her chest. ‘Thanos was—and remains—an incredibly strong-willed, stubborn character. She could not cope with him.’

Hannah’s jaw dropped open. ‘But he was just a boy! Surely there were ways of making him listen to her?’

‘Who knows? But one day, when he was eight, she showed up and left him with my father. She said she couldn’t do it any more.’

Sympathy scored deep in Hannah’s veins. ‘That must have been so hard for him. And your mother!’

‘My mother hated him,’ Leonidas said grimly. ‘She treated him like a street dog.’

Hannah felt as though she could cry! Having experienced exactly this treatment herself, she felt an odd link to Leonidas’s brother, a desire to look at him and comfort him, to tell him he was worthy, just as she’d always wished someone would say to her.

‘But your father took him in,’ Hannah said quietly, hoping there was a happy ending for the little boy Thanos had been.

‘My father was bullish about custody. He had money, resources, staff. He ensured he had the raising of us. We were his, you see. Not boys so much as heirs. Proof of his virility. As I got older, I came to realise that he enjoyed the story of Thanos and my closeness in age. Far from finding it awkward, he relished the proof of his desirability. He boasted about it.’

Hannah ground her teeth together.

‘You’re not close to him?’

Leonidas took a sip of his wine; Hannah’s gaze didn’t falter. ‘No.’

She had the feeling she was moving closer to ground he wished to remain private, topics he’d prefer not to discuss. Rather than approach it directly, she circled around it this time. ‘Would you have preferred to stay with your mother?’

He frowned, thoughtfully. ‘My mother was American. She moved to Las Vegas when they split. I didn’t want to go.’

‘It must have been hard for her. Leaving you, I mean.’

Leonidas’s smile showed disagreement, but his response was a banal, ‘Perhaps.’

‘Do you see her much now?’

‘Once a year, for an obligatory birthday visit.’

‘Yours, or hers?’

‘Hers.’ He sipped his wine again, then turned to face Hannah. ‘And you, Hannah?’

‘What about me?’

His eyes swept over her face and then zeroed in on her lips, staying there for so long that they parted on a rushed breath and began to tingle; she was remembering his kiss and aching for it anew.

‘What about your own parents?’

It was like being dragged into a well that was completely dark. She felt the blackness surround her and her expression closed off, her skin paling. She jerked her head, turning away from him and looking towards the horizon. The sun was gone but the sky remained tinged with colour.

Her breathing felt forced and unnatural and she struggled to find words.

‘Hannah?’

She nodded. He had every right to ask—this street went both ways. She wanted to know about him, she had a strange, consuming curiosity to understand him. It made sense he would expect the same courtesy.

‘My parents are dead.’ How was it possible that those words still stung? It had been a long time; the reality of being orphaned was one she’d lived with for many years.

‘I’m sorry.’ She felt his proximity rather than saw him move closer. His body was behind hers, warm and strong, and instantly reassuring.

‘It was years ago. I was only a child.’

He didn’t say anything, but he was right there. If she spun around, they’d be touching.

‘My mum used to love that movie—The Secret Princess. I watched it a little while after she’d died, and I wanted to go to Chrysá Vráchia ever since.’

He made a noise of comprehension and now she did turn, and, just as she’d expected, it brought their bodies together, his so strong and broad that she felt as if she could weather almost any storm if he was there.

‘And then?’ he prompted, shifting a little, so his legs were wider than her body, and he pressed his hands to the balcony balustrading behind her, so she was effectively trapped by him.

‘Then?’ Her voice was husky.

‘You came to the island for New Year’s Eve, to see the fireworks. What were you going to do then?’

‘I hadn’t really thought about it. But I guess in the back of my mind I always thought I’d end up in England. My mum was English so I have a passport and I’ve wanted to travel through Europe for ever.’ Her expression was wistful. ‘My honeymoon was going to be to Paris. I used to have a picture of the Eiffel Tower on my bedside table, and when you tapped a button on it the lights twinkled.’ She shook her head wistfully. ‘My parents gave it to me after a ballet recital and I’ve never been able to part with it.’

‘You did ballet?’

‘Only as a child,’ she said, thinking of how her aunt had donated all Hannah’s tutus and leotards to a community charity shop when Hannah had moved in. She pushed the memory aside, focussing on the present, on the circumstances that had brought her here. ‘After I found Angus and Michelle in bed together, I just wanted to run away.’

‘Naturally.’

‘It seemed as good a time as any to pack up and see the world.’ Her smile was wry. ‘I left before I could change my mind.’

Leonidas nodded thoughtfully. ‘Have you spoken to him since you left?’

‘No. There’s nothing more to say there.’

‘You were friends before you became engaged?’

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t miss his friendship?’

Hannah thought of Michelle and Angus and her life in Australia and dropped her gaze. ‘I miss a lot of things. It’s hard, having the rug pulled out from under you.’ She lifted her eyes to his, sympathy softening her features as she remembered his own harrowing past. ‘As you would know.’

A warning light glinted in his eyes. Don’t go there.

‘Who was the other woman?’ His voice was gruff.

Hannah’s heart constricted with now familiar pain. ‘That was the really hard part.’

‘Harder than your fiancé cheating on you?’

‘Yeah.’ She angled her face, so Leonidas had a perfect view of her profile, delicate and ethereal.

‘Who was she?’ he repeated, and Hannah sucked in a soft breath.

‘My cousin, Michelle. More like a sister, really. After Mum and Dad died, I went to live with my aunt and uncle, and Michelle.’

He let out a soft whistle. ‘Christós.’

‘Yeah.’ Her laugh was a low rumble. ‘You could say that, and I did—worse, in fact. I was devastated.’

Admitting that felt good. Saying the word aloud, Hannah recognised that she hadn’t spoken to another soul about the affair.

‘I lost everything that afternoon.’

‘What did your aunt and uncle say?’

Hannah lifted her gaze to his, and a ridiculous sense of shame made it difficult to maintain eye contact. Hannah shook her head, that awful afternoon burned into her brain like a cattle brand. ‘Do you mind if we don’t go down this particular memory lane?’

She flicked her gaze back to his face, catching surprise crossing his features. But it was banked down within a moment, and he stepped back, almost as though he hadn’t realised how close they were, how he was touching her.

‘Of course.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Have a seat.’ He gestured towards the table. ‘There is much we have to discuss.’

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