The Marakaios Marriage

‘No, it wasn’t, Antonios. It was a fairy tale. It was playing at being in love. It was red roses and dancing until midnight and penthouse suites at luxury hotels. It was wonderful and magical, but it wasn’t real.’

‘Just because something is exciting—’

‘Real was coming to Greece—’ she cut across him flatly ‘—and discovering what your life was like there. Real was feeling like I was drowning every day and you never even noticed.’ She bit her lip and then turned towards the window; he realized she’d turned to hide her own emotion, just as he’d tried to hide his. The anger that had been a cold, hard ball inside him started to soften, but he didn’t know what emotion replaced it. He felt confused and unsteady, as if someone had given him a hard push, had scattered all his tightly held beliefs and resolutions.

‘Lindsay...’ He put a hand on her shoulder, conscious once again of how small and fragile she seemed. ‘I don’t understand.’

She let out a choked laugh and dashed quickly at her eyes. ‘I know, Antonios, and you never did. But it’s too late now, for both of us. You know that, so let’s just stop this conversation.’

A stewardess came by to take their untouched champagne glasses and prepare them for take-off. Lindsay took the opportunity to shrug his hand from her shoulder and wipe the traces of tears from her eyes.

When she turned to look at him, her face was composed and carefully blank. ‘Please, let’s just get through this flight.’

He nodded tersely, knowing now was not the time to demand answers. And really, what answer could Lindsay give? What on earth could she mean, that she’d been drowning? He’d taken her to his home. His family had welcomed her. He’d given her every comfort, every luxury. Just the memory of how she’d responded to his touch, how her body had sung in tune to his, made a bewildered fury rise up in him again. What the hell was she talking about—drowning?

And if she truly had been unhappy, why hadn’t she ever told him?

CHAPTER THREE

AS SOON AS the sign for seat belts blinked off, Lindsay unbuckled hers and slipped past Antonios. She hurried to the first-class bathroom, barely taking in the spacious elegance, the crystal vase of roses by the sink. She placed her hands flat on the marble countertop and breathed slowly, in and out, several times, until her heart rate started to slow.

Telling him that much, confessing to even just a little of how she’d felt, had depleted every emotional resource she had. She had no idea how she was going to cope with seven more days of being with Antonios, of pretending to his family.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and continued with her deep, even breathing. She couldn’t panic now. Not like she had back in Greece, when the panic had taken over her senses, had left her feeling like an empty shell, a husk of a person, barely able to function.

How had Antonios not seen that? How had he not heard? Maybe her attempts at trying to explain had been feeble, but he hadn’t wanted to listen. Hadn’t been able to hear. And he still couldn’t.

She’d refuse to discuss it any more, Lindsay resolved. She couldn’t defuse his anger and she wouldn’t even try. Survival was all she was looking for now, for the next week. For Daphne’s sake. Her mother-in-law deserved that much, and Lindsay wanted to see her again and pay her respects.

But heaven help her, it was going to be hard.

Taking a deep breath, she splashed some water on her face and patted it dry. With one last determined look at her pale face in the mirror, she turned and headed back to their seats.

Their dinners had arrived while Lindsay was in the bathroom, and she gazed at the linen napkins and tablecloth, the crystal wine glasses and the silver-domed chafing dishes, remembering how they’d travelled like this to Greece. How luxurious and decadent she’d felt, lounging with Antonios as they ate, heads bent together, murmuring and laughing, buoyant with happiness.

Utterly different from the silent tension that snapped between them now.

Antonios gestured to the dishes as she sat down. ‘I didn’t know what you wanted, so I ordered several things.’

‘I’m sure it’s all delicious.’ And yet she had no appetite. Antonios lifted the lid on her meal and she stared at the beef, its rich red-wine sauce pooling on her plate, and twisted her napkin in her lap as her stomach rebelled at even the thought of eating.

‘You are not hungry?’ Antonios asked, one eyebrow arched, and Lindsay shook her head.

‘No.’

‘You should eat anyway. Keep up your strength.’

And God knew she needed what little she had. She picked up her fork and speared a piece of beef, putting it into her mouth and chewing mechanically. She couldn’t taste anything.

Antonios noticed, one eyebrow lifting sardonically. ‘Not good enough for you?’ he queried, and she let out a little groan.

‘Don’t start, Antonios.’

‘I can’t help but wonder, when you had every luxury at your disposal, how you still managed to be so unhappy.’

‘There is more to life than luxuries, Antonios. There’s attention and support and care.’ So much for her resolution not to talk about things.

‘Are you saying I didn’t give you those?’ Antonios demanded.

‘No, you didn’t. Not the way I needed.’

‘You never told me what you needed.’

‘I tried,’ she said wearily. She felt too tired to be angry any more, even though the old hurt still burrowed deep.

‘When? When did you try?’

‘Time and time again. I told you I was uncomfortable at all the parties, never mind playing hostess—’

His brow wrinkled and Lindsay knew he probably didn’t even remember the conversations she’d found so difficult and painful. ‘I told you it would get better in time,’ he finally answered. ‘That you just needed to let people get to know you.’

‘And I told you that was hard for me.’

He shrugged her words aside, just as he had every time she’d tried to tell him before. ‘That’s not a reason to leave a marriage, Lindsay.’

‘Maybe not for you.’

‘Are you actually saying you left me simply because you didn’t like going to parties?’

‘No.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I left you because you never listened to me. Because you dumped me in Greece like another suitcase you’d acquired and never paid any attention to me again.’

‘I had to work, Lindsay.’

‘I know that. Trust me, Antonios, I know that. You worked all the time.’

‘You never acted like it bothered you—’

She let out a laugh, high and shrill, the sound surprising them both. ‘You never change, do you? I’m trying to tell you how I felt and you just keep insisting I couldn’t have felt that way, that you never knew. This is why I left, Antonios.’ She gestured to the space between them. ‘Because the way we were together in real life, not in some fairy-tale bubble in New York, didn’t work. It made me miserable—more miserable than I’d ever been before—and that’s saying something.’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean, that’s saying something?’

‘Never mind.’ She’d never told him about her mother, and never would. Some things were better left unsaid, best forgotten. Not that she could ever forget the way her mother had left.

This isn’t what I expected.

A hot lump of misery formed in Lindsay’s throat and she swallowed hard, trying to dislodge it. She didn’t want to cry, not on an aeroplane, not in front of Antonios.

‘Theos, Lindsay, if you’re not going to tell me things, how can I ever understand you?’

‘I don’t want you to understand me, Antonios,’ she answered thickly. ‘Not any more. All I want is a divorce. And I assume you want that, too.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘Do you really want to be with a wife who left you, who doesn’t love you?’

Fire flashed in his eyes and she knew it had been a low and cruel blow. But if that was what it took to get Antonios to stop with his questions, then so be it.

He leaned forward, his eyes still flashing, his mouth compressed. ‘Do I need to remind you of how much you loved me, Lindsay? Every night in New York. Every night we were together in Greece.’

And, despite her misery, desire still scorched through her at the memory. ‘I’m not talking about in bed, Antonios.’

‘Because you certainly responded to me there. Even when you were supposedly drowning.’

She closed her eyes, tried to fight the need his simply stated words caused to well up inside her. Sex had always been good between them, had been a respite from the misery she’d faced every day. Maybe that made her weak or wanton, to have craved a man who’d hurt her heart, but she had. From the moment they’d met, she had. And some treacherous part of her still craved him now.

She felt Antonios’s hand on her knee and her eyes flew open. ‘What—?’

‘It didn’t take much to make you melt,’ he said softly, the words as caressing as his hand. His hand slid up her thigh, his fingers sure and seeking. Lindsay froze, trapped by his knowing gaze and his even more knowing hand. ‘I knew just where to touch you, Lindsay. Just how to make you scream. You screamed my name, do you remember?’

Heat flooded through her and she had to fight to keep from responding to his caress. ‘Don’t,’ she whispered, but even to her own ears her voice sounded feeble.

‘Don’t what?’ he asked, his voice so soft and yet also menacing. ‘Don’t touch you?’ He slid his hand higher, cupping her between her legs. Just the press of his hand through her jeans made her stifle a moan as desire pulsed insistently through her.

‘What are you trying to prove, Antonios?’ she forced out, willing her body to stay still and not respond to his caress. ‘That I desire you? Fine. I do. I always did. It doesn’t change anything.’

‘It should,’ Antonios said, and he popped the button on her jeans, slid his hand down so his fingers brushed between her thighs, the sensation of his skin against hers so exquisite she gasped aloud, her eyes fluttering closed. Couldn’t keep her hips from lifting off the seat.

Lindsay pressed her head back against the seat, memories and feelings crashing through her. He always had known just how to touch her, to please her. He still did, but there was no love or even kindness behind his calculated caresses now. With what felt like superhuman effort she opened her eyes, stared straight into his triumphant face, and said the thing that she knew would hurt him most.

‘You might make me come, Antonios, but you can’t make me love you.’

He stared back at her, his expression freezing, and then in one deft movement he yanked his hand from her, unbuckled his seat belt and disappeared through the curtains.

Lindsay sagged back against her seat, her jeans still undone, her heart thudding, and swallowed a sob.

* * *

Antonios strode down the first-class aisle, feeling trapped and angry and even dirty. He shouldn’t have treated Lindsay like that. Shouldn’t have used her desire, her body against her.

Shouldn’t have been that pathetic.

What had he been trying to prove? That she felt something for him? He stood in the alcove that separated the first class from business and stared out into the endless night. He didn’t know what he’d been trying to do. He’d just been acting, or perhaps reacting, to Lindsay’s assertion that she didn’t love him. That their love hadn’t been real.

It had sure as hell felt real to him. But he’d told her he didn’t love her any more, and he needed that to be true. He’d made sure it was true for the last six months, even as he’d maintained the odious front to his family that their marriage was still going strong. He’d had to, for his mother’s sake as well as his own pride.

Or maybe you were just actually hoping she’d come back. Fool that you are, you still wanted her back. Because you loved her. Because you made promises.

And was that what was driving him now? The desire, the need to have Lindsay back in his life? Back as his wife? Or was it an even more shameful reason, one born of revenge and pride? Did he want to make her hurt the way he had, to pay for the way she’d treated him?

Antonios had no answer but he was resolved to stop this pointless back and forth, demanding answers that he knew would never satisfy him. The reasons she’d given him for leaving their marriage had been ridiculous. Maybe he had been working too hard, maybe he’d even ignored her a little, but that didn’t mean you just walked out.

Except to Lindsay it seemed it did, and nothing, no revenge or explanation, could change that cold fact. His mouth a grim line of resolution, Antonios headed back to their seats.

Lindsay had tidied herself in his absence, her jeans buttoned back up, her face turned towards the window. She didn’t move as he slid into the seat next to her. Didn’t even blink.

‘I’m sorry,’ Antonios said in a low voice. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ Lindsay didn’t answer, didn’t acknowledge his words in any way. ‘Lindsay...’

‘Just leave me alone, Antonios,’ she said, and to his shame her voice sounded quiet and sad. Broken. ‘It’s going to be hard enough pretending we’re still in love for your family. Don’t make it any harder.’

He watched her for a moment, part of him aching to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear, trail his fingers along the smoothness of her cheek. Comfort her, when he’d been the cause of her pain and he knew she didn’t want his comfort anyway.

‘I’m going to sleep,’ she said, and without looking at him she took off her shoes, reached for the eye mask. He watched as she reclined her seat and covered herself with a blanket, all with her face averted from him. Then she slid the eye mask down over her eyes and shut him out completely.

* * *

Lindsay lay rigid on her reclined seat, her eyes clenched shut under the mask as she tried to will herself to sleep and failed. She felt a seething mix of anger and regret, guilt and hurt. Her body still tingled from where Antonios had touched her. Her heart still ached.

Forget about it, she told herself yet again. Just get through this week. But how on earth was she going to get through this week, when being in Greece had been so hard even when Antonios had loved her, or thought he had, when she’d thought she’d loved him?

Now, with the anger and contempt she’d felt from Antonios, the hurt and frustration she felt herself...it was going to be impossible. Something had to change. To give.

She slipped off her eye mask, determined to confront him, only to find him gazing at her, the hard lines of his face softened by tenderness and despair, a look of such naked longing on his face that it stole her breath. She felt tears come to her eyes and everything in her ached with longing.

‘Antonios...’

His face blanked immediately and his mouth compressed. ‘Yes?’

‘I...’ What could she say? Don’t look at me like you hate me? Just then, he hadn’t. Just then he’d looked at her as if he still loved her.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even know you, not the real you. And you don’t love him. You can’t.

‘Nothing,’ she finally whispered.

‘Get some sleep,’ Antonios said, and turned his head away. ‘It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.’

* * *

They arrived in Athens at eleven in the morning, the air warm and dry, the sky hard and bright blue, everything so different from the damp early fall of upstate New York. Being here again brought back memories in flashes of pain: the limo Antonios had had waiting outside the airport, filled with roses. The way he’d held and kissed her all the way to his villa in the mountains of central Greece, and how enchanted Lindsay had been, still carried away by the fairy tale.

It wasn’t until the limo had turned up the sweeping drive framed by plane trees with the huge, imposing villa and all of the other buildings in the distance that she’d realized she’d been dealing in fantasies...and that she and Antonios would not be living alone in some romantic hideaway. His mother, his brother, Leonidas, his two unmarried sisters, an army of staff and employees—everyone lived at Villa Marakaios, which wasn’t the sweet little villa with terracotta tiles and painted wooden shutters that Lindsay had naively been imagining. No, it was a complex, a hive of industry, a city. And when she’d stepped out of the limo into that bright, bright sunshine, every eye of every citizen of that city had been trained on her.

Her worst nightmare.

She’d seen everyone lined up in front of the villa—the family, the friends, the employees and house staff, everyone staring at her, a few people whispering and even pointing—and she’d forgotten how to breathe.

Antonios had propelled her forward, one hand on her elbow, and she’d gone, her vision already starting to tunnel as her chest constricted and the panic took over.

She hadn’t felt panic like that since she’d been a little girl, her mother’s hand hard on her lower back, shoving her into a room full of academics.

Come on, Lindsay. Recite something for us.

Sometimes she’d managed to stumble through a poem her mother had made her memorize, and sometimes her brain had blanked and, with her mouth tightening in disappointment, her mother had dismissed her from the room.

After too many of those disappointments, she’d dismissed her from her life.

This isn’t what I expected.

And, standing there in the glare of Greek sunshine, Lindsay had felt it all come rushing back. The panic. The shortness of breath. The horrible, horrible feeling of every eye on her, every person finding her wanting. And she’d blacked out.

She’d come to consciousness inside the house, lying on a sofa, a cool cloth pressed to her head and a white-haired woman smiling kindly down at her.

‘It’s the sun, I’m sure,’ Daphne Marakaios had said as she’d pressed the cloth to Lindsay’s head. ‘It’s so strong here in the mountains.’

‘Yes,’ Lindsay had whispered. ‘The sun.’

Now, as she slid into the passenger seat of Antonios’s rugged SUV, having cleared customs and collected their luggage, she wondered if he even remembered how she’d fainted. He’d certainly been quick to accept it as her reaction to the sun, and she’d been too overwhelmed and shell-shocked to say any differently.

And she’d have to face his family again in just three hours. How on earth was she going to cope?

They drove out of Athens, inching through a mid-morning snarl of traffic, and then headed north on the National Highway towards Amfissa, the nearest town to Antonios’s estate in the mountains.

With each mile they drove, Lindsay’s panic increased. This time she knew what she was facing, and it would be so much worse. Now everyone would be suspicious, maybe even hostile. She could picture his sister Parthenope eyeing her with cool curiosity, her husband by her side and dark-haired, liquid-eyed little Timon clinging to her legs; Leonidas, Antonios’s younger brother, giving her one of his sardonic looks; Ava and Xanthe, his younger sisters, eyeing her with sceptical curiosity, as if they’d already decided she didn’t belong. And the questions...she would have to answer so many questions...

‘Antonios,’ she said, his name little more than a croak, and he glanced at her briefly before snapping his gaze back to the road.

‘What is it?’

She focused on her breathing, tried to keep it even. ‘Would it...would it be possible for me to come to the villa quietly? I mean, not have everyone waiting and...I’d rather not see anyone at first.’ In. Out. In. Out. With effort she kept her breathing measured and her heart rate started to slow. She could do this. She’d managed to control her anxiety for most of her life. She could do it now. She had to.

‘The point,’ Antonios returned, ‘is for you to see people and be seen. No one thinks anything is wrong between us, Lindsay.’

But they would have guessed. Of course they would have guessed. His siblings weren’t stupid, and neither was Daphne. Lindsay had been gone for six whole months and then Antonios had come all the way to New York to fetch her. Everyone would be wondering just what had gone wrong between them.

‘I understand,’ Lindsay said, her eyes closed as she pressed back against the seat and kept concentrating on those deep, even breaths. ‘But I’d rather not have everyone there when we arrive.’

‘What am I meant to do? Send them away?’

She opened her eyes as she tried to suppress a stab of irritation or even anger, wondering if he was deliberately being difficult. Or was he just obstinately obtuse, as usual? ‘No, of course not. I just don’t want them all lined up in front of the villa, waiting to welcome me.’ Or not welcome, as the case well might be.

Antonios was silent for a moment, his gaze narrowed on the road in front of them, the sun glinting off the tarmac. ‘You mean like last time.’

‘Yes.’

‘You fainted,’ Antonios recalled slowly. ‘When you got out of the car.’

So he had remembered. Just. ‘Yes.’

Antonios’s expression tightened and he turned back to the road. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said, and they didn’t speak for the rest of the journey.

Two hours later they’d left the highway for the narrow, twisting lane that curved its way between the mountains of Giona and Parnassus. They came around a bend and Villa Marakaios lay before them, nestled in a valley between the mountains, its many whitewashed buildings gleaming brightly under the afternoon sun.

Antonios drove down the twisting road towards the villa, his eyes narrowed against the sun, his mouth a hard, grim line.

As they drove through the gates he turned to the left, surprising her, for the front of the villa, with its many gleaming steps and impressive portico, was before them. Instead, Antonios drove around the back of the complex to a small whitewashed house with an enclosed courtyard and latticed shutters painted a cheerful blue. It looked, Lindsay thought in weary bemusement, like the villa she’d once imagined in her naive daydreams. A honeymoon house.

‘We can stay here,’ Antonios said tersely, and he killed the engine. ‘It’s used as a guesthouse, but it’s empty now.’

‘What?’ Lindsay stared at him in surprise. Last time they’d stayed in the main villa with all the family and staff; only Leonidas had his own place. Since his father’s death, Antonios had been appointed the CEO of Marakaios Enterprises and essentially lord of the manor.

Now he shrugged and got out of the car. ‘It will make it easier for us to maintain the pretence if we are not so much in the public eye.’ He went around to the boot of the car for their cases, not looking at her as he added, ‘And perhaps it will be easier for you.’

Lindsay stared at him, his dark head bent as he hefted their suitcases and then started walking towards the villa. He was being thoughtful, she realized. And he’d given credence to what she’d told him, if just a little.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured and with a wary, uncertain hope burgeoning inside her she followed him into the villa.

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