‘Theo s-said he didn’t want us to get married,’ she reminded him.
Reaching out, he grabbed hold of her shoulders. For a few seconds she thought he was going to give her a good shaking but all he did was to hold her in front of him, his eyes and his voice when he spoke intense.
‘He was testing you. He told you that himself. He was trying to discover if you were going to let him down like your father did! He needs to know that his life’s legacy will be in safe hands when he dies. So, I am asking you again, are you prepared to be gracious and give your grandfather something good to take with him to his grave?’
Was she prepared to marry the son of the woman her father jilted, to soothe a sick old man’s broken heart before he slid quietly out of this life?
Quivering within his grasp, she wished she wasn’t looking into his eyes because when she did that she always—always—lost the will to keep on fighting him.
‘Yes,’ she heard herself whisper. ‘Until my grandfather has—gone,’ she extended, because her pride demanded she keep hold of the one concession she had won the last time they had had this kind of fight. ‘I will do everything you want me to do until this whole h-horror is over but afterwards I go back to my own life and you will let me go.’
Anton turned as cold as ice, as though she’d thrown a switched that turned off all the passion alight inside him. She did not understand why, and she watched for a sign to give her a hint, but nothing showed in his tough, handsome face. And his continuing silence gnawed on her shivering nerve-ends.
Then he unclasped his fingers. ‘Fair enough,’ he agreed and turned away.
‘Fair enough’ sealed their deal in what felt to Zoe like her own fresh blood.
‘I’ll go and check how Theo is,’ he then said flatly, and strode out of the room without looking at her again.
They married a week later right on schedule. Only the venue had changed, moving from the little church on Thalia to a room in her grandfather’s house with a magistrate in attendance to hear their vows.
Theo insisted on standing beside Zoe. It was her grandfather who placed her hand into Anton’s hand. Only then did he surrender to his wheelchair to watch the rest of the proceedings with a fierce look of satisfaction that was missing on the faces of the other two participants. Once the formalities were over, they drank a glass of champagne each, then Theo caved in and retired to his bed.
He’d looked increasingly frail throughout the short ceremony, and impulsively Zoe asked if she could see him before she and Anton flew back to Thalia. He was asleep, but she sat with him for a little while, her hand covering one of his, wishing, wishing he’d known her father. Because she was sure he would have been proud of the man he grew to be, even if perhaps he would never have been the kind of son Theo would have preferred him to be. When Anton came in to tell her quietly that it was time for them to leave, she stood up, then she leant down and kissed his cheek before turning and walking quickly away with her head down so that a grimly silent Anton could not see her tears.
Within an hour of arriving back at Anton’s house, she felt as if nothing had changed. The simple white wedding-gown she had worn—delivered that morning by special courier—was now hanging in its bag in her dressing room. And, though everyone else had smiles and congratulations for them, she and Anton felt more like strangers to each other than they had done when he had first strode into her Islington home.
It had been like that between them since her visit to see her grandfather. They even slept in their separate bedrooms. Anton was busy, he worked long hours, and though he came home from Athens every evening in time to eat dinner with her, he excused himself and disappeared into his study afterwards and that was the last Zoe would see of him until dinner the next evening.
Seven long days of it, she thought as she stood by the window in her bedroom, having thrown it open to breathe some
cooler air coming in from the sea. It wasn’t late but she’d retired early. A silvery moon hung just above the tops of the trees. One of the maids—clearly an incurable romantic—had laid out the finest slip of blush-pink silk on her bed, and after taking a shower, she hovered over it for a few moments before giving in to the temptation of slipping the nightdress on.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror, and saw how the silk clung to every contour of her figure, from the slopes of her breasts to her slender ankles.
She looked what she was, a bride dressed for her wedding night. Only this bride had no groom to admire the alluring effect.
Oh, just look at yourself, Zoe told herself crossly, standing here staring at the moon and pining for your love when— The soft sound of her bedroom door closing spun her around. As if she’d summoned him up just thinking about him, there he stood, looking tall, dark and breathtakingly real.
‘Stargazing, glikia mou?’ he quizzed as he walked towards her, his voice sounded so deep and so dark it sank through her body like warm honey.
‘W-wishing on the moon, more like,’ she laughed, trying her best to make it sound light even though her heart began to beat very fast. ‘Is—is there something you want?’
‘Now that—’ he came to a halt in the circle of moonlight ‘—is a pretty stupid question to ask your husband on our wedding night.’
Her lips parted nervously. ‘I thought we had decided to keep this m-marriage strictly business.’
‘We did?’ He was looking down at her intently but there was no sign that Zoe could see that he’d even heard what she’d said.
And he looked—gorgeous. He had come in here directly from the shower and was wearing a dark cotton robe and nothing else, so her heightened instincts told her. His hair was still damp and as she grabbed at a tense breath she inhaled the tantalising scent of his soap.
She could also feel the tension stretching up through her body like a fine thread of fire. It was all in the eyes—it was always in the eyes for them. He looked down at her and she looked up at him …
‘I don’t believe I would make such a cold-blooded bargain,’ he murmured.
‘I thought—’ Her voice lurched to a stop as he reached out and touched her, the tips of his fingers gently combing the trailing strands of her hair away from one of her shoulders, before continuing like a caress to curve around her nape, making her draw in a sharp little breath.
‘You thought what?’ he prompted huskily.