About to broach the subject, I froze when the doorbell rang. With a curiously trepidatious expectancy, I answered the door.
A courier held a large, expensive-looking box in his hand. ‘Delivery for Sadie Preston from Xenakis?’ the young man asked, eyebrows raised.
Senses jumping, I signed for it.
In the living room, I set it on the coffee table, a reluctance to open it rippling through me. Because, more than not wanting whatever lay within the square box, I was terrified I would like whatever Neo had sent me. An expensive something, judging by the discreet logo signifying the endorsement of English royalty often attached to exclusive items.
When the suspense got too much, I tore it open.
The box was filled to the brim with packets of handmade biscuits, each exquisitely wrapped with a thin silver bow. On top of the first one lay a small white envelope, with a note within that read:
I’m told these help with morning sickness. Be so kind as to try not to forget to eat them.
Rolling my eyes seemed like the perfect counterfoil for the smile that insistently tugged at my lips. The man was insufferable.
And he thinks the baby you claim is his might not be.
My smile evaporated, my heart growing heavy as I plucked out one neatly wrapped packet and opened it. The scent of ginger was oddly pleasant, and not vomit-inducing like most smells these days. Apprehensively, I bit into the biscuit, stemming a moan at the heavenly taste. Experiencing no ill effects, I finished one small pack, and reached for another.
‘I see your Greek god means business. I bet he had these flown in on one of his private jets?’
I jumped and turned to see my mum in the doorway, beaming as her eyes lit on the box.
‘You know what he does for a living?’
‘Of course I know! You’d have to be living under a rock not to know about the Xenakis dynasty. Rumour is they’ve surpassed the Onassis family in wealth and stature. Shame what happened to your fella, though.’
I frowned. ‘He’s not “my fella”—and what are you talking about?’
Like a magician’s big reveal, she produced a tabloid magazine from behind her back. ‘I went digging the moment I left the living room last night. Aren’t you glad I keep all my magazines, instead of chucking them in the bin like you keep pushing me to?’
I didn’t answer, because my gaze was locked on the crimson headline.
Neo Xenakis Emerges from Three-Week Coma...Ends Year-Long Engagement.
Ignoring the fine tremor in my hands, I scoured the article, concluding very quickly that while the reporter had one or two facts, the majority of the piece was conjecture. But the bit that read, By mutual consent, Neo Xenakis and Anneka Vandenberg, the Dutch supermodel, have agreed to go their separate ways clearly had some truth to it.
The reality that I had very little knowledge about the man I was marrying attacked me again in that moment.
Then the very thought that I was leaning towards acceptance of this temporary arrangement slammed into me hard, making my heart lurch.
I told myself I was remedying the former when I retreated to the bedroom and dialled his number the moment my mother flicked on the TV and grew absorbed in the soap she was watching.
He answered immediately. ‘Sadie.’
The deep, sexy growl of my name sent sensation flaring through my body.
Tightening my grip on the phone, as if it would stop the flow of pure need, I launched straight into it. ‘You were engaged before?’
He inhaled sharply, then I heard the sound of footsteps as the background conversation and music faded.
His heavy silence brimmed with displeasure. ‘There are aspects of my past that have no bearing on what’s happening between you and I,’ he said eventually.
Unreasonable hurt lanced me. ‘According to you. You felt entirely comfortable digging into my life. I think quid pro quo earns me the same rights,’ I said, despite the sensation that I was treading on dangerous personal ground.
‘I furnished myself with details of your past only as far as it pertained to the welfare of my child. But if you must know, yes, the tabloids back then got that piece of information right.’
‘What else did they get right? What else do I need to know about you?’