He’d married her to get himself out of a tight corner.
An unsuitable wild-child bride he just happened to be sexually compatible with.
And the longer she stayed with him, the more vulnerable she made her already damaged heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘SO WHAT’S ALL this about?’ questioned Xan softly.
Tamsyn didn’t immediately look up from the mirror. She was going to need her best smile to get through the next few hours, so maybe she’d better practice composing her face accordingly. Straightening up, she slowly turned to face her husband, stupidly gratified by the instant desire she could read in his eyes. And she wasn’t supposed to be feeling gratified. She was supposed to be distancing herself from the charismatic Greek billionaire, not revelling in the physical power she could still—unbelievably—wield over him.
‘What’s what all about?’ she murmured absently.
‘Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Tamsyn,’ he said, treating her to another assessing look. ‘I’m just wondering why the sudden dramatic change of image for tonight’s party.’
‘Could you be a little more specific, Xan? What exactly are your objections?’
Objections? Xan’s throat dried to dust. Who said anything about objections? It just wasn’t what he’d been expecting, that was all. His wife was wearing a white dress—as befitting a new bride just freshly back from honeymoon—but the outfit was a world away from the flirty mini which had barely covered her bottom on the day they’d wed. This concoction was made from a rich, heavy silk which moulded every curve of her delicious body yet fell decorously to the knee. Her hair had been coiled into an elaborate style, the lustrous curls tamed and gleaming like silken flames, with only a few strands left dangling, drawing attention to the swan-like length of her neck. The strappy silver sandals which gleamed against her bare feet were the only frivolous thing about her tonight, but even they exuded a certain class and style. This was a Tamsyn he’d never seen before. Sophisticated. Elegant—and the very opposite of unsuitable.
‘It doesn’t look like you,’ he observed unevenly. ‘This isn’t the edgy little redhead I know.’
A flash of colour flared into her cheeks. ‘So you don’t like it?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Tamsyn, you could wear sackcloth and I’d still want to rip it from your body. I’m just not sure what has prompted this sudden transformation.’
She wound a strand of hair around her forefinger, so that when she let it go, it sprang into a perfect little ringlet which brushed against her neck. He suddenly thought how slim she looked—and how breakable.
‘I’m a chameleon,’ she said flippantly. ‘Didn’t you know? I can be whatever people want me to be and tonight I’ve gone for the sleek and understated look.’
His mouth twitched. ‘Any particular reason why?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve seen the guest list.’
He raised his brows. ‘And?’
‘And it was exactly as I could have predicted.’ She tilted her chin defensively, her eyes momentarily uncertain, as if deciding whether or not to tell him. ‘Rich people. Well-connected people. The current darling of the Greek cinema who just happens to be bringing two hulking great bodyguards with her. An international politician or two—including a man they’re describing as the frontrunner candidate for the next-but-one US Presidential election.’
‘What do you want me to say? I’ve known Brett since I was at college and to me he’s just someone I learnt to play tennis with at Harvard.’ He raised his brows. ‘I offered to fly your friends over and put them up in a local hotel, but you refused.’
Tamsyn bit her lip. It was true, she had refused. Was that because she’d been terrified one of them might see past all the trappings and pick up on the heartache which was building inside her, minute by minute? Or because she was determined to keep her old enemy—pity—at arm’s length? She wanted to remember this night as you might remember a particularly beautiful rainbow, or sunset—something amazing but short-lived.
Her sister wasn’t coming either, citing a busy royal diary which was planned weeks in advance and didn’t allow for last-minute invitations to rushed weddings. But Tamsyn had detecte
d a strong sense of disapproval in Hannah’s reply as well as disbelief that she’d actually tied the knot with Xan Constantinides. Tamsyn had wanted to write and tell her she was doing this mainly for her, but her sister suddenly seemed a very long way away.
‘Those are the kind of people I associate with, Tamsyn,’ continued Xan quietly. ‘You knew that.’
‘Yes. But it’s one thing knowing something and another thing facing them all for the first and probably only time—and that includes meeting your father. I’ve realised I don’t want to turn myself into some sort of spectacle—some caricature of a tart, who people can poke fun at and laugh about behind their back. I’ve realised I don’t want to be unsuitable. Not tonight. If I do that it’s going to make this evening even more of an ordeal.’ She expelled a sigh. ‘If you want to know the truth, I’m beginning to wish I’d never agreed to throw the wretched party in the first place.’
He gave an odd kind of laugh. ‘Well, just for the record, so do I and if people weren’t already on their way from halfway across the globe, I’d consider cancelling it. But we can’t. Which means we just have to get through it and make the best of it.’ An unwilling kind of admiration sparked in the depths of his dark blue eyes. ‘And just for the record, it’s a very beautiful dress. You look every inch the suitable bride.’
Trying not to be swayed by his soft praise, Tamsyn smoothed down the silk-satin bodice of the outfit she’d ordered online from a store in Athens and which Elena had smuggled in yesterday. It had given her a ridiculous amount of pleasure to see herself looking like the kind of bride she’d never thought she could be, but in the end—her clothes were irrelevant. All she wanted was for tonight to be over, so she could start thinking about her future.
She watched him walk over to the open windows of their terrace, thinking how much she was going to miss this. And him. She could hear the chink of glasses from out on the lawn as waiters began loading up their trays and in the distance, could see a long line of approaching headlights travelling along the coastal road. Her eyes ran over Xan’s powerful physique, trying to commit it to memory. The snowy white dinner jacket which contrasted vividly with the close-fitting dark trousers. She loved the way those coal-black tendrils of hair brushed against the collar of his shirt, reminding her that he looked as much at home on a sailing boat as he did a boardroom. But as he turned around she quickly wiped her face clear of emotion—eradicating all the yearning, so she was able to meet his cobalt gaze with nothing more telling than a look of cool enquiry.
‘Let’s go,’ he said abruptly.
Xan felt the adrenalin pumping through his body as he took Tamsyn’s hand and led her out into the garden, where burning flames lined the paths and fairy-lights were strung from the trees. The huge swimming pool had been illuminated with floating lights, which gleamed in the turquoise water like surreal water lilies and the front of the house had been floodlit in soft colours of rose and blue. He told himself it was pride in his beautiful home which was making him feel so pumped-up tonight, but it was more than that. He looked at the woman by his side, thinking that Tamsyn had never looked lovelier. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.