‘There were a lot of things we didn’t know about each other back then.’
Their eyes met. ‘But we do now,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
He walked over to where she stood, on the strip of land not far from the beach. Behind her was the small stone house where their son lay sleeping and in front of her was the endless potential of the night ahead. This was their fourth day on Prassakri, where the bones of Xan’s ancestors lay. They’d spent lazy hours walking and talking and teaching their son how to swim. They’d built sandcastles and eaten picnics as they explored the stunning island, where little had changed over the centuries.
But it had been a rollercoaster three years since their wedding.
After initially refusing to sell Xan the island, Sofia’s father had eventually agreed on a deal. A deal prompted by the discovery that his daughter was in love with one of his farm labourers, and had been for years—and they needed an injection of cash to start up on their own. Sofia had met Tamsyn and Xan for lunch in Athens and told them everything.
‘I knew Papa would never allow me to marry Georgiou because he was so poor,’ she’d explained, looking down at her plain gold wedding band with an expression of delight. ‘Which was why my long-term engagement to Xan worked so well. It’s why I was so happy to go along with it. As a kind of smokescreen, I guess.’
Xan had smiled and so had Tamsyn, glad that no hearts had been broken during the fictitious understanding.
The reconciliation with Xan’s father had happened slowly—bolstered by the knowledge that his ancestral island was back under the ownership of the Constantinides family. But the real rapprochement had come after the birth of Tamsyn and Xan’s child. Andreas had unexpectedly turned up on the doorstep with a jar of honey—which apparently was a Greek tradition—his eyes filling with tears as he had gazed down at his newborn grandson. These days he came to their house on the Peloponnese peninsula often, enjoying the kind of warm family life he’d never really experienced before.
Tamsyn glanced up at the sky. The sun had almost disappeared and in the darkening indigo sky was the first faint sprinkle of stars.
‘I think it’s time for us to go to bed, agape mou,’ observed Xan throatily. ‘Don’t you?’
Leaning back against his broad chest, Tamsyn nodded. ‘Mmm,’ she agreed. ‘Let’s.’
It was still early but they liked to retire early for they enjoyed nothing better than the endless discovery of each other’s bodies. The ancient stone steps absorbed the sound of their footsteps as they went upstairs and peeped in on their toddler son who lay contentedly sleeping and sucking his thumb.
‘He’s worn out,’ said Xan approvingly.
‘Are you surprised?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘He seems a bit young to start playing tennis.’
‘That’s not what his godfather says.’
‘No.’ There was a pause while Tamsyn considered the very real chance that her son’s godfather would one day be president of the United States of America. She looked down and smiled as she studied the unruly black curls which looked so dark against the sheet. Andreas Alexandros Iohannis. She’d known that another tradition was to call the first born son after his paternal grandfather, but it had been Xan who had suggested including the Greek version of John among his names. At first Tamsyn hadn’t known how she felt about that, until a sudden rush of emotion had reminded her that nobody could deny their roots, even if those roots had been allowed to wither, and die. Nobody knew that Jonny Trafford was her father, but echoes of him would live on in her child. She hoped that Andreas inherited some of his undoubted talent, and prayed that they could nurture him with enough love to defeat his demons.
She drew in a deep breath as she stared up at Xan, her heart suddenly beating very fast. ‘We won’t make the mistakes our own parents did,’ she said unsteadily.
‘No,’ he
agreed, his watchful gaze understanding. ‘We’ll make our own. But we’ll try to limit them.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed as he pulled her into his arms.
‘And we’ll be honest enough to say if we think either of us is stepping out of line.’ He tilted her chin to look directly into her eyes. ‘Because we love each other and we’re completely honest with each other, Tamsyn—and nothing is ever going to change that. Do you understand?’
Clamping her lips together, she nodded. ‘Oh, Xan,’ she said eventually, as she touched her fingertips to the roughened shadow at his jaw. ‘I must have done something very good in a previous life, to have ended up with you.’
His eyes glinted as he led her from the nursery. ‘I like the thought of you being good,’ he murmured, as he began to undo the sarong which was knotted around her hips. ‘But I like the thought of you being bad much better.’
‘Do you really?’ she said, tugging eagerly at the zip of his jeans. ‘Then I’d better do as my husband desires.’
And she could hear nothing but his growl of contentment as she climbed on top of him in the silver moonlight, and day gave way to night.
* * * * *