The Greek's Unknown Bride

Sasha could feel the onset of that faint throbbing, signalling a headache again as she absorbed his answer. ‘You really don’t believe that I have amnesia?’

Apollo was expressionless. ‘Let’s just say that your past behaviour wouldn’t give me confidence in your ability to tell the truth.’

What happened?

The words trembled on Sasha’s lips but like a coward she swerved away from inviting an answer she wasn’t ready to hear yet. Especially if what he’d just told her was true. Apollo was looking at her with that disdainful expression that was fast becoming far too familiar, and painful.

‘I’m not lying. I promise. I wish I could make the fog in my brain clear but I can’t. Believe me, there’s nothing more frightening that not knowing anything about yourself, your past, your future. All I have to trust is that you are my husband and that I do live here with you, when it feels like I’ve never been here before.’

She added, ‘I don’t know what I did but if your attitude and Rhea’s and Kara’s are anything to go by it wasn’t good. But how can I apologise for something I can’t even remember doing?’

Shocked at the surge of emotion catching her unawares and making her chest tight, Sasha stood up and went to the edge of the terrace, arms folded tight across her breasts. To her horror, tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked furiously to keep them at bay.

Apollo’s whole body was so rigid with tension he had to force himself to breathe in and relax. He looked at Sasha’s tense body. The curve of her naked waist was visible where the cropped shirt rode above the waistline of her trousers. Her skin was pale. Her hair glinted more red in the light of the setting sun, like a flame against the white of her shirt.

She seemed genuinely upset. Agitated. Apollo didn’t trust her for an instant but for whatever reason—maybe she was buying time to figure out a way to convince him to stay married—she was insisting on this charade.

For the past three months she’d been playing every trick in the book to try and entice him into her bed, but not wanting her had made it easy to resist. Now, though...he couldn’t be sure he would be able to resist and if she knew that...

He stood up and noticed how she tensed even more. He went over and stood beside her. She didn’t look at him. Her jaw was tight. Mouth pursed. He was about to look away but did a double-take when he saw the glistening drop of moisture on the lower lashes of her eye. She’d been crying? To his shock and consternation, instead of feeling disgust, Apollo felt his conscience prick.

In all her machinations up to now she hadn’t ever manufactured actual tears. She’d looked close to tears when she’d turned up at his London office three months ago but she hadn’t cried.

Maybe she’s telling the truth.

He’d be a fool to trust her after everything that had happened, but he knew who she was now, so she couldn’t surprise him again. ‘Look,’ he said, turning to face her. ‘You’ve been through an ordeal and you need to recuperate. We can talk about whether I believe you or not when you’re stronger.’

For the week following Apollo’s pronouncement Sasha existed in a kind of numb fog. She was still bruised and battered enough not to fuss when Kara or Rhea insisted on bringing food to her room, or when they appeared as she sat on the terrace to put a light rug over her legs in the early evening, in spite of the Greek heat.

Sasha noticed that as the days dawned and faded into dusk, the women grew less wary around her. Although she still caught them looking at her suspiciously and whispering in corners when they thought she wasn’t looking.

Of Apollo, there was no sign. He seemed to go to work as dawn broke—she usually woke when she heard the powerful throttle of an engine as it disappeared down the drive—and she was asleep before she heard it return.

In fact, she realised now, if it wasn’t for hearing the engine each morning, she couldn’t even be sure that he came home at all. A man with a house like this would surely have other properties. An apartment in Athens?

A mistress?

That thought caught at her gut as she sat in the dusk on Friday evening on the smaller terrace. The end of the working week. The start of the weekend. If they weren’t sharing a bedroom then obviously this marriage was not a functioning one. And yet the thought of Apollo with another woman made her feel...nauseous.

She barely knew the man beyond some very hazy memories. And yet...she felt a sense of possessiveness now that shocked her because it was so strong. And also a sense of injury, as if something had been done to her.

‘Good evening.’

Sasha nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked around to see the object of her circling thoughts standing just a few feet away. A jolt of electric awareness zinged into her belly. Disconcerting, but also familiar.

He wore dark trousers and the top button of his shirt was open. His hair was slightly dishevelled, as if he’d run a hand through it. His jaw was stubbled.

‘I didn’t hear you come back, I never do.’ She blushed when she said that, aware of how it must sound. ‘I mean, I usually hear your car in the mornings, not in the evenings. I wasn’t sure if you were staying somewhere else. Do you have a property in the city?’ Aware she was babbling now, she clamped her mouth shut.

He walked in sat down on a seat at a right angle to hers. His shirt pulled taut across his chest and she had to drag her eyes away. What was wrong with her? All week she’d been existing in this numbness but now she felt alive, fizzing.

‘I can’t account for why you don’t hear the car in the evening, as I’ve been returning to the villa every night. But, yes, I do have an apartment in Athens. It’s the penthouse at the top of my office building.’

‘You have a building.’ Not just an office. A whole building.

He nodded. ‘And another one in London. A

nd offices in New York, Paris and Rome. I’m finalising plans to open an office in Tokyo next year.’