The Greek's Unknown Bride

She turned and this time left the room.

Apollo had nothing more to say.

To stop her from leaving.

He was so rigid with tension that he thought he might crack if he moved. Theos. Did he want there to be consequences? After everything that had happened?

Her words reverberated in his head, a mocking jeer.

‘I think you’re a liar, Apollo... I think you do want more...’

He turned around and stared blindly at the view. She was wrong. He didn’t want more. He had decided a long time ago what kind of life he wanted and he wasn’t about to let one woman change that.

One woman was no match for the demons that haunted him, reminding him of a loss and pain so great he thought he’d have preferred to die with them all.

All he felt for Sophy was physical lust. Nothing more. And that would fade. No matter how much it still burnt him up inside.

As Sophy’s flight from Athens descended through stormy summer skies into London, she took in the unseasonably grey clouds. They mirrored her mood. Volatile.

She was angry with herself for having fallen for Apollo. For having revealed herself so much during that last exchange in his study.

The anger was good—it was insulating her from the sheer terror of stepping back out into a fast-paced world after living in a cocoon for these past few weeks. She knew that not far under the anger her shell was very brittle and fragile.

She had a sister to grieve and a life to re-start. A job to find because, as expected, when she’d rung them from Athens the day before, she’d found out that her position had been filled once she’d disappeared. The fact that they’d been so wholly unconcerned about her disappearance only compounded her sense of isolation now. Sophy shook her head, trying to dislodge that sense of isolation.

She put a hand on her flat belly. She’d not even noticed that they hadn’t used protection that night a week ago. But Apollo had. She was sure there wouldn’t be a baby and she hated herself for the hollow ache that thought precipitated.

Did she really want history to repeat itself, except this time with a real baby?

The plane had touched down. She lifted her hand from her belly. It was time to mourn and bury her sister and try to get on with her life and forget she’d ever met Apollo Vasilis.

Two weeks later, just outside London

‘Let us go now in peace.’

Sophy stood by the grave for a moment. She was the only mourner at her sister’s funeral. She’d told a few of Sasha’s friends but they’d said they were too busy to come.

Sophy was sad, and a little angry—for her sister, in spite of her faults, had deserved better.

She had only barest sensation of prickling on the back of her neck before she heard the priest say, ‘Welcome, sir. We’ve just finished the prayers.’

Sophy looked up and at first she thought she was hallucinating. Apollo looked taller and darker than she’d ever seen him. In a dark grey suit, white shirt and steel-grey tie. Dark shades hid his eyes.

Faintly, she said, ‘Apollo...’

He dipped his head. ‘Sophy.’ He looked at the priest. ‘Father.’

The priest came and took Sophy’s arm. ‘My dear, I’m so sorry. If you ever need to talk, you know where I am.’

Sophy tried to control her suddenly thundering heart. ‘Thank you, Father.’

The priest walked away, leaving them alone by the grave. Sophy said, ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here.’

Apollo’s jaw tightened. ‘I had always intended coming but I got delayed. She was my wife...however that came about.’

Sophy clamped down on the dangerous spurt of gratitude and something far more dangerous.

Hope.