The Marakaios Marriage (The Marakaios Brides 1)

Which was, Lindsay thought, an extraordinarily honest thing to say. Most people defiantly declared they had no regrets whatsoever.

And as for her? Did she regret marrying Antonios? Loving him, even if it hadn’t lasted? Leaving him? All of it?

‘Shall we go into the dining room?’ Antonios asked. He’d crossed the room without her realizing it and now stood in front of her, his smile perfectly in place although the expression in his eyes was veiled. In his dark suit and crisp white shirt and navy silk tie he looked impossibly beautiful, everything about him reminding her of how happy she’d been with him. For such a little while.

Lindsay stood up and took his arm, grateful for the support even though she could feel Antonios’s tension. His forearm was like a band of iron under her hand.

It wasn’t until everyone was seated at the dinner table, the first course served, that the questions started. The interrogation.

Antonios’s sister Parthenope began it. ‘So, Lindsay, how was America?’

‘Fine. Cold.’ Lindsay dabbed her mouth with her napkin, pressing it against her lips as she took a deep breath.

‘You were gone a long time,’ Xanthe chimed in, her eyes narrowed, mouth pursed. They were suspicious of her. Angry, too. Antonios might not have told his family what had happened, but they clearly guessed some of it.

‘Yes...I had to continue my research.’ She forced herself to return her napkin to her lap, pick up her fork. Her knuckles shone white as she clenched it and she made herself relax her grip.

‘I thought you could do this research anywhere.’ This from Ava, who was the same age as her, twenty-six, yet now looked at her as if she were an alien and inferior species—a wife who had left her husband to do mathematical research. A freak.

‘I can,’ she answered, her voice seeming to echo in her own ears. Her chest was starting to hurt again. ‘But I had a few things I had to wrap up in New York.’

‘Then you’re finished there? You won’t be returning?’ Parthenope again, her voice sharper this time, as she shot Antonios a concerned glance.

Lindsay swallowed. And swallowed again. She couldn’t think of anything to say. She didn’t want to lie, but telling the truth was just as unpalatable an option and would only invite more questions. More disapproval. She could feel everyone’s stares on her and her vision started to swim.

‘Lindsay’s not quite done in New York,’ Antonios said, his tone carefully bland. ‘But she knows her home is here.’

At this Parthenope nodded approvingly because, unlike Lindsay, she was a good Greek wife and would never even imagine leaving her husband for six whole months.

Lindsay blinked back the dizziness and reached for her wine glass, but her hands were so icy and damp with sweat that the glass slipped from her fingers and fell to the tiled floor, shattering into a million pieces and splashing red wine all over the pristine white tablecloth and her dress.

A ringing silence ensued as a staff member sprang to attention to clean it up. Lindsay stared at the mess in horror, felt her head go light again as everyone’s gaze swung to her and the enormity of the situation and just how much of it she couldn’t handle crashed over her once again.

‘I’m sorry,’ she managed through her constricted throat.

‘Not to worry, my dear,’ Daphne said. ‘It could happen to anyone.’

But it happened to me. Lindsay clenched her hands in her lap, dug her nails into her palms and hoped the pain would distract her from the full-fledged panic attack she could feel coming on. Dizziness. Trouble breathing. Chest pain.

She’d tried so many different things to control the attacks while she’d been here. Breathing techniques, reciting prime numbers in her head, the desperate measure of alcohol. Nothing worked, and pain didn’t either.

Spots danced before her eyes.

‘Excuse me,’ she murmured, and rose unsteadily from the table. She could see Antonios frowning at her but she was past caring. If she didn’t leave now, she’d embarrass herself—and him—far more than this.

Somehow she made it to the bathroom. She doubled over the sink, rested her cheek against the cool porcelain. Her head spun and her chest hurt.

After a few long moments the dizziness thankfully receded and she started to feel a little better. She washed her face and blotted her dress as best she could. She looked, she realized, terrible. Her dress had a large red stain on the front from the wine. She couldn’t go back into the dining room like this.

She sank onto the floor, drew her knees up to her chest and wondered whether she could spend the rest of the night—the rest of her life—in the bathroom.

A knock, an impatient rat-a-tat-tat, sounded on the door. ‘Lindsay, are you in there?’

Lindsay pressed her face against her knees. ‘Go away, Antonios.’

‘Open the door.’

She almost laughed at that. He was like a bulldozer, steamrolling over everyone and everything to get what he wanted. She’d been charmed by his determination when they’d met in New York; no one had ever showed such an interest in and desire for her.

Now she just felt tired. ‘Please go away.’

‘Are you all right?’

This time she did laugh, wearily. ‘No.’

Antonios jiggled the door and then pushed his shoulder against it. The door sprang open, and Lindsay wondered if anything could hold out against her husband.

He swore at the sight of her sitting hunched on the floor, and then crouched down so they were at eye level and peered into her face. ‘Theos...what’s wrong, Lindsay? Are you ill?’

‘No, I’m not ill, Antonios.’ She straightened, every muscle aching from the exertion of the panic attack and her own futile resistance to it.

‘Then what—?’

And suddenly she was so very tired of it—of him not understanding, of her trying, perversely and at the same time, to explain and to hide. He wanted to know? Fine. He could know. Everything. And she didn’t even care whether he believed her or not any more. ‘I was having a panic attack,’ she told him shortly. She washed her hands and face in the sink, even though she’d already done so once. At least it was something to do.

‘A panic attack...’ Antonios was staring at her in amazement.

‘Yes, a panic attack. I suffer from a social anxiety disorder. Being in strange situations, or being the centre of attention, can cause me to panic.’

Antonios continued to gape at her. ‘And you...suffered from this during our marriage?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you never—’

‘Said? I tried, Antonios. I tried to explain, but you never wanted to listen.’

‘I would have listened if you’d told me something like that!’

She eyed him wearily. ‘Are you sure about that?’

He stared back at her, his expression unreadable. ‘Let me make my apologies to my family,’ he said finally. ‘Will you be all right for a few minutes?’

‘I’ll be—’

‘Fine? I’m not buying that one any more.’ His voice was flat, toneless. ‘Will you be all right?’

Lindsay let out a shuddering breath. ‘Yes.’

* * *

Antonios stalked towards the dining room, fury coursing through him, although what or whom he was angry with he couldn’t say. Wasn’t ready to think about. He had a terrible feeling it was himself.

Six questioning faces turned to him as he came through the double doors. His mother, his brother, his three sisters, Parthenope’s husband. Everyone had witnessed Lindsay stumble out of the room like a drunken bat out of hell, and the ensuing silence had been appalling.

‘Lindsay’s not feeling well,’ he told them all. He kept his voice brisk, his face neutral. ‘I’m taking her back to our villa.’

Daphne half rose from her seat, her face drawn in a frown of concern. ‘Is there something I can do, Antonios?’

‘No. She’ll be—’ fine stuck in his throat ‘—she needs to rest,’ he said instead, and turned from the room.

Lindsay was exactly where he’d left her, in the bathroom, her hands braced against the sink, her hair falling forward to cover her face. ‘We’ll take a car back,’ he said and she shook her head.

‘I’m not an invalid. I can walk.’

‘Even so.’ She looked terrible—pale and sweaty, her hair tangled about her face. Seeing her like this made everything inside Antonios tighten like a giant fist. He wanted to protect her, to take care of her, to shout at her.

Why didn’t you tell me?

It was a howl of anguish and anger, of guilt and grief, and he swallowed it all down. There would be time for that later, to ask questions and demand answers. Right now he just needed to take care of Lindsay.

He took her arm and led her from the bathroom, guiding and sheltering her, to the front steps of the villa where the car he’d arranged waited, one of the staff acting as driver.

He opened the door and helped her inside the car; she didn’t resist. And then, with neither of them speaking, they drove off into the night.

CHAPTER FIVE

AS SOON AS they were back at the villa, Antonios strode to the en suite bathroom and starting running the tub. Lindsay stood in the doorway of the bathroom, exhausted and emotionally drained, knowing Antonios would expect answers and pretty sure she didn’t have the resources right now to give them.