Now that the cobwebs were clearing from her brain she remembered every excruciating detail of her conversation with Leo. His disbelief and his contempt, his suspicion and anger. And now she was stuck here, waiting to see if he would marry her.
Shaking her head at her own stubborn folly, she crawled back into the bed and pulled the covers over herself. She wouldn’t back out of her offer. She cared too much about this child inside her—this child she’d never expected to have, never dared want.
This child she would sacrifice anything for to ensure it had a better childhood, a better life, than she had had. To keep her, or him, safe.
She slept again and when she woke it was dawn, with the first grey light of morning creeping through a crack in the closed curtains. She dozed for a little while longer and then finally got up and went to shower, to prepare herself to meet with Leo and hear his answer—whatever it was.
At eight o’clock Maria knocked on the door and brought in a breakfast tray. Margo didn’t know whether to feel like a pampered princess or a prisoner. At some point, she realised, Maria must have removed the untouched tray from the night before. She must have been sleeping at the time.
‘Efharisto,’ she said again, and Maria gave her a stern look.
‘Fae.’
‘Yes—I mean, ne.’ Margo smiled apologetically. ‘I can’t keep much down, I’m afraid.’
Maria clucked at that, but Margo didn’t think the older woman understood her. She bustled about a bit more, pouring coffee and juice, taking the lids off jam and butter dishes. Finally she left and Margo gazed in dismay at the lavish breakfast Maria had left. The smell of the coffee made her stomach lurch.
For the housekeeper’s sake she tried to eat some yogurt with honey, but after two spoonsful she left it aside and then paced the room, wondering if she should go in search of Leo or wait for him to summon her.
She’d paced for several minutes, restless and anxious, until she realised she was being ridiculous. Had she lost all her spirit since coming here? She might be tired and unwell, and afraid of Leo’s response, but she’d faced far worse obstacles than this and survived. Her strength in the face of adversity was something she clung to and prided herself on.
Determinedly she strode to the door and flung it open—only to stop in her tracks when she saw Leo standing there, looking devastatingly handsome in a crisp white shirt and grey trousers, his ink-dark hair still damp and spiky from a shower. He also looked decidedly nonplussed.
‘Going somewhere?’ he enquired.
‘Looking for you, actually,’ she replied crisply. ‘I’d like your answer, Leo, because I need to get back to Paris. My flight is at two o’clock this afternoon.’
‘Cancel it,’ he returned. ‘You won’t be returning to Paris. Not right now, at any rate.’
She stared at him, as nonplussed as he’d been. ‘Excuse me?’
His eyes flashed and his mouth thinned. ‘Which part of what I said didn’t you understand?’
Margo gritted her teeth. Yesterday she might have donned a hair shirt and beaten her chest in grief and repentance, but clearly that hadn’t been enough for Leo. She didn’t think she could endure a lifetime of snide remarks, all for a crime she hadn’t even committed.
Except you told him you did.
‘Perhaps,’ she suggested, with only a hint of sharpness, ‘we could discuss our future plans in a bit more detail?’
‘Fine. I was coming to get you, anyway. We can go down to my study.’
‘Fine.’
Silently she followed him down the terracotta-tiled corridor to the sweeping double staircase that led to the villa’s soaring entrance hall. Yesterday she’d been too overwhelmed and exhausted to take in any of her surroundings, but today she was keenly aware that this grand place was, in all likelihood, her new home. It seemed, based on what Leo had said about cancelling her flight, that he was going to agree to marry her.
And from the plunging sensation in her stomach she knew she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
He led her to a wood-panelled study overlooking the villa’s extensive gardens. This late in November they were stark and bare, but Margo could imagine how lush and lovely they would be come spring. Would she walk with her baby out there? Bring a blanket and lie on the grass, look up at the clouds while the baby gurgled and grabbed its feet?
‘Let me cut to the chase,’ Leo said, and Margo was jolted out of her pleasant daydream to the current cold reality.
He stood behind a huge desk of carved mahogany, his hands braced on the back of a chair, his expression implacable.
In the two years they’d been together she’d seen his lazy, knowing smiles, his hooded sleepy gazes. She’d seen him light and laughing, and dangerously, sensually intent. But she hadn’t seen him like this—looking at her as if she were a difficult business client.