Reminding herself of the dangers of slipping into fantasy land, she stepped away from him and walked to his father, automatically gravitating towards a friendly face. ‘It’s good to see you again, Mr Zouvelekis.’
‘Call me Costas. After all, we’re virtually family.’ The older man struggled to his feet. Then he took her hands and squeezed, and the pressure of his fingers and the warmth in his eyes made the breath catch in her throat.
To be shown affection was such a rare and surprising gift that she clung to his fingers, unwilling to end a contact that felt so good.
Virtually family.
Never in her most extravagant fantasies would she have allowed herself to imagine a father as amazing as him. ‘How are you?’ Looking at him now, she could see that he’d lost weight and that his face had a greyish tinge.
‘Better now I have something beautiful to look at. The nurses Angelos found—’ He peered around him to check that the nurse was out of earshot and then pulled a face. ‘He might as well have employed men.’
‘Believe me, I tried,’ Angelos said sternly. ‘You’re not supposed to be looking at the nurses.’
‘I’m not.’ Costas sounded gloomy. ‘What is there to look at? That woman has the appeal of a wrestler. If she gets bored with nursing she could be a prison governor. Why did you employ her?’
‘I employed her because her credentials are excellent. She tells me you haven’t been eating.’
‘She is a spy,’ Costas grumbled, still holding Chantal’s hands. ‘Yesterday I tipped my medicine into a plant, and she immediately delivered another dose. Obviously she was watching from the bushes.’
Chantal chuckled. ‘So that’s why the garden is looking so good.’
Costas laughed too. Only Angleos wasn’t amused.
‘I’m paying her to make sure you make a full recovery.’
‘If life is going to be this tedious I’m not sure that I want to. Still—’ Costas lifted both Chantal’s hands to his lips and kissed them gallantly. ‘You’re here now, and that changes everything.’
‘Take your hands off my woman,’ Angelos drawled, his expression faintly exasperated as he firmly removed Chantal’s hands from his father’s and enclosed them in a cool, hard grip. ‘It isn’t good for your blood pressure.’
‘You have nothing to fear from me, Angelos.’ His father looked suddenly tired, but the smile lingered in his eyes. ‘The way she was looking at you a moment ago—no one else existed. That is how love should be. A woman in love can be in a crowd of handsome men, but she sees only one of them.’
Realising that it was true, Chantal felt suddenly vulnerable. She’d looked at Angelos. And he’d looked at her. The difference was that Angelos had been acting a part, whereas her reaction had been genuine. For a moment she’d forgotten that none of this was real. Staring into his eyes, she’d been taken straight back to those endless minutes on the dance floor, where their connection had been disturbingly intense and entirely genuine. The attraction between them had been primal and instinctive, undiluted by the complications of identity.
Costas sank into the nearest chair, as if standing was just too much. ‘We haven’t even been officially introduced.’
‘I’m Chantal,’ she said, and then caught the sardonic lift of Angelos’s brows and knew instantly what he was thinking. That she was embarrassed to admit her true identity.
And the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. She’d spent her life trying to be someone different, but now that she’d been offered a genuine alias she didn’t want to take it.
She didn’t want to be a woman who took money from a man.
It wasn’t that she aspired to be perfect. Far from it. But that was the one sin she wasn’t prepared to commit.
Maybe if Isabelle had been someone different she would have sat comfortably in her shoes for a few days, but as it was she was beginning to wonder whether her failure to confess her identity had been a mistake.
Costas sat for a moment, his weathered hand clutching the edge of the table.
Angelos stepped closer, a frown in his eyes. ‘Are you unwell?’ There was no missing the sharp anxiety in his voice, and Chantal found herself experiencing the same anxiety.
Costas Zouvelekis looked drained and exhausted, as if almost all of the life had been drained from him. She remembered him as an energetic, good-humoured man, and was shocked that his illness could have wrought such changes in such a short time.
‘I’m fine. Don’t fuss.’ He glared at Angelos, and there was pride in his eyes. Then he said something in Greek, and Chantal knew from the sudden tension in Angelos’s powerful frame that Costas had been talking about her.
‘I’m sure you have family matters you want to discuss, so I’ll just—’
‘You are family.’ Costas gestured to the chair opposite. ‘Sit down, and Maria will fetch you a drink to celebrate the occasion. The day my son finally brings a girl to his real home. Until I saw you in the boat I still couldn’t believe it would happen. You have made me a very, very happy man.’
The nurse stepped out onto the terrace. ‘You should take a nap before dinner, Mr Zouvelekis.’