The Marriage Betrayal (The Volakis Vow 1)

Desire was slivering along her nerve endings in a smoulderingly slow attack, when little cramping pains low in her pelvis made her tense for a different reason entirely. Without saying anything she went upstairs to the suite set aside for the bride and groom to change and there she discovered with a sinking heart that she was bleeding. In consternation she wondered if she was losing her baby and when her mother came to check on her Crystal wasted no time in using her phone to call Sander. He sought counsel from his cousin who was a doctor.

‘You need medical attention,’ Sander pronounced.

‘But this is our wedding night!’ Tally protested in dismay.

‘These things happen,’ Sander countered, keen to keep her calm the way his cousin had advised.

An hour and a half later, Tally was tucked into a bed in a private clinic that the doctor had recommended and the wedding day was definitely over. While Crystal had stayed on at the hotel to act as hostess, the bride had not got to throw her bouquet, stay up late at the evening party or even say goodbye to their guests. From below lowered lashes her attention was on Sander, sunk in a chair across the room, his jacket discarded and his sleeves pushed back, his stubborn jaw line now darkly shadowed by stubble. Slightly dishevelled though he was, he managed to look even more gorgeous than usual and her heart went bumpety-bumpety-bump inside her chest, leaving her breathless.

‘I’m really sorry about this,’ Tally whispered.

In an abrupt movement, Sander sprang upright, instantly dominating the room with his height, breadth and restlessness. He raked impatient brown fingers through his tousled black hair. ‘Don’t be silly—this isn’t your fault.’

Tears burned the backs of her eyes in a hot surge and she blinked rapidly and hurriedly looked away, aware that the last thing he needed was an emotional scene. ‘There’s no point in you staying here with me. Go back to the hotel and see your friends.’

‘It’s two in the morning.’ Sander pointed out the lateness of the hour gently, aware that she had lost track of time. ‘I can’t leave you here alone.’

‘Why not? I’m ready to go to sleep.’

Sander shifted a shoulder in silence, expressing a concern he did not want to frame in words, his lean strong face bleak and hollow with tension. The consultant had made it clear to him that nothing more could be done to prevent her from losing the baby. If it was going to happen, it was going to happen. There was no magic cure to be applied. He did not know how he felt about the ongoing risk of a miscarriage; he just didn’t want to think about it. He was more worried about Tally. He just wanted her back to her normal effervescent self; the pale, tear-stained, apologetic woman in the bed felt like a stranger.

‘The staff will contact you if anything happens,’ Tally muttered. ‘Please go—it would make me feel better.’

In the end Sander departed, telling her that he would be back first thing in the morning. Only when Tally studied his empty chair did she let the tears flow freely. This was certainly not how she had dreamt of embarking on their shiny new marriage. She pushed her damp cheek into the pillow and tried to sleep, while trying to tell her baby to hang on in there as if her sincere good wishes could fix whatever problem there might be.

Forty-eight hours later and still pregnant, the spotting she’d been suffering having stopped, Tally left the hospital and travelled straight to the airport with her baggage to fly to Athens. Sander was already on board the private jet and spent most of the flight preoccupied with work before finally admitting that the family shipping company needed major reorganisation and that he had to hit the ground running if he was to impress his father with his commitment.

Sander owned a city apartment that was clearly designed to suit a young single male, for the kitchen was minuscule, the lounge furnished with more technology than Tally had ever seen outside a shop and the bed was huge. Recognising that his bride would be at a loose end while he was at the office, Sander suggested somewhat vaguely that she might want to visit his mother, who would introduce her to people. Tally contrived not to cringe at that piece of useless advice and bought a cookery book instead, determined to make meals that Sander would recognise.

Unfortunately her culinary efforts proved superfluous when Sander worked late every night and invariably slid into the far side of the bed in the early hours of the morning. They shared the apartment on platonic terms because he had not touched her since she had been hospitalised, a state of affairs that shook Tally; it had never crossed her mind that Sander might impose a moratorium on sex.

Finally she picked up her courage one night when he was stripping for bed in the dark, the husband who was almost becoming a stranger to her in his remoteness from her daily life and his endless working hours. ‘Sander?’

‘Sorry, did I wake you up?’

‘I want you to wake me up. I never see you.’ Tally sighed before thinking better of what might sound dangerously like a whine. ‘You know, I may be pregnant but I’m totally healthy. And according to the gynaecologist at my last check-up, it’s totally safe for us to make love …’

‘I’m too tired tonight,’ Sander delivered cuttingly, striding into the bathroom.

Cheeks flaming in the semi-darkness, Tally almost groaned out loud and chewed at her lower lip in squirming discomfiture. Perhaps she had been clumsy. She has assumed that her threatened miscarriage had made him reluctant to initiate sex. She didn’t know what else could be wrong. But then she didn’t know why he was shutting her out of his life to such an extent either. He didn’t talk about business or his working day, or if there were problems in either field. Worst of all was the sense she got that he was angry with her, that beneath that smooth, polite and always considerate façade of his he was like a powder keg ready to explode.

Was it her imagination that he was angry and avoiding her? She thought of the dark brooding look she had glimpsed in his stunning eyes, the clipped words and irritation, the antagonism she felt pulse in the abrupt silences that stretched even during the most casual exchanges. No, Tally was convinced that the anger was not only a figment of her imagination.

But what was Sander angry about? The blip in her health that had spoiled the aftermath of their wedding? The simple fact that she was pregnant and likely to become unattractively rotund in the near future? The reality that marriage could seem rather boring to a guy accustomed to frequent changes of partner? Or had he just decided that he didn’t want to be with her any more? Was he only putting in his time with her until the baby was safely born?

Not so very long ago they had laughed at the same things, argued companionably and shared a terrific sexual bond but now, all of a sudden, when she was available every night he no longer seemed to find her attractive. But possibly he was tired, she reasoned ruefully. After all he was working incredibly long hours at Volakis Shipping and she suspected that he and his father rarely saw eye to eye, which had to be stressful and frustrating for a guy accustomed to calling all his own shots.

The following day, Tally sent Sander a text inviting him home for a meal at eight and then breaking free of her usual inhibitions, she went shopping at a lingerie boutique and stocked up on the kind of silk and lace apparel that she was convinced would appeal to any red-blooded male.

Shortly before eight she lit the candles on the table and studied herself in the mirror, grimacing a little, hugely self-conscious about the outfit she was wearing—although outfit was not an appropriate description. She was clad in a coffee and cream silk set of bra and knickers, teamed with heels, stockings and a loose chiffon wrap that revealed more than it concealed. Sander was not going to be left in any doubt of the invitation she was giving him and, on one level, her pride was mortified by the bold approach she was taking.

But the bottom line was that she loved Sander and that simple truth outweighed all other considerations, she acknowledged ruefully. She could not go on indefinitely wondering what was wrong and living on the outskirts of his life like a barely tolerated poor relation. If Sander wanted his

freedom back, if he was excluding her because he resented her presence, she was better finding out now and walking away before they ended up hating each other. She had to think of their child. Her own parents, Crystal and Anatole, loathed each other so much that they couldn’t even be in the same room together. Tally was willing to do almost anything to conserve a more civilised relationship with Sander if only for their child’s sake.

As the minutes marched on she had to fuss over the meal in an effort to stop it spoiling. By half-past eight she was worried; by the time he was an hour late and hadn’t even phoned she was in angry tears. She did not think she had ever felt so lonely in her life as she did watching the clock tick on in the silence. She wouldn’t let the tears fall and she couldn’t even have a drink because she was pregnant. At ten she threw the meal in the bin and just left all the dishes sitting, then took refuge in the bedroom.

Sander let himself into the apartment just after two in the morning. Having spent a large part of the evening downing vodka with the Russian consortium who had just signed a very lucrative contract with Volakis Shipping, he was remarkably sober but almost drunk with tiredness. There was a light burning in the kitchen and when he saw the dishes stacked everywhere he was momentarily bemused because, in recent weeks, while he turned night into day struggling to keep the family business afloat it had become an effort to even remember that he had a wife.

Now in the act of helping himself to some fresh orange juice from his extraordinarily well-stocked refrigerator, Sander remembered that Tally had asked him to come home to dinner. He dug out his mobile and recalled switching off the reminder he had programmed in at the club where he had entertained the Russians. He had meant to ring her when it was more convenient but had forgotten entirely. He swore and crossed the room to the dining table in the alcove, still laid with cutlery and glasses and a rather poignant little bud vase filled with a drooping posy. He stood gazing down at the trappings of the meal he had failed to show up for with a sinking heart and a conscience that was suddenly cutting him like a knife.

In the bedroom, Tally awoke when the fridge door slammed shut and she sat up, seeing the thin line of light below the door. Sander was home, Sander had actually bothered to come home! She scrambled off the bed, bemused to register that she was still wearing her high heels as she had fallen asleep on top of the duvet. Pushing her tumbling curls off her brow, she headed angrily into the lounge.

Sander focused on Tally in the doorway and he was staggered by her get-up: she never wore sexy lingerie for his benefit and tonight she had really pushed the boat out. Her beautiful breasts were foaming over the lace edge of a low-cut bra much racier than her usual selection, while a short robe of floral fabric barely covered skimpy high-cut knickers and did nothing at all to hide the length of leg on show. His body reacting involuntarily with all the powerful pent-up hunger of a male who had suppressed his sexual appetite for weeks, Sander dragged his attention from her wonderfully curvaceous body with the greatest difficulty.

‘I owe you an apology, moli mou. I should’ve phoned,’ he breathed, colliding with green eyes bright with angry condemnation …

CHAPTER TEN