Revelations of His Runaway Bride

She didn’t care. The only thing that would soothe her was Christo. His body was like cool water on the flames.

‘When are you going to add another bird?’

Such a strange thing to say. Surely he couldn’t believe he’d hurt her after she’d cried out his name and lain sated in his arms? But he did—she was convinced of it. The way he’d avoided her before he left... Treated her with such care and reverence... Arranged full use of his yacht, warning the staff on his island that she may come...

But all she wanted to do was follow him around the world. Surprise him with some of the more exotic lingerie she still hadn’t worn.

He wouldn’t be able to resist. Because she had seen the fire in him too. The hazel eyes which darkened to jade whenever she was near. The kiss goodbye that had pretended to be a chaste brush on the cheek but had ended in his low groan. Still he had denied himself.

And yet she recognised that Christo was gripped by some strange sense of honour. She had to prove to him that she understood.

Sure, Christo had promised he would soon have enough information about her father’s illegal activities. Inviting him and her brother to the party had been a success. But she needed to repay Christo for the care he’d shown her, no matter what he said.

Which was why she was taking a risk.

She’d come up with a plan to go to her former home and look for more proof of her father’s link with Ramona Carvallo. The problem was, she didn’t know what to look for. All she could be certain of was that the house held answers, somewhere.

A dark shiver ran through her at the thought of crossing that threshold again, but she ignored it. She had to be strong for Christo. It was the only way.

Thea walked to the front of the house, where Sergei waited with the car. She slid into the back seat, her heart pounding in a sickening rhythm.

There was no need for fear. Her father wouldn’t be there—she’d checked. And the staff still had some loyalty to her. She’d been the one to buy them Christmas gifts and to care when their children were ill. In turn they’d cared for her as her father never had. Tito Lambros might pay them, but they didn’t like him.

Still, she needed a ruse in case he returned unexpectedly. It was a slim prospect, but she wanted to protect the people who’d been her only real family in that house as much as she protected herself. Everyone would believe her if she said she was looking for the necklace her mother had given her. She unclasped it from around her neck and dropped it into the pocket of her handbag.

The drive wasn’t a long one, but as Sergei pulled up at the golden gates and high white walls she was reminded how much she loathed the crass opulence of the place.

‘I’ll get out here. Wait for me around the corner in the side street. You’ll see a small wooden door.’

Sergei narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you sure, Mrs Callas?’

No, she wasn’t sure about this. The old, dark fears had begun to cloud her vision, chatter in her head. But she looked Sergei straight in the eye.

‘Yes. I won’t be long.’

She got out of the car. The heat of the day assaulted her, threatening to choke the air from her lungs. Thea pressed the buzzer and the gate opened. She stopped, took a deep breath and walked through, up the long, sloping drive. Each footfall took her closer to the house which held all her grief and tears.

When her mother had left, her world ended. Her father knew judges, lawyers. He’d fought to keep Thea not because he loved her, but because he’d wanted revenge. And still Maria had made her way back. Through the side door where Sergei now waited. Secreted in the servants’ quarters so they could snatch a few minutes of happiness before she had to leave again.

Demetri had been lost even then. And one day her mother had become lost to her as well.

She forced away the memories as she made her way to the massive doors of the house. They cracked open as she arrived, and she was welcomed like a lost child. A few of the older staff remembered her mother’s death. She’d never forgotten their kindness that had made the harsh, cruel days a little softer.

They ushered her inside. No, she wouldn’t take coffee today, she said. She was only looking for her mother’s necklace, which she thought she’d tucked away safely in her room. Yes, it was a shame her father wasn’t here to see her. They all nodded, as if they understood. Though none of them could know the true extent of her suffering here.

Thea hurried up the stairs, her stomach cramping as she moved deeper into the house. Her nerves eased a little as she went into her room to fulfil the story she’d concocted. This space had been her one place of respite in the whole home, but still it oppressed her.

She fingered the necklace in her bag for reassurance. There was no time to dwell on the past. She had to move quickly to get out of this place.

Thea opened a few drawers and cupboards, to ensure the room looked searched, then set off down the hall for her father’s study. On the way she passed Demetri’s suite. The door was closed, but still a wave of nausea crippled her.

She stopped and leaned on the wall for a moment, regaining her composure. She was safe. He didn’t live here anymore. But the memories had never left. The hair-pulling and tripping as a child, which had escalated to far worse. Her father never caring.

She swallowed and kept walking. She reached her father’s study and slipped into the room. During those times he’d cut her off from the world she’d managed to sneak in and access the computer here. A poorly guarded thing, because her father thought himself impenetrable. She’d never looked for anything incriminating, only interested in getting messages to Elena and having some meagre contact with the outside world, but she felt sure there was something here that would help Christo.

Thea wiped clammy palms on her dress. She sat in the hard leather chair and fished a USB from her handbag. Switching on the computer, she waited until the lock screen appeared, asking for the password. Her father rarely changed it. When he did, in all his arrogance, he made it the name of his latest acquisition.

Her fingers trembled on the keyboard as she tried the last password—the name of his yacht, Siren. It failed. What could it be now? She took a few breaths to steady herself. There was time. His new mistress Athena? That might be it. Nothing. The date of her wedding? No. Her heartbeat spiked in panic. Atlas Shipping? Because she was sure her father coveted that too.