Revelations of His Runaway Bride

‘He said that my mother never changed her will. That my father inherited everything so the necklace was his. Demetri snatched it away and kept it.’ She shuddered.

That she’d risked herself for him, tore Christo’s heart in two.

‘I’ll get it back. I promise you.’

She didn’t seem to hear him, her voice broken and strained. ‘It was worth nothing. A St Christopher medal. My mother gave it to me...said we would be travelling...it would keep us safe. She arranged to take me away one day. I waited in the kitchens by the door. Waited and waited and she didn’t come. She was run down by a car in the street near the house. She was coming for me and she died.’

A tight curl of rage twisted in his chest. Demetri would not keep that heirloom from Thea. He had no right to it other than out of a belief driven by his own bitterness and hatred.

Christo began to move, but she held him tight.

‘Don’t leave me.’

He settled back into the covers. ‘I won’t.’

Right now, he’d give her whatever she asked. He kissed the top of her head. Her hair was now drying in a tangled mass. He ran his fingers through it to straighten it, easing out the knots. He still had information for her—some measure of happiness he could offer as part of his penance. The news from Raul.

‘We’ve found Alexis.’

Thea stiffened in his arms. Then the sobbing began—heaving gulps with no control. Crying till his chest was soaked with her tears.

‘He’s been living rough, but Raul has him safe. It’s better that you don’t know where he is for now.’

‘Thank you.’

The sobs subsided to a quiet weeping. He continued combing his fingers through the silken strands of her hair, smoothing them into a coffee-coloured river on his chest. Trying to soothe the pain their marriage had caused her yet again.

‘Raul can take a message to him. No other communication’s wise until we deal with these false charges.’

Thea nodded, then spoke, her breath warm against his chest. ‘I took pictures.’ Her words scraped out, barely a whisper.

‘Of what?’

Thea grew heavy against him, her limbs soft and supple. He ached to ease her onto her back. To caress her body till she wept from pleasure, not heartache. But he wouldn’t take any more from her. He’d taken enough.

‘The old things he loves better than me. The antiquities...’

And as Christo wrapped his arms around her he realised that she might have saved him after all.

* * *

A dull ache throbbed at Thea’s temples. She’d handed her phone to Christo and told him to go. To download the photographs and send them to Raul. Not that she’d wanted him to leave. What she wanted was to kiss him until his lips and tongue erased the day from her body and soul. But all he’d do was hold her.

She must have slept. The shadows were now long. A golden glow filled the room. She rolled over in bed and saw him. A tall, dark shape in the doorway. She held out her hand. He walked in and took it, kissing her fingertips, the bed dipping as he sat on its edge.

‘Did Raul find anything?’

‘He’ll search the lost antiquities registers. It’ll take time.’

Christo brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. She closed her eyes and relished the stroke of his fingertips, her body liquefying at his touch. He was so solid. She felt no fear when he was close. Only a calm, dreamlike stillness. Like a drug to balm her anxious soul.

His finger ran along the edge of the collar of her robe, following it to where it plunged between her breasts. ‘Promise me something, Thea.’

His face was dark and serious. So beautiful. As she’d always imagined the embodiment of a god. Tall. Pure. Perfectly etched lines.

Her breath hitched as the gentle stroke of his fingers started through her hair. ‘What?’

‘Never take a risk for me again. It’s not worth it.’