Rumors Behind the Greek's Wedding

Célia had demanded to know why her mother had sided with her father. Why she couldn’t seem to understand how betrayed and lost Célia felt and why she wasn’t there for her.

‘He is my husband, Célia. If I held him accountable for every little—’

‘Little? You’re saying this is little?’

‘Non, ma fille. Pas du tout. But over the years we have both made mistakes...parental ones. He has forgiven me mine as I forgive him his. Because my feelings for him, whether you like it or not, are separate from my feelings for you. One day, I hope, you will understand these mistakes and that they were not intended—’

‘This wasn’t just a mistake, Maman. It was an act. An intentional, business-focused act that took my idea and used it for the most atrocious means.’

‘And those “atrocious means” have funded our entire lives until now, Célia. You can’t deny—’

‘Célia?’

She looked up to find Loukis standing above her, his body blocking out the powerful sun, the items they had brought with them to the beach packed up and even Annabelle standing ready to leave.

Had she been the one in the wrong? Had she reacted to her mother’s response and drawn a line in the sand between herself and her parents from her words? Célia had been so hurt and so betrayed, had spent so long feeling unloved and unwanted that it had felt as if her mother had chosen her father. But looking back on it now, she realised that her mother had been trying to tell her that she loved her and Célia was the one to reject that love. Suddenly it seemed absolutely vital that she speak to her mother. Now, before she could talk herself out of it.

‘Why don’t you go on? I’ll join you in a bit.’

Loukis’s gaze showed confusion and something almost like concern, but he nodded and took Annabelle’s hand. She watched them make their way back up to the house before reaching for her phone with trembling fingers.

* * *

Something had happened on the beach. What exactly it was, Loukis couldn’t be sure, but Célia was...different. Lighter? Her laughter mingled with Annabelle’s and it sounded, felt, freer somehow. The looks she cast his way were unguarded, and what he saw in her eyes was beginning to burn through the barriers around his heart.

For the first time ever, he wanted more. More than the façade of a fake fiancée. More than just one night with her. More than just the time limit he’d placed on their relationship. He wanted long dinners with friends, wanted to show her the places he loved to visit, wanted to see her eyes widen with wonder and feel the rich sound of her beautiful laugh roll over his naked skin.

It had been a constant whisper throughout the day, seductive and enticing. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t, give into it. The custody hearing was only a few days away and he had to keep his focus on that.

But after? his internal voice teased. What then?

Over dinner he’d been distracted by images of a future with Célia, of years not months, of days as well as nights. Of her growing round with his child, of a family he’d never thought he’d want.

That was why he’d spent at least an hour in his study, after Célia had gone to bed. Because if he’d gone with her, he couldn’t honestly say what he would have done. What he would have begged for, pleaded for. It was a weakness. It could be exploited. He’d done so only once in his life and he’d learned his lesson then and there. Everything had a price. Even love could be bought. His mother’s certainly had. And the only price he could afford to pay at the moment was Annabelle’s. Nothing more.

He glanced at the clock. Surely by now Célia would be asleep and he could persevere through the fresh torture of having her in his bed and not touching her. Even the thought of it sent need directly to his groin. Even the memory of the sounds she had made the night before drove an arousal so fierce he nearly shook with the need to restrain it. Just the thought of the delicious taste of her was enough to have him swallow the last inch of whiskey in an attempt to blot out the yearning to taste her again.

Enough. He had more control over himself than this. He could and would leave her untouched this night. And as if to prove it to himself, he stalked determinedly down the hallway towards his bedroom.

Two strides into the room, stealthily as humanly possible, the bedside lamp flicked light across the room and revealed that Célia was very much awake and very much expecting him.

‘Thought I’d be asleep?’ she asked, no censure or accusation in her tone, just curiosity and that openness that had taunted him all afternoon.

‘Hoped,’ he said with something like a grimace pulling at his features.

‘Because?’

‘Because I’d wanted to avoid this,’ he replied honestly.

‘My conversation is so terrifying to you that it kept you from your bed?’

He sat on the side

of the bed, his back to her momentarily as he pulled off his shoes and reached for his belt. As his fingers gripped it, he remembered last night, he remembered everything.

‘I spoke to my mother this afternoon.’

Her words struck him still. Frowning, he turned to look at her, searching for traces of hurt or sadness. The swift desire to protect her from any source of pain shocking him with its intensity.