Bride for Real (The Volakis Vow 2)

‘Where are we?’ she demanded as they left the plane a few hours later and a hot golden sun in a cloudless blue sky warmed her skin.

‘Morocco,’ Sander supplied, retrieving their passports from the hovering official and tucking her into the waiting limousine. ‘A friend offered me the use of his villa on the Mediterranean coast.’

Tally, who had already made her own deductions from the heat, and the French language Sander had employed to communicate, relaxed in the air-conditioned cool of the limo. As they travelled towards the coast they followed a mountainous route that offered breathtaking views of terraced valleys planted with olive and fruit orchards. The almond trees were in full bloom with fluffy clouds of white blossom. Daylight was fading into dusk when the limousine finally rolled to a halt outside a sprawling white villa surrounded by lush gardens. As Tally stepped out she could hear the rushing sound of the tide hitting the beach somewhere close by and the evocative salty tang of the sea assailed her nostrils.

‘Have you been here before?’ Tally asked.

‘Once, when I was a student in sixth form. I went to school with Alexei Drakos. This property belongs to him,’ Sander told her, closing a hand over hers to walk her through the garden.

Tally was reluctantly impressed by that careless reference to one of the world’s richest men.

Sander came to a halt at the edge of an infinity pool that overlooked a secluded stretch of golden sand washed by whispering surf. ‘It’s a fabulous spot. In a perfect world I would have brought you here for our honeymoon.’

Tally thought back ruefully to the early weeks of their marriage when Sander had had to concentrate on saving the family shipping firm rather than on his new marriage. They strolled back towards the villa where they were greeted by a member of staff. Abu wore a long white djellaba. He was very proud of the villa and pleased to have guests to look after. While decorated in traditional style with strong colours, beautiful hand-painted tiles and opulent fabrics, the house was also blessed with every possible luxury and technological extra. Doors and windows opened and curtains closed at the press of a button. A state-of-the-art office sat next door to a master bedroom and en-suite breathtaking marble bathrooms straight out of the Arabian Nights.

‘You can use these rooms,’ Sander pronounced.

After a leisurely and beautifully cooked evening meal Tally made the most of that invitation. She enjoyed a shower in the walk-in wet room and then, clad in a thin cotton wrap, sat out on the wrought-iron balcony that gave a wonderful view of the sea and the mountains. A pretty town sat further round the bay. Mosque minarets and orderly ranks of painted villas encircled the steep hillside behind the harbour. She texted her assistant to let her know her whereabouts, then smothering a yawn, she finally climbed into the wide comfortable divan and closed her eyes, realising that she felt more relaxed than she had done in months. Why was that? Could it be the simple knowledge that Sander was nearby made her feel secure?

When she awoke, a pair of maids was engaged in hanging garments in a capacious wardrobe. Feeling deliciously rested, she got up, bid the smiling young women good morning in her slightly rusty French and examined the clothing that Sander had promised her. The selection of holiday apparel was impressive. Choosing an azure-blue bikini and a beach dress, she went off to freshen up.

Abu greeted her at the foot of the stairs and informed her that flowers had been delivered for her. He showed her the magnificent arrangement of elegant white roses in a tall vase. Smiling with pleasure, Tally walked out onto the terrace where Sander was having breakfast.

‘The flowers are gorgeous … thank you,’ she said softly.

Ebony brows pleating, Sander glanced up. ‘What flowers? I didn’t send any,’ he declared with a frown.

‘Oh …’ Tally flushed to the roots of her hair and walked back indoors to take a closer look at the flowers. This time she noticed the small discreet card and plucked it out to peruse it.

‘Thinking about you. Robert.’ Sander read the message over her slim shoulder in a growl of disbelief. ‘How dare he!’

Still mortified by her automatic assumption that Sander had sent her the roses, Tally bristled.

‘I will tell Abu to dispose of them,’ Sander pronounced.

‘No, you will not!’ Tally objected. ‘Why shouldn’t Robert send me flowers?’

‘It’s inappropriate.’ Lean strong face set like granite, Sander studied her with angry dark golden eyes. ‘You are my wife.’

Tally shrugged off the reminder with a carelessness that was a warning, because she had no intention of getting involved in a petty, macho-male stand-off over a small gift of flowers. She sat down on the terrace to a breakfast of yogurt, fresh fruit and a chocolate-filled croissant of which every bite delivered bliss. By the time she was ready to go for a walk Sander had recovered his temper sufficiently to ditch his glower and accompany her.

They strolled along the empty beach in the sunshine. Tally dug her toes into the silky sand and, ambling down to the water’s edge, took off her wrap and paddled with the simple enjoyment of a child.

‘We never got the chance to relax like this when we were first married. I was working long hours,’ Sander remarked with a roughened edge of regret to his deep dark drawl. ‘We’d only been together a few weeks when you fell pregnant, so we didn’t know each other that well either—’

‘Yes,’ Tally acknowledged wryly. ‘At the time, I didn’t think of it like that, but it was—’

‘And then we had to act like adults and I wasn’t ready for the responsibility,’ he breathed grimly as he gazed out to sea, his introspective mood unusual enough to attract her wondering appraisal.

‘You didn’t have enough time to get acclimatised to the idea of being a parent.’

His darkened jaw line clenched and he studied her heart-shaped face from below the black fringe of his fabulous long lashes. ‘When it came to how I felt about the baby it was more than that …’

When the silence dragged on she turned back to him to encourage him to continue. ‘More?’

Sander grimaced, his discomfiture with the subject matter obvious as he hesitated. ‘I didn’t have a happy childhood. Nobody ill-treated me, I just wasn’t a loved or wanted child. I don’t know what I did to make it like that. My mother seemed repulsed by me and my father had no time for me either, yet Titos got plenty of attention.’ He shrugged a broad shoulder in a surprisingly awkward gesture that didn’t quite succeed in dismissing the wounding mystery of his parents’ favouritism, as if it was beneath his notice to comment on it.

Tally bit back a feeling flood of sympathy because she could see just how difficult he was finding it to tell her such personal things.

‘I was quite young when I decided that I didn’t ever want children of my own,’ Sander admitted grittily. ‘I didn’t want to hurt any child the way I had been hurt and I was afraid that whatever was lacking in my parents might be missing in me too.’

Tally was shaken, for it had never occurred to her that he might cherish such deep-seated doubts about his ability to be a good father. She had attributed his reluctance to much more superficial and selfish reactions and she was ashamed of the fact.

‘I think … if you’d got the chance,’ she muttered awkwardly, ‘you would have made a great father. You’re not like your parents. I’d be the first to admit that I hardly know them but, from what I have seen of them, they do seem rather cold and detached.’

Absorbing the anxious light in her gaze, Sander gave her a sizzling smile of appreciation. ‘You have such a tender heart.’

He bent his proud, dark head and kissed her with a hungry fervour that made her tummy somersault and her knees wobble. Her hands sliding up to his shoulders to steady herself, she stared up at him, her heart thumping as if she had been running. It was a fake reconciliation, she reminded herself doggedly. She didn’t want to be married to him any more and she no longer loved him, she truly didn’t. But he didn’t know that and the acknowledgement fille