The Marakaios Marriage (The Marakaios Brides 1)

Years? Antonios blinked, shooting his brother a sideways glance. Leonidas’s jaw was tight but he said nothing.

‘Don’t worry about Antonios and me,’ Leonidas finally bit out and Daphne let out a soft cry that tore at Antonios’s heart.

‘Of course I worry about you,’ she answered, her voice choking. ‘I know what Evangelos has cost both of you...’

Antonios’s whole body tensed and he strove to keep his voice even as he asked, ‘What do you mean, Mama?’

She turned her anguished face towards him. ‘Making you the CEO—’

‘You think he shouldn’t have?’ The words were out before Antonios could think better of them.

‘Oh, Antonios, it doesn’t matter what I think,’ Daphne said, the words so soft Antonios had to lean forward to hear them. ‘What matters is what it has done to you—’

‘Done to me—’

‘And Leonidas.’

Antonios simply sat and stared, his mind spinning. At least, he thought numbly, his mother hadn’t known about his father’s debt. For a moment, he’d been afraid she had.

‘You must reconcile,’ Daphne insisted. ‘And be at peace with one another.’

‘I—’ Antonios began, but Leonidas cut across him.

‘We will reconcile, Mama,’ he said. ‘We will be as brothers should be.’

This seemed to be exactly the right thing to say, for a beatific smile transformed Daphne’s tired face and then she sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Just seconds later she was asleep.

Antonios and Leonidas remained on either side of her for a moment until, by silent, tense agreement, they rose and retreated to the far side of the room.

‘What did the doctor say?’ Leonidas asked.

‘He said she would continue to decline. It could be days or weeks.’

‘But not months.’

‘No.’

They were both silent and, despite Leonidas’s promise to their mother, neither of them, Antonios noted, was making any attempt to reconcile. Damn it, he hadn’t even realized they’d needed to reconcile, at least not before the whole thing with Adair Hotels had blown up.

Leonidas glanced at their mother, lying asleep in bed. She looked peaceful, despite the agitation she’d shown them both just moments ago.

‘Someone should stay with her,’ he said.

‘I will,’ Antonios answered. Leonidas gave him one long, considering look and then nodded. ‘Fine. Wake me if...if anything changes.’

Antonios nodded and Leonidas left. He turned back to Daphne, feeling weary in body and soul. Knowing he would not sleep that night, he pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down.

* * *

Antonios wasn’t in bed when Lindsay woke before dawn. Normally she wouldn’t have woken up properly, but the cool expanse of sheet she encountered when she stretched her legs made her whole body jolt with shock.

Then she remembered their argument last night and her heart sank. Had he stayed in the office all night? And how were they going to get past this?

Too awake now even to consider going back to bed, Lindsay paced the elegant confines of the bedroom for a while before curling up in a chair by the window and watching the sun’s first pearly rays peek over the mountains, touching the dense forest of pine trees with gold. She wondered where her husband was.

At half past eight the door to the bedroom finally opened and Lindsay sprang from her chair.

‘Where were you?’ she demanded, her voice coming out in a harpy’s shriek.

Antonios looked at her wearily, his face haggard, his eyes shadowed. ‘Daphne,’ he said simply, and all of Lindsay’s petty concerns faded in light of this far greater worry.

‘What happened—is she all right?’

Antonios shook his head. ‘I need a shower,’ he said and, without another word for Lindsay, he disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Lindsay paced the bedroom once more, fresh anxiety eating away at her. She feared for Daphne, for Antonios, who would feel the loss of his mother so keenly, and for their marriage, which suddenly seemed a fragile and untested thing, its foundation rocked by every silence, each argument.

Ten minutes later Antonios came out of the shower, his hair damp and spiky, a towel slung low around his hips. Lindsay stood up from where she’d sunk onto the bed and stared at him, her heart starting to pound.

Wordlessly, Antonios strode towards her and then pulled her, suddenly and urgently, into a tight embrace, his face buried in her neck. Lindsay put her arms around him, hugging him back just as tightly. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, just absorbed each other’s uncertainty and pain. This was all the reassurance she needed, she told herself, that Antonios loved her. They would weather these storms.

Finally Antonios eased back, his face bleak. ‘It won’t be long.’

A lump formed in Lindsay’s throat and she blinked back tears. ‘Oh, Antonios, I’m sorry.’ He nodded, and she sniffed. ‘I don’t know why it feels sudden—’

‘Death is always a shock.’ He rubbed his face, clearly exhausted from his night spent in Daphne’s room. ‘I’m sure she’d like a visit from you.’

‘Of course,’ Lindsay answered quickly. ‘Is she...is she lucid?’

‘At times. She spoke, for a little while, to me and Leonidas.’ Antonios’s mouth hardened at that and his gaze flicked away.

‘What did she say?’ Lindsay asked quietly, and Antonios shook his head.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Lindsay didn’t answer because whatever Daphne had said to her two sons was personal, private, and yet...it did matter. Of that she was sure. It was just one more thing Antonios didn’t want to tell her. Anxiety churned inside her and Antonios turned away.

‘I should get to the office.’

‘You haven’t even slept—’

‘There are things to be done.’

‘And what about you and Leonidas?’ she blurted.

Antonios swung back towards her, his gaze narrowed. ‘What about us?’

Lindsay took a deep breath. ‘Antonios, I know you’re keeping something from me. Something that is hurting you. I kept something from you, and when I told you it was such a relief. Won’t you tell me?’

His face contorted briefly and then he shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry, Lindsay, but I can’t. Not...’ He took a breath, let it out slowly. ‘I can tell you that Leonidas is angry with me, and has been for years.’

‘Why?’

‘Because our father appointed me CEO. Because I have the authority he wants.’ He let out a weary sigh. ‘Our mother wants us to reconcile.’

‘And have you?’ Lindsay asked quietly. Antonios shook his head.

‘No, Leonidas left after Mama was settled. And I’m not sure Leonidas and I will ever see eye to eye.’

‘And will we?’ Lindsay asked softly.

Antonios frowned. ‘I told you before. This doesn’t affect our marriage.’

‘Of course it does,’ Lindsay cried. ‘All of it does. You think the tension and anger I see in you every day, the bitterness between you and your brother, doesn’t affect us?’

Antonios folded his arms, his expression implacable. ‘I can’t tell Leonidas.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I made a promise to my father.’

Lindsay stared at him searchingly, wishing she knew what to say, how to reach across this impasse. Perhaps now, with his mother so near death, was not the time to push.

Slowly she nodded, swallowing hard. ‘All right.’

Antonios’s expression softened and he pulled her into a hug. ‘Thank you for understanding,’ he said softly, pressing a kiss against her hair, and Lindsay closed her eyes. She was afraid her understanding wouldn’t be enough...for either of them.

* * *

Daphne died three days later. Lindsay had been to see her several times, sitting by her bed and talking to her even though Daphne slipped in and out of lucidity. Xanthe, Parthenope and Ava came, too, brushing their mother’s thin white hair, holding her hand, singing songs from their childhood.

The process of saying farewell, Lindsay thought, was so important. She’d missed it with her own mother, who had left and never returned, never reached out even once. It had been as if she’d died, or perhaps even worse.

This slow goodbye was painful but necessary, for her as well as for Antonios and his family.

And yet even as the end loomed nearer, and Daphne slipped deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, death was, as Antonios had said, a shock.

Lindsay was in her study, trying and failing to focus on the research she’d ignored for days, when Antonios came to tell her. She’d pulled up the email from the university and had drafted the first stilted sentences of a reply:

Thank you very much for your email. I have greatly enjoyed my time in the Mathematics Department and am honoured to...

To what? ...have been asked? ...accept? Her mind churned with possibilities, fears and desires.

‘Lindsay.’

She turned from her laptop, her heart lurching into her throat at the bleak and haggard look on Antonios’s face.

‘Not—’

‘Yes.’ His mouth compressed and he took a quick steadying breath. ‘I was there. So was Parthenope.’

‘And the others?’