Rumors Behind the Greek's Wedding

‘I know,’ she said, shaking her head, hoping to prevent more excruciating words. ‘I understand, Loukis. Truly.’

She got up from the chair, her legs still a little shaky, but forcing the strength that he had given her into her body, heart and soul. She reached for her bag. ‘I think you might have been right,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘Everything does have a price. And, Loukis, this is the one that I am willing to pay. For you. For Annabelle.

She turned to walk away, but a hand caught her wrist, pulling her back round to him, causing her to crash against his chest. His lips were on hers in an instant, demanding, punishing, as if trying to bend her to his will. His hands came around her face as if trying to anchor her to him, to keep her with him. And it hurt. The agony of what she was doing nearly buckled her. This one last time, this one last kiss, it was too much.

Weak as she was, she reached for him too. Her hands fisting in his shirt, clinging to him, to this moment as if wanting it all and knowing that it would never be enough. At first, she had flinched from his touch, then she had borne it and now she craved it with every fibre of her being. The only way she could find the strength to walk away from him was knowing that to stay would damage him irrevocably.

His thumb swept away a tear she hadn’t even realised she’d shed. The bittersweet taste of his kiss haunted her and would continue to

haunt her, she knew, for many, many days to come. She broke the kiss and gazed up into his rich dark eyes, but the sea of emotions storming within them was too much.

She left his embrace, turned and left the room, left the court building and blindly hailed a cab. All the while absolutely sure that she had left behind her heart.

CHAPTER TWELVE

BY THE TIME his lawyers came to find him in the court’s small office, where Célia had left him, some unfathomable amount of time later, he could barely speak. They explained that a recess had been granted, but that it would be at least another five days before the case could be resumed. According to them, Meredith had not been pleased by the news and had nearly been admonished by the judge for her outburst. Even some minor victory over Meredith hadn’t been able to shake him. They had put him in his car, and he’d even been blind to the concerned looks they shared between themselves as they sent him off to his estate in Athens.

Having to explain to Annabelle what had happened nearly eviscerated him as his little sister’s eyes had welled, just like Célia’s, and she’d run away too. He’d known how she’d felt at that moment, wanting himself to hide and lick wounds yet again inflicted by his mother. Though these particular wounds had a sense of self-infliction he just couldn’t shake.

So many times in the last three days, he’d wanted to reach out to Célia. Wanted to call her, to see her, but with his lawyers on damage limitation, Annabelle nearly heartbroken at Célia’s absence and the insecurity of the looming custody hearing, he barely found the time to eat, let alone sleep.

He was exhausted. He’d not been back to his room since Célia had left. The scent she’d left on his pillows, in the air of the room, he wanted to both avoid it and hoard it at the same time.

But it was more than that. He’d made his choice, that had been unquestionable. But living with it? Again and again he questioned how Célia had come to impact his life so much. Almost daily he wondered what she was wearing—if she had gone back to her beige T-shirt that he’d honestly give anything to see at that moment, or whether she’d continued to wear the beautiful bright clothing that brought out the colours of her eyes and hair. He wondered if she had spoken more with her mother, a reconciliation that he knew would be so healing for her. He missed the simple touches that passed between them as much as the deep passion that drove them to impossible sensual heights, a thirst that he had not come close to quenching.

More than all those things, though, he missed the way she would question him, challenge him to be better, to do more, to think his actions through. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing. Epically. Especially when it came to Annabelle.

He wanted her to tell him how to fix it. She had always seemed to know.

He heard the patter of Annabelle’s bare feet on the marble staircase and waited until her pyjama-clad little self came into view.

Frowning at the clock, which read eleven-thirty, he turned. ‘Everything okay, Nanny?’

Her little hands twisted in front of her, her eyes bruised by lack of sleep.

‘Is Célia a bad person?’

Shock sliced through him and he had to bite out the demand for her to explain, forcing himself to think through the words Célia might have said in that moment.

‘Why would you think that?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

‘Mummy said she did a bad thing and that’s why she had to go away.’

Every primal instinct to deny, to vent the sudden and shocking fury he felt, roared through him.

‘No, sweetheart. She didn’t do a bad thing. She...invented something that people used for bad things, but no. Absolutely not. Célia isn’t bad at all.’

‘Then, can you tell Mummy that so Célia can come back?’

Loukis forced a smile to his features. ‘I...’ He was about to explain that he had told Meredith, that he had defended Célia, when he realised that he hadn’t. There had been no defence of Célia, not in the court and not since. Something twisted in his belly then. Something acidic and harsh and painful.

‘You’re right, Annabelle. I should do that. But I’m not sure that it would bring Célia back.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Meredith doesn’t want Célia to live with me while you’re here. And sadly the judge might agree.’

‘Then I... I think I should go and live with Mummy.’