Constantine's Defiant Mistress

Laura bit her lip. She had known this would happen, and it was happening sooner than she had hoped. But what was the point in delaying any more? Wouldn’t that look as if they were hiding something shameful rather than giving them the opportunity to bond? Just because change was disrupting—and just because Laura was afraid of how telling Alex might affect their lives—it didn’t mean that she could keep putting it off because it suited her.

‘And your father?’ she said softly. ‘He’ll need to know, too. Alex shouldn’t be expected to keep the news to himself.’

In the end, the moment for telling Alex came quite naturally later that afternoon, when the three of them were sitting in the main town square of Livinos. Alex was eating ice-cream—an elaborate concoction of lemon and chocolate curls—and it seemed that every island resident stopped to ruffle his dark curls as they passed by.

‘Why does everyone keep patting my head?’ he questioned, not unhappily. ‘And what do they keep saying to you?’

‘By and large, the Greek people love having children around,’ said Constantine, and Laura felt her heart lurch as she thought about his own mother. But he’s told you quite emphatically that he doesn’t want your sympathy, she reminded herself.

‘Some of the older ones say that you look very much as I did at the same age,’ added Constantine carefully.

‘Do I?’

There was a pause. ‘Very much so,’ said Constantine gruffly, and then he looked across the table at Laura. She nodded. ‘Do you have any idea why that might be?’

To Laura’s surprise, Alex didn’t answer straight away—just glanced from Constantine, to her, and then back to Constantine again. His dark eyes fixed on his father’s face, a look of hope and longing tightening his boyish little features.

‘Are you my daddy?’ he asked.

Had it been the spoonful of ice-cream Alex had insisted on giving him which had caused this damned lump in his throat, making him momentarily incapable of words? Constantine swallowed. ‘Yes, I am,’ he said eventually.

There was no Hollywood movie scene of the son flinging himself onto his father’s lap—that would have been too much in the circumstances. As they began to walk back towards the villa, Laura noticed Alex’s fingers creep up towards the hand of the man by his side. And that Constantine took his son’s little hand and was clasping it firmly, while looking fixedly ahead and blinking furiously, as if some piece of grit had just flown into his eye.

That evening, Constantine—with Laura standing nervously by his side—told his father that the Karantinos family did indeed have an heir, and that he had a grandson.

The old man stared at his son for a long moment and then gave a short laugh. ‘You think I haven’t already guessed that?’ he questioned quietly. ‘That you could bring a young child into this house out of the blue, with some flimsy excuse about him and his mother needing a holiday, a child who is the mirror-image of you at the same age, and that I would not realise that he was yours?’

Laura tried not to stare as she felt emotion build up like a gathering storm. She saw the old man take one tentative step forward, and silently willed the two men to embrace—to try to wipe out some of the heartache and bitterness which had built up between them. But Constantine took a corresponding step backwards—a step so subtle that many people would not have noticed. But Laura noticed. Damn you, Constantine, she thought furiously. Damn you and your hard and unforgiving soul. And his father noticed, too—for the lined face momentarily crumpled before he turned to look at her and nodded.

‘You have a fine child in Alex, my dear. A happy and contented son for you to be proud of.’

‘Th-thank you,’ said Laura tremulously. ‘It may seem odd to you that we kept it secret, but—’

Kyrios Karantinos shook his head. ‘I can understand that circumstances may have been difficult,?

? he said gently. ‘For I am not a complete ogre.’ This was accompanied by a mocking glance at the silent figure of Constantine. ‘Far better to approach things cautiously than to dive in. And Alex—he is happy to learn of the news?’

‘He’s ecstatic,’ said Laura truthfully. As far as Alex was concerned it was Constantine this and Constantine that. Constantine had quickly become the centre of the impressionable young boy’s universe. She’d watched the relationship developing between them and seen how badly her boy wanted a father—a man as a role-model. And Constantine never showed his fierce side with Alex, realised Laura.

‘We must have a party to celebrate!’ announced Kyrios Karantinos suddenly. ‘We could invite some people over from the mainland. It’s a long time since we’ve thrown a big party.’

And, to Laura’s surprise, Constantine nodded.

‘Why not?’ he questioned, with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

Laura turned away before either of them noticed the conflict of emotions she suspected were criss-crossing over her face, knowing that it was wrong to feel scared—but she did.

Despite their differences, the two proud men were gearing themselves up to announce to the world that the Karantinos family now had an heir—and the importance of such an heir to such a family could not be over-estimated. But aside from the bloodline issue there was something else which was just as important…and deep-down Laura hoped that Constantine and his father might be making the first steps towards a true reconciliation.

But where did that leave her? And Alex? She wanted him to forge a close relationship with both his father and his grandfather—of course she did. It was just the future which worried her now. Because how on earth were they going to handle it when she took Alex back to England at the end of the holidays? When he left sunshine and luxury behind him and returned to an old life which was looking greyer by the minute?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘WHAT the hell are you doing?’ demanded Constantine as he walked into the kitchen.

‘What does it look like?’ questioned Laura steadily, finding herself in the awkward situation of having to pretend to be normal and pleasant to Constantine in a situation which defied definition—made doubly difficult by the fact that she had been writhing passionately underneath the man in question in the early hours of that very morning. Pushing the erotic memory from her mind, she positioned another olive on one of the little feta tartlets, wanting to look at something—anything—other than the mocking distraction of his black eyes.

‘Laura, put the damned dish down and look at me!’