Securing the Greek's Legacy

She took a shuddering breath, shaking her head as if the    knowledge of what she had done was too heavy a weight to carry. ‘But none of it    matters now. It’s over. I know that—I’ve accepted it. I’ve accepted everything.    And I’ve accepted most of all that I have to do what I am doing now.’

Her eyes went to Georgy again, so absolutely and utterly    unaware of the agonising drama above his head.

‘I called him mine,’ she whispered. The words would hardly    come, forced through a throat that was constricted with grief. ‘But he never    was. He was never mine. Only my stepsister’s baby. Your cousin’s son. Which is    why...’

She lifted her eyes again, made them go to Anatole, who was    standing like a statue, frozen. She felt her heart turn over. Turn over    uselessly in her heart.

‘Which is why,’ she said again, and her voice was dead now,    ‘I’m leaving him. He isn’t a bone to be fought over, or a prize, or a bequest,    or anything at all except himself. He needs a home, a family—his family. Your family.    You’ll look after him. I know you will. And you love him—I know you love him.    And I know that Timon loves him too, in his own way.’ She took a heavy razoring    breath that cut into her lungs. ‘I should have seen that from the start—that I    had no claim to him. Not once you had found him. He’s yours, Anatole—yours and    Timon’s. It’s taken till now for me to accept that. To accept that I should    never have put you through what I have. I see that now.’

She picked up her bag. It seemed as heavy as lead. As heavy as    the millstone grinding her heart to chaff.

‘I won’t say goodbye to Georgy. He’s happy with you. That’s all    that counts.’ Her voice was odd, she noticed with a stray, inconsequential part    of her brain.

She turned away, pulling open the door. Not looking back.

An iron band closed around her arm, halting her in her tracks.    Anatole was there, pulling her back, slamming the door shut, holding her with    both hands now, clamped around her upper arms.

‘Are you insane?’ he said. ‘Are you completely insane? You    cannot seriously imagine you are just going to walk out like that?’

She strained away from him, but it was like straining against    steel bonds. He was too close. Far, far too close. It meant she could see    everything about him. The strong wall of his chest, the breadth of his shoulders    sheathed in the expensive material of his handmade suit, the line of his jaw,    darkening already, see the sculpted mouth that could skim her body and reduce    her to soft, helpless cries of passion.

She could see the eyes that burned with dark gold fire.

Catch the scent of his body.

See the black silk of his lashes.

She felt faint with it.

She shut her eyes to block the vision. Stop the memories. The    memories that cut her like knives on softest flesh.

‘What else is there to do?’ she said. Her voice was low and    strained. ‘You don’t want to marry me—you’ve never wanted to marry me—and Timon    doesn’t want you to marry me. He made that clear enough! And now you’re not    marrying me I can do what Timon told me to do—clear off and leave you alone.    Leave Georgy alone, too. Because he doesn’t need me. He’s got you, he’s got    Timon, he’s got everything he needs. The nanny will look after him while you’re    at work. She’s very good, I’m sure. He doesn’t need me and he won’t remember    me—he won’t miss me.’

‘And Georgy is the only person you’re concerned about? Is that    it?’ There was still something odd about Anatole’s voice, but she wouldn’t think    about that. Wouldn’t think about anything. Wouldn’t feel anything.

Dared not.

She opened her eyes again, made herself look at him. ‘No,’ she    said. She stepped back and this time he let her go. She took another step,    increasing the distance between them. The distance was more than physical—far,    far more. ‘There’s you, too,’ she said.

She made herself speak. ‘I’m sorry I put you through so much    anxiety—running away from Greece as I did—but at the time I was still...still in    denial. Still thinking I had a right to Georgy. And that made me so...so angry    with you.’ She picked the word angry because it was    the only safe one to use. Any of the other words—anguished, agonised, distraught—were all impossible to use. Quite impossible! ‘Because I    trusted you—just like you kept telling me to trust you—when you said you would    make it all work out. That if we married we’d have a much better chance of    adopting Georgy.’

She took another heaving breath, and now the words broke from    her.

‘But all along you were just telling me that in order to get me    to agree to bring Georgy out to Greece. Because with me as his foster-carer it    was the quickest way to get him there—me taking him—rather than going through    the courts for permission on your own behalf. You knew I was fearful of bringing    Georgy to Greece, so you spun me all that stuff about marrying and then    divorcing. And to keep me sweet—’

She heard her voice choke but forced herself to speak, forced    herself to say it all to voice every last agony.

‘To keep me sweet you...you... Well, you did the obvious thing.    And it worked—it worked totally. I actually believed you really were going to    marry me—and I desperately wanted that to happen, because marrying you gave        me my best chance to adopt Georgy!’

The words were pouring from her now, unstoppable.

‘It’s because I’m not a blood relation that that the    authorities have always wanted him to be adopted by someone else! But then there    was you—a close relation to his father—and being your wife would have been my best chance as well! That’s why I did it,    Anatole—that’s why I agreed to marry you. And I’ve been well served. I have no    claim to him and that’s what I’ve finally accepted. Georgy isn’t mine and never    was—never will be!’

As her gaze clung to the man standing there—the man she had    given herself to, the man who meant so much to her, who had caused her such    anguish—she heard her mind whisper the words that burned within her head.

And nor are you mine! You aren’t mine and        never were—never will be! I’ll never see you again after today—never! And my        heart is breaking—breaking for Georgy... Breaking for you.

It was breaking. She knew it—could    feel it—could feel the fractures tearing it apart, tearing her apart as she spoke, as she looked upon him for the very last    time in her life... The man she had fallen in love with so incredibly stupidly!    So rashly and foolishly! She had fallen in love with him when to him she was    only a means to an end—a way to get hold of the child he’d so desperately sought    with the least fuss and the most speed!

She took another harrowing breath. ‘So I can finally do what I    know I have to do—walk away and leave Georgy to you. Because you love him and    you will care for him all his life. He won’t need me—I can see that clearly    now...quite, quite clearly.’

‘Can you?’ Again he seemed only to echo her words.

She nodded. Her eyes were wide and anguished, but she made    herself say the words she had to say. Say them to Anatole. The man who would be    Georgy’s father—she would never, never be his    mother!

‘Like I said, I accept now that he doesn’t need me. He has you,    Anatole, and that is enough. You’ll be a wonderful father! You love him to    pieces, and he adores you. And your silk ties,’ she    added.

But she mustn’t attempt humour—not even as a safety valve.    Emotion of any kind now was far too dangerous. Being here in this room, with    Anatole and Georgy, was far too dangerous. She had to go now, while she still    could...