“Christos Rakanti.” He extended his hand.
“I’ve heard of you,” Andre said, with no indication of where. “In fact, I’ve cruised on one of your ships.”
Christos’s smile was polite. “Elle is a genius.”
“Yes. That term is often bandied about but she truly is. It is a great shame she won’t pursue it. If she did …”
“Do you have any influence with her?”
“Of course. But only a little. She is stubborn. She says only that the timing isn’t right.” He laughed. “Like all of the best artists she is riddled with personal dramas, no?”
Christos waited while Elle met with admirers. He watched. She was polite and well-mannered but she wasn’t comfortable. He wondered if this had something to do with why she hadn’t pushed to study.
Finally, she looked in their direction and reached for Filip’s hand. “You must be exhausted.”
“I’ve never felt more energised in my life,” he contradicted, smiling up at her. “I can’t believe how great you are at that.”
She shrugged. “I guess that’s what my DNA gave me.”
She took the handles of his chair and began to push.
“I got it,” he waved her away but she bent forward and kissed his head.
“I know. But let me.” She navigated him towards the doors, not even acknowledging Christos.
She had become excellent at that, he realised. To blanking him even when there was only the two of them in the room.
It angered and frustrated him in equal measure.
He wasn’t used to being sidelined.
She sat in the back of the car; it was the only way they could accommodate Filip and his chair. She didn’t mind, either. It allowed her to lean back and close her eyes, pretending to doze. It meant she didn’t have to think of Christos. She pretended she didn’t smell him. That she couldn’t feel his strength and pull emanating towards her.
When the car slowed to a stop in front of the house she alighted swiftly.
“I can do this,” Filip murmured, smacking away her hand as she went to help him out.
She nodded, understanding his independent strength, but wishing he’d slow down.
“Christos?” She said, as they moved towards the door. “Can I grab a minute with you?”
He wiped the surprise from his face and tried to temper the hope that was flaring in his gut. Filip rolled ahead and Christos leaned down, whispering in her ear so that only she could hear, “You can grab anything you want of mine.”
She shook her head, stepping back as though repulsed. “I just need one minute.” The words were delivered with disdain and hauteur but he didn’t let his smile drop.
“I’m beat. I’ll see you guys in the morning,” Filip called back to them.
“Night, honey,” Elle called. Then, she stepped further into the house, pausing at the sofa. But the memories were too strong. She moved past it, towards the pool area.
“Christos,” she began, biting on her lip and trying to find the words.
“You were amazing tonight,” he said honestly, his voice gravelly.
“Thank you.” She waved the compliment aside. “It was fun.”
“I don’t understand why you aren’t pursuing that as your career. You have a legend in the industry willing to spruik for you. You are incredibly talented.”
“Perhaps.” Her tone was dismissive. “But that’s not what I want to talk about.”
“Why not?” He put his hands on her shoulders, bringing her so close that he could see the doubt in her eyes. He waited for the moment of awakening; for the familiar, tell-tale flush that would steal into her cheeks as it always did. But there was nothing. Just resignation.
A wave of nausea rolled through him. He had to know. Did she really not feel anything for him now? It was a fact too grim to acknowledge. Slowly, slow enough for her to realise his intention and back away if she wished it, he brought his lips to her. The kiss was tender and gentle; it was a prompt. A reminder. A question.
And her answer was resounding.
She didn’t kiss him back.
She was like steel in his arms.
His heart raced as he lifted his head.
Calmly, as though he’d accidentally bumped her shoulder, she said, “Please don’t do that. I don’t like it.” And then, she switched gears, returning with the appearance of effortlessness to their original conversation. “Filip is desperate to impress you. He’s exhausted. You need to slow things down a bit.”
Christos’s mind was spinning. He was still caught on her assertion that she didn’t like kissing him. The woman had practically drooled when he’d walked in the room. And now?
She was pushing him away easily. He tried to focus on what she’d said and to formulate a suitable reply, but all he could think of was Elle. “I am going at his pace.”
“He’s changing his pace to impress you,” she denied firmly. “So you have to be the adult and slow it down. Look out for him without letting him know that’s what you’re doing.”
An idea occurred to him. “Fine. You just have to tell me if I’m doing it wrong. You can plan his days with me.”
“No.” She shook her head. Her shoulders were set; she dropped her eyes to a point just past his ear. “I’m going back to the States.”
Christos didn’t react but inside he was being torn to shreds. “What? When?”
“As soon as I can book a flight.” She crossed her arms and for the tiniest of seconds the façade dropped and he thought he glimpsed pain. It was gone again almost immediately.
He didn’t want her to go. But nor did he want to trap her against her will. “You can take my jet. Whenever you want.”
“That’s a waste of fuel. Commercial suits me fine. It’s more my speed.” She blinked up at him. The moonlight cast a perfect sliver of silver across her face and a wind rustled her hair. “So please remember to be gentle with Filip once I go. Remember he’s still a teenager, and despite how he acts, this is all new and scary for him.”
“He seems to be coping fine.”
She brushed aside his comment. “I know he seems it, but he’s an internaliser. He takes it very seriously to be macho and brave, but he’s a sensitive kid. Just … look after him. I need to trust you to take care of him.”
A muscle jerked in Christos’s jaw. “Because you are running away from me.”
She smiled up at him with such profound sadness it stole his breath away. “I thought you wanted me to stay out of your life.”
Apologise.
It was the answer but he didn’t know how.
He didn’t know where to begin.
Because deep down he was still furious that she’d gone to the papers. It was a betrayal he couldn’t forgive. An action he would never understand. If she’d wanted to, she could have gone straight to Xanthe and allowed them all time to adjust to the news privately. Instead she’d forced everyone’s hands, plunging them into a state of handling the debacle publicly.
“I want you to stay,” he said instead, reaching down and catching her hand in his.
“I don’t care what you want.” She pulled her hand free and rubbed it behind her back. “Please just look after Filip.”
The water was cold; the perfect balm to the heat of the day. She kept her head submerged for as long as possible, enjoying the almost womb-like solitude of the pool. When she surfaced, the sun was bouncing off the surface and the trees were rustling in the breeze. Hundreds of thousands of people were living their lives in Athens, and millions before them had inhabited this part of the world. Living. Breathing. Loving. Dying.
All had known the grief she carried.
She wasn’t unique.
And she wouldn’t let it get the best of her.
She went back underwater, kicking to the other side of the pool, waiting until her fingertips grazed the tiled side before coming back up for breath.
Christos was crouching in front of her when she emerged, dressed in jeans and a polo shi
rt.
She swallowed her initial reaction and quickly built the shield back around herself.
“Hi,” she said calmly. “I didn’t realise you were watching me.”
“I wasn’t,” he assured her, his own tone imitating hers in detachment. “I came out to let you know my mother is here.”
Elle’s eyes startled wide and he was pleased. Pleased that there was some way he could spark a reaction from her, even if it was a negative one.
“I see.”
“You can’t stay in the water all day to avoid her.” He stood and smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You might as well get it over with.”
“Contrary to what you might think, I’m not afraid of your mother.”
“I don’t think you’re afraid of her. I think you’re ashamed of what you did and you don’t want to meet her.”
Elle flicked her eyes sidewards, towards the house.
“Is Filip in there?”
He laughed angrily. “Yes. Don’t worry. There are too many witnesses for her to touch you.”
Elle flipped onto her tummy and set off to the other edge of the pool. He watched as she went, her stroke smooth and slow, her body dragging languidly through the crisp turquoise water. He was waiting for her when she emerged, holding her towel aloft.
“Thanks,” she said as she reached for it.
“Allow me.” He held it wide, inviting her to step into its dry warmth. To refuse would have been to admit that she was still deeply affected by him. With a shrug of unconcern she stepped into his arms and waited with an expression of bemused impatience while he wrapped it around her and then patted it downwards as if to dry her. His hands rubbed her backside, her arms, and still she stood, thinking of the most unsexy images she could, waiting for him to give up.
She could get through this. She could. She just had to stay strong.
“Are you done?” She asked and he swore softly in his own language.
“What the hell’s happened to you?”
“What do you mean?” She loosened the towel and brought it to her head. She dried it enthusiastically, brushing away her desires and needs.
“I mean … nothing.” He spun on his heel. “You should get changed for lunch.”
She poked her tongue out at his retreating back and wrapped the towel around her shoulders.
But she did get changed for lunch. Given that Xanthe Rakanti undoubtedly already thought the worst of her, and Christos was practically tripping over himself to force her to acknowledge that she wanted him, Elle chose a dress that she might have, in a more prudent moment, have decided was far too inappropriate. The flimsy white cotton maxi covered her flesh but without a bra, it did little to hide her curves. She fluffed out her still-damp hair and put on the bare minimum of makeup, just enough to accentuate her big eyes and pouting lips.
And the second she stepped into the kitchen she wished she’d fought those instincts and chosen a conservative pair of jeans and t-shirt instead. Christos stared at her and then slowly began to shake his head in obvious disapproval, while Xanthe simply glared, her mouth parted in surprise.
“Oh, hey,” Filip, at least, was happy to see her. “Finally. I’m starving and Christos said we had to wait for you.”
“You shouldn’t have,” she said to her brother alone.
“Ellie, this is Christos’s mom, Xanthe Rakanti. Xanthe, my sister Elle Bradley.”
Elle swallowed as she walked across the room. The hatred emanating from Xanthe was a physical wall. Even Christos was surprised by the obvious force of enmity.
“Hello,” Elle went through the motions of civility, though she had little interest in knowing this woman. The sooner she left Athens the better, and then she’d never have to see either Xanthe or Christos again. Well, at least, not often.
“I …” Xanthe stood up and shook her head. “I thought …” She looked at Christos, completely shocked. “I thought I could do this.”
“Mother,” Christos’s word held a warning. “This isn’t Elle’s fault.”
Filip’s face was crumpling and for his sake alone, Elle spoke gently. “I know you’re upset,” she said to Xanthe. “I understand that. I’m very happy to leave now, and allow you to get to know Filip.”
“No.” Filip and Christos both spoke sharply and she looked from one to the other. It was Filip she addressed, though.
She crouched down in front of him and cupped his face. “Darling one, it’s too soon. And it doesn’t matter if I know these people or not. Christos is your half-brother. And I’m your half-sister. Xanthe wants to spend time with you.” Elle lifted her eyes to the other woman. “I’m going to go back to my room and read for a while.” At his look of sadness she kissed his forehead. “Truly, dearest, I’d rather read anyway.”
“I will not have you chased to your room,” Christos spoke darkly. “Mother, you said you were fine with Elle being here. So just … sit down.”
“She looks like her mother,” Xanthe spat, shaking, her eyes shimmering. “You didn’t tell me that.”
Elle looked from one to the other in confusion. Christos spun to face Xanthe. “It’s not relevant. She’s a different person.”
“Not that different,” Xanthe pointed out angrily, making it obvious she knew the details of Elle’s relationship with Christos. She focussed her gaze on Elle’s face. “Going to the press was the last straw. That’s something even your mother didn’t stoop to.”
Elle wanted to throw it all in Xanthe’s face – about the confidentiality agreement and the fact her precious husband had refused to help his wheelchair-bound son, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She would never have hurt her brother in that way.
So when Filip began to speak, it was Elle that was left speechless. “The only reason my mother didn’t go to the press was because Filip made her sign a confidentiality agreement that was legally binding.” He enjoyed the silence that fell. Even Christos was momentarily mute. “And before you ask, Elle didn’t tell me about that. My sister has done nothing but look after me from the day I was born. I found the document when I was home one summer.” He turned to Elle, and his wistful smile almost tore her heart in two. “Paperwork and discretion: Her two biggest downfalls.”
It wasn’t funny, but Elle laughed. She squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t make a scene. Not over me. I’m happy to go.” She lifted her eyes to encompass Christos and Xanthe with the same ice-cold hatred. “No. Correction. I’m very, very happy to go.”
“Not without me.” He reached over and held her hand. “I don’t know why I was trying so hard to become a part of this family. I already have the best family in the world.” He squeezed her hand and Elle felt herself go from the depths of despair to euphoria in a moment. But it was wrong. She didn’t want him to close the gate on the Rakantis. She had seen into Christos’s heart and she knew there was goodness there. He might have been determined to hide it, but it was there.
“Filip,” Xanthe spoke now, her smile conciliatory. “We want you to be part of our family.”
“Perhaps. But if you don’t want Ellie too then that’s a deal-breaker for me.” He wheeled away from them, towards the lift, then spun. “And it wasn’t Elle who went to the press. It was me.”
Shit. Elle swore under her breath, watching his disappearing frame with consternation.
Christos and Xanthe were both staring at her.
“Is that true?” Christos, always so tan and vibrant, looked pale. When Elle didn’t answer he slammed his palm into the bench and both Xanthe and Elle jumped. “Damn it, is that true? Or is he covering for you?”
“Does it matter?” She began to walk backwards slowly. “Your father is the only one at fault in all of this.”
“And your mother,” Xanthe pointed out. And then, softly, slowly, “And me.”
“You?” Elle demanded. “How? Why? Don’t tell me you knew about his accident, because so help me God…”
“No,” Xanthe blanched as she sat down on a bar stool. “But I knew a
bout the affair.” She shook her head. “I knew he’d slept with your mother.”
Christos was trying to fit all the pieces of his world back together but they wouldn’t slide into order anymore. “Since when? How?”
“Since it happened. He felt terrible. But then, I’d pushed him away.” She sobbed softly and Elle could have almost felt sorry for her. “We’d wanted so badly to have another child. We lost three pregnancies, Christos, and I just shut off from him.”
“I had no idea.”
“It was private. Personal. I felt like such a failure.” Tears were running down her face but Elle kept her heart locked and hardened. “He told me about Bella Bradley. But never about the child. It would have killed me, and I suspect he knew that. It explains why he went to such lengths to keep it quiet.”
“I beg your pardon, but nothing explains that,” Elle said with soft dignity. “Excuse me.” She walked with her head held high out of the kitchen towards the stairs. She took them two at a time but Christos caught her near the first landing.
“Elle? Just … please just wait. I have to deal with my mother. But I need to speak to you.”
“Oh?” She lifted her fingers and rubbed her temples. “To say what?”
“A thousand things,” he hissed. “Why did you let me blame you for going to the press?”
“I didn’t let you blame me. You blamed me with scant regard for the truth.”
Chastened, he nodded. But his expression was one of confusion. “It just made sense that it was you.”
She squared her shoulders. “I would never, ever have done that to my brother. Or your mother. I told you that.”
“I know. But …”
“NO.” She shouted the word, not caring that perhaps her brother and Xanthe heard. “Enough. It’s over.”
“Why did he do it?”
She sighed, but began to walk up the stairs. He followed. “He saw a photo of us, taken that night we went to kómma.” The night she’d realised how much she loved him. “He presumed the worst.” Her laugh was brittle. “No, actually, probably he read the situation just right. He was worried that you would hurt me. Just like your father hurt my mother. He did it to protect me.”
Bartered to the Sheikh & Rakanti's Indecent Proposition (Clare Connelly Pairs Book 8) Page 29