He’d done an excellent job. A spark of heat ignited at the memory of Emma’s wide-eyed gaze and the eager way she’d returned his perfunctory end-of-ceremony kiss, tempting him to prolong it into something more passionate. Christo’s hands had tightened on her slender waist and he’d found himself looking forward to tonight when he’d take her to his bed for the first time.
Damen huffed out a laugh. ‘There speaks the mighty Christo Karides, ego as big as the Mediterranean.’ He frowned and glanced back at the house, as if confirming they were alone. Everyone was at the wedding breakfast on the far side of the building. ‘But, seriously, I was surprised. Emma’s lovely. Very sweet.’ Another pause. ‘But not your usual type.’ His look turned piercing. ‘I’d have thought her cousin more your speed. The vivacious redhead.’
Christo nodded, picturing Maia’s pin-up-perfect curves in the tight clothes she favoured. Her confidence, her sexy banter as she’d tried to hook his attention. She would have succeeded, too, if things had been different.
A twinge of pain seared from Christo’s skull to his shoulders and he rubbed a hand around his neck.
‘You’re right, she’s gorgeous. In other circumstances we’d have had fun together.’ He shook his head. His situation was immutable. Regrets were useless. ‘But this is marriage we’re talking about, not pleasure.’
A muffled sound made Christo turn to scrutinise the back of the large house. But there was no movement at the windows, no one on the flagstone patio or sweeping lawn. No sound except the distant strains of music.
He’d have to return to the celebration soon before his bride wondered what was taking him so long.
A beat of satisfaction quickened Christo’s pulse. ‘Emma’s not sexy and sophisticated like her cousin, or as beautiful, but her grandfather left her the Athens property I came to buy. Marriage was the price of acquiring it.’
Damen’s smile faded. ‘You married for that? I knew the deal was important but surely you didn’t need to—?’
‘You’re right. Normally I wouldn’t consider it, but circumstances changed.’ Christo shrugged and adopted a nonchalant expression to camouflage the tension he still felt at the profound changes in his life. ‘I find myself in the bizarre situation of inheriting responsibility for a child.’ Saying it aloud didn’t make it sound any more palatable, or lessen his lingering shock. ‘Can you imagine me as a father?’
He nodded as his friend’s eyes bulged. ‘You see why marriage suddenly became necessary, if not appealing. It isn’t a sexy siren I need. Instead I’ve acquired a gentle, sensible homebody who wants only to please me. She’ll make the perfect caring mother.’
* * *
Emma’s hands gripped the edge of the basin so tight, she couldn’t feel her fingers. That was one small mercy because the rest of her felt like one huge, raw wound throbbing in acute agony.
She blinked and stared at the mirror in the downstairs rear bathroom. The one to which she and her bridesmaid had retired for a quick make-up fix as the bathroom at the front of the house was engaged. The one with an open window, obscured by ivy, that gave onto the sprawling back garden.
In the mirror, dazed hazel eyes stared back at her. Her mouth in that new lipstick she’d thought so sophisticated was a crumpled line of colour too bright for parchment-pale cheeks.
Around her white face she still wore the antique lace of her grandmother’s veil.
Emma shuddered and shut her eyes, suddenly hating the weight of the lace against her cheeks and the long wedding dress around her shaky legs. The fitted gown, so perfect before, now clasped her too tightly, making her skin clammy, nipping at her waist and breasts and squeezing her lungs till she thought they might burst.
‘Did you know?’
Emma’s eyes popped open to meet Steph’s in the mirror. Instead of turning into a wax doll like Emma, shock made Steph look vibrant. Her eyes sparked and a flush climbed her cheeks.
‘Stupid question. Of course you didn’t know.’ Her friend’s generous mouth twisted into a snarl. ‘I’ll kill him with my bare hands. No, killing’s too good. Slow torture. That’s what he deserves.’ She scowled ferociously. ‘How could he treat you that way? He must know how you feel about him.’
The pain in Emma’s chest intensified from terrible to excruciating. It felt as though she was being torn apart. Which made sense, as she’d been foolish enough to hand her heart to Christo Karides and he’d just ripped it out.
Without warning.
Without anaesthetic.
Without apology.
‘Because he doesn’t care.’ The words slipped through numb lips. ‘He never really cared about me.’
As soon as she said the words aloud Emma felt their truth, despite the romantic spell Christo had woven around her. He’d been kind and understanding, tender and supportive, as she’d grappled with her grandfather’s death. She’d taken his old-fashioned courtesy as proof of his respect for her, his willingness to wait. Now she realised his patience and restraint had been because he didn’t fancy her at all.
Nausea surged as the blindfold ripped from her eyes.
Why hadn’t she seen it before? Why hadn’t she listened to Steph when she’d spoken of taking things slowly? Of not making important decisions while she was emotionally vulnerable?
Emma had been lost in a fairy tale this last month, a fairy tale where, as grief struck yet again, her Prince Charming was with her, not to rescue her but to be there for her, making her feel she wasn’t alone.
Everyone she’d loved in this life had died. Her parents when she was eleven, abruptly wiped out of her life when the small plane they’d been in went down in a storm. Then her grandmother four years ago when Emma was eighteen. And now her opinionated, hopelessly old-fashioned yet wonderful Papou. The sense of loss had been unbearable, except when Christo had been beside her.
She drew a sharp breath that lanced tight lungs, then let it out on a bitter laugh. ‘He doesn’t even know who I am. He has no idea.’
Wants only to please him, indeed!
A homebody!
Obviously Christo had believed Papou, who’d insisted on thinking she studied to fill in time before she found the right man to marry!
Maybe Christo thought she lived in her grandparents’ house because she was meek and obedient. The truth was that, despite his bluster, Papou had been lost when her grandmother had died and Emma had decided to stay till he recovered. But then his health had failed and there’d been no good time to leave.
The tragedy of it was that Emma had thought Christo truly understood her. She’d believed he spent time with her because he found her interesting and attractive.
But not as attractive as her vivacious, gorgeous cousin Maia.
Pain cramped Emma’s belly and her breath sawed from constricted lungs.
Bad enough that Christo viewed her as a plain Jane compared with her sexy siren cousin. But the fact he hadn’t noticed that Maia was warm-hearted, intelligent and funny, as well as sexy, somehow made it worse.
Christo was a clever man. According to Papou, his insightfulness had made him phenomenally successful, transforming the family business he’d inherited. Clearly Christo didn’t waste time applying that insight to the women he met.
Because we’re not important enough?
Because he thinks we’re simply available for him to use as he sees fit?
What that said about his attitude to women made Emma’s skin shrink against her bones.
He had a reputation as a playboy in Europe, always dating impossibly glamorous, gorgeous women. But in her naivety Emma had dismissed the media gossip. She’d believed him when he’d assured her his reputation was exaggerated. Then he’d stroked her cheek, his hand dropping to her collarbone, tracing the decorous neckline of her dress, and Emma had forgotten her doubts and her train of thought.
She’d been so easy to manipulate! Ready to fall for his practised charm. For his attentiveness.
Because he was the first man who’d really notic
ed her.
Was she really so easily conned?
Emma lurched forward over the basin as nausea rocketed up from her stomach. Bile burnt the back of her throat and she retched again and again.
When it was over, and she’d rinsed her mouth and face, she looked up at her friend. ‘I believed in him, Steph. I actually thought the fact he didn’t respond to Maia was proof he was genuinely attracted to me.’ Her voice rose to something like a wail and Emma bit her lip.
She’d been gullible. She’d brushed aside her friend’s tentative questions about the speed of Christo’s courtship. At the time it had made sense to marry quickly so her Papou could be with them. And when he’d died, well, the last thing he’d said to her was how happy he was knowing she had Christo and that he didn’t want her to delay the wedding.
She should have waited.
She should have known romantic fantasies were too good to be true.
‘I’ve been a complete idiot, haven’t I?’ She’d always been careful—cautious rather than adventurous, sensible rather than impulsive—yet she’d let a handsome face and a lying, cheating, silver tongue distract her from her career plans and her innate caution.
‘Of course not, sweetie.’ Steph put her arm around her shoulders, squeezing tight. ‘You’re warm and generous and honest and you always look for the good in people.’
Emma shook her head, dredging up a tight smile at her friend’s loyalty. ‘You mean I usually have my head in the sand.’ Or in books. Papou had regularly complained that she spent too much time with her nose in a book. ‘Well, not any more.’ She shuddered as ice frosted her spine. ‘Imagine if we hadn’t heard...’
‘But we did.’ Steph squeezed her shoulder again. ‘The question is, what are you going to do about it?’
The question jolted her out of self-pity.
Emma looked in the mirror, taking in the ashen-faced waif dressed in wedding lace. Suddenly, in a burst of glorious heat, anger swamped her. Scorching, fiery anger that ran along her veins, licking warmth back into her cold flesh and burning away the vulnerability she’d felt at Christo’s casual contempt. The flush of it rose from her belly to her breasts and up to her cheeks as she swung round to face her friend.
‘Walk away, of course. Christo can find another sensible woman to care for his child and please him.’
Silly that, of all the assumptions he’d made about her and the games he’d played, what rankled most was that he’d recognised her longing for physical pleasure. For him.
A shudder ran through her at the thought of how she’d looked forward to pleasing him and having him reciprocate with those big, supple hands and that hard, masculine body.
Now the idea of him touching her made her feel sick.
Especially as the reason he’d abstained from sex clearly hadn’t been out of respect for her and for her dying grandfather. It had been because sex with the dowdy mouse of the family hadn’t appealed to him. If Christo had been engaged to the beautiful Maia, there’d have been no holding back. They’d have been scorching the sheets well before the wedding.
A curl of flame branded deep inside Emma’s feminine core. In the place where, one day, a man she loved and who loved her back would possess her. She’d thought she’d found him in Christo Karides. Now all she felt was loathing for him and disappointment at herself for believing his lies.
‘I’m so relieved.’ Steph’s words tugged her into the present. ‘I was afraid you might think of staying with him and hoping he’d eventually fall in love with you.’
Emma shook her head, the old lace swishing around her shoulders. Papou had been proud that she’d wear the same veil his bride had worn to her wedding. This marriage had meant so much to him. But it was a sham. Christo hadn’t only made a fool of her but of her grandfather too. She’d never forgive him that.
‘I might be the quiet one in the family but I’m not a doormat. As Christo Karides is about to find out.’ She met her friend’s eyes in the mirror. ‘Will you help me?’
‘You have to ask?’ Steph rolled her eyes. ‘What do you have in mind?’
Emma hesitated, realising she had nothing in mind. But only for a second.
‘Can you go up to my room and grab my passport and bag? And my suitcase?’ The case she’d packed for her honeymoon. The thought was a jab to her heart. She sucked in a fortifying breath. ‘You’ll have to come down the back stairs.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’ll book a flight out of here. If I can borrow your car and leave it at the airport—’
‘And leave Christo Karides to face the music when his bride disappears? I love it.’ Steph’s grin almost hid the fury glittering in her eyes. ‘But I’ve got a better idea. Forget the airport. That’s the first place he’ll look. With his resources, he’ll be on your trail within hours. Head to my place and wait for a call.’ She reached into her purse and pulled out her key ring, pressing it into Emma’s hand. ‘I’ll get you out of Melbourne but so he can’t trace your movements. I’m not the best travel agent in the city for nothing. It’s going to be a real pleasure watching him stew when he can’t find you.’
For the first time since overhearing Christo’s conversation, Emma smiled. It didn’t matter that her cheeks felt so taut they might crack, or that the pain in her heart was as deep as ever. What mattered was that she had a way out and a true friend.
Suddenly she didn’t feel so appallingly alone and vulnerable.
‘Thank you, Steph. I can’t tell you what it means to have your help.’ Emma blinked against the self-pitying tears prickling the back of her eyes.
She’d cried when she’d lost Papou. She refused to shed tears over a man who wasn’t fit to speak her grandfather’s name. A schemer who’d played upon the old man’s love and fear for his granddaughter’s future.
‘But you’ll have to be careful not to give me away.’ Emma frowned at her friend. ‘One look at your face and Christo will know you’re hiding something. He may be a louse but he’s smart.’
Silly how speaking of him like that sent a fillip of pleasure through her. It was a tiny thing compared with the wrong he’d done her, but it was a start.
Steph shook her head and put on the butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth expression that had fooled their teachers for years. ‘Don’t worry. He won’t suspect a thing. I’ll tell him you need a short rest. He’ll accept that. He knows this has been a whirlwind, plus you’re missing your grandfather.’
Steph’s words sent a shaft of longing through Emma for the old man who’d been bossy and difficult but always loving beneath his gruff exterior. She blinked, refusing to give in to grief now.
‘Great. You go upstairs while I get this veil off.’ There was no time to get out of the dress, but she couldn’t make her escape in trailing lace. ‘I’ll hide it in the cupboard here, if you can collect it later and look after it for me?’
‘Of course. I know it’s precious.’ Steph put her hand on Emma’s arm, squeezing gently. ‘Just one more thing. Where are you travelling to?’
Emma turned to the mirror and started searching for the multitude of pins that secured the veil. ‘The only place that’s still home.’ Her aunt and uncle, Maia’s parents, had inherited this house and Papou’s Australian assets. She’d got the commercial property in Athens that had then been signed over to her husband to manage. She’d have to do something about that, she realised. Plus, she’d inherited her grandparents’ old villa in Greece. The one where she’d gone each year on holiday with her parents till they’d died. ‘I’m going to Corfu.’
It was the perfect bolthole. She’d never mentioned it to Christo and, anyway, he would never look for her on his home turf of Greece.
She could take her time there, deciding what she planned to do. And how she’d end this farce of a marriage.
CHAPTER TWO
EMMA STEPPED THROUGH the wrought-iron gates and felt the past wash over her. She hadn’t been to Corfu for years, not since she was fifteen, when her grandmother had grown
too frail for long-distance travel.
Seven years, yet it felt more like seven days as she took in the shaded avenue ahead curling towards the villa just out of sight. Ancient olive trees, their bodies twisted but their boughs healthy with new growth, drifted down the slope to the sea like a silvery green blanket. Nearby glossy citrus leaves clustered around creamy buds in the orchard.
Emma inhaled the rich scent of blossom from lemon, kumquat and orange trees. Her lips tightened. Orange blossom was traditional for brides. It had been in short supply in Melbourne during autumn, unlike Greece in spring.
She shivered as something dark and chilly skipped down her spine.
What a close shave she’d had. Imagine if she hadn’t learned of Christo’s real agenda! She cringed to think how much further under his spell she’d have fallen. Given his reputation, she had no doubt his skills at seduction were as excellent as his ability to feign attraction.
Swallowing down the writhing knot of hurt in her throat, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase, hitched her shoulder bag higher and set off towards the house.
She was sticky and tired and longing for a cold drink. Silly of her, perhaps, to have the taxi drop her further down the road, near a cluster of new luxury villas that had sprung up in the last few years. But she didn’t want to take the chance of anyone knowing she was staying here, in case word somehow got back to Christo.
She’d confront him in her own time, not his. For now she needed to regroup and lick her wounds.
Emma trudged down the drive, the crunch of her feet and her suitcase wheels on the gravel loud in the quiet. Yet, as she walked, her steps grew lighter as memories crowded close. Happy memories, for it was here her family had gathered year after year for a month’s vacation.
Drops of bright colour in the olive grove caught her eye and she remembered picking wildflowers there, plonking them in her grandmother’s priceless crystal vases, where they’d be displayed as proudly as if they were professional floral arrangements. Swimming with her parents down in the clear green waters of their private cove. Sitting under the shade of the colonnade that ran around three sides of the courtyard while Papou had taught her to play tavli, clicking the counters around the board so quickly his hand seemed to blur before her eyes.
Modern Romance May 2019: Books 5-8 Page 17