It just hadn’t seemed real then.
It was very real now, though.
She and Achilles were in his penthouse apartment near Hyde Park in London—he didn’t spend a lot of time at Thornhaven, telling her that he was a busy man and being close to his office in the city was preferable. But she knew it wasn’t all about being busy.
He just didn’t like being at Thornhaven, which, given what he’d told her about his upbringing after they’d got back from Greece, she could definitely understand. The old house had very bad memories for him, so no wonder he didn’t want to be there, and letting those memories go was obviously a struggle. But it did make her question once again why he wanted to keep it so badly. Wanted to so much that he’d married her and now was going to bring a child into the world just so it was his.
But then, it wasn’t really about Thornhaven, was it? It was about his brother. About his own neglected childhood. About the pain that she’d hoped to ease in him and yet it seemed as if she hadn’t. Of course, that kind of wound wasn’t going to magically get better with a bit of conversation and sex, she understood that. It would take time to heal. Time and care.
Time she didn’t have. Because now she was pregnant, their marriage would be over. That was what she’d agreed to on the plane from Greece. They would be together until their child was conceived and no longer.
No.
Sudden tears filled her eyes, a bone-deep denial echoing throughout her entire body.
The past four weeks with him had been magical. Just being with him had been magical. During the day he went to work while she was left to her own devices, applying for places at some of her preferred universities, then exploring some of London’s beautiful gardens and galleries. At night, when he came home, he would take her out to dinner to fabulous restaurants, where they had a wonderful time in each other’s company, before ending up back in bed in the penthouse, their clothes torn off and on the floor more often than not.
It was perfect and she didn’t want it to end.
And now all she could think about was how much more perfect it would be if it was just them, and their child. Together.
A real marriage. A real family.
Her heart pulled tight and then something expanded inside her, a ripple of light, a pure, glittering thread.
She knew what it was. It had been sitting there on the edges of her consciousness, just waiting for her to notice, though she’d tried so hard not to.
She couldn’t ignore it any more though.
The ripple of light spun harder, filling her, and for a moment Willow resisted, afraid of the intensity, afraid of the depth and strength of the emotion that tugged at her. But she wasn’t the Willow so afraid of her own emotions that she tried not to feel anything at all. She wasn’t that Willow any more.
She was Diana. The huntress. A warrior and a goddess, who was perfect the way she was, and so she let the light spill through her, become her, burning away her fear, filling up her hungry soul with joy and happiness and strength.
She hadn’t thought she wanted love, but here it was. It had found her.
Love for Achilles and his passion. Achilles and his strength, his calm. His arms, his touch, the anchor that kept her from being battered by the storms.
Achilles, and the child she now carried. His child.
She blinked back the tears, but there was no stopping them, the stick blurring on the vanity in front of her. It was pointless to resist. There was no escape. No trying to tell herself she didn’t want it, that she didn’t need it.
She did want it and she did need it. She needed it with every fibre of her being.
And their child needed it too.
Would Achilles love this small life as she would? Or had this child ever only been a means to an end? Would their son or daughter grow up knowing that the only reason for their existence was a stipulation in a will? Would they find out somehow that they hadn’t been wanted? That an inheritance and a university degree were more important than they were?
Willow’s hand crept down to her stomach, her palm pressed there as if to protect the life growing inside her from the harshness of her thoughts.
No. No.
A fierce feeling of protectiveness filled her, a certainty that went down to the bedrock of her soul.
Their child would not grow up neglected and hurt the way its parents had been. It would not feel the pain of not being accepted, of being ignored. It would not know what it was like to be unwanted, and she would make sure of that with everything in her.
She’d always thought she wouldn’t make a good mother, but the intensity of the emotion in her heart now made her realise that her doubt didn’t matter. Neither did her fear.
It was love that was the important part. And it was love that would guide her.
Warm arms snaked suddenly around her waist and she was pulled back against a hard, hot male body. His lips brushed the side of her neck, his breath warm on her skin, and she shivered. ‘There you are, Diana,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The limo is due to arrive in about...’ He stopped, his blue gaze meeting hers in the mirror, sharpening. ‘You’re upset. What’s wrong?’ There was a note of concern and tenderness in his voice that made her whole soul ache in a way it hadn’t before.
Did he feel the same light inside him? He’d never spoken of love beyond that one warning he’d given her, that whatever was between them had to remain purely physical.
But that had been before their honeymoon. Before the four weeks of magic they’d created between them.
He frowned, his gaze searching her face. ‘What is it, chriso mou? You’ve gone pale.’
Willow turned around and looked up at him.
He had his tux on for the gala he was taking her to, his black bow tie undone and hanging around his neck. His white shirt was open at the neck, exposing the golden skin of his throat.
The stark black and white of his evening attire highlighted his wide shoulders and strong chest, the dramatic masculine beauty of his face. His eyes were that dark, midnight blue she’d come to love so much.
Yes. Love.
She loved him.
But your marriage will end.
Did it have to, though? Couldn’t they go on with what they were doing? They were a family now, and their marriage might as well be a real one, given she and Achilles were already living together. So...why not?
Her heart was full, pushing against her breastbone, and she couldn’t speak. Doubt swirled in her head, but she ignored it. This was about more than her fear and what she wanted. This was about what was best for their child.
So she picked up the stick sitting on the vanity and showed him.
Achilles went very still, his gaze zeroing in on the stick. Then he murmured something emphatic under his breath and he shifted his attention from the stick to her. His eyes glowed with something fierce and hot, a possessive kind of look that had the bright, silvery feeling inside her shining. Then he cupped her face between his hands and kissed her hard and long and deep.
Every part of her thrilled to it. To the satisfaction in that kiss and the possession, the fierce taste of his triumph.
Yes. He wants this too.
Achilles lifted his head, his eyes glowing, his beautiful mouth curving in a smile of triumph, and she knew it was true. He wanted this as badly as she did.
‘My Diana,’ he murmured, nudging her gently up against the vanity. ‘I can’t think of a more incredible woman than you.’
She put her hands on his chest, smiling up at him, breathless with the most intense happiness. ‘It wasn’t all me. You had a part in it as well.’
‘It’s true, I did.’ His hands ran down her sides lightly. She wore a golden gown in preparation for the gala that he’d handpicked himself. It was a close-fitting sheath that left her shoulders and arms bare, while the
deep vee of the neckline made the most of her décolletage.
‘In that case we are both amazing.’ He kissed her again, hungrier this time. ‘This is exactly what I wanted, chriso mou, exactly.’
A family with him. Happiness...
She leaned against his strong chest, loving the heat of him against her. ‘I...know we agreed to be together just until the child is conceived, but...’ She hesitated a moment, looking up into his eyes. ‘We could stay together.’
He frowned a little. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean...perhaps we could stay being married.’ She smoothed the white cotton of his shirt over the hard, muscled plane of his chest. ‘We could continue living together, being together. We could even raise our child together.’ She swallowed. ‘We could be a family.’
There was a moment’s intense silence and Willow knew instantly she’d said the wrong thing.
‘Why?’ The word was flat, an iron bar. ‘Why would you want that?’
Her hands firmed on his chest as she tried not to respond to the cold note in his voice. ‘Well, wouldn’t that be best for the child? To have both parents?’
Some of the tension had gone out of him, though the smile he gave her was forced. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s true.’
‘It is, and besides, what if this child is a girl? Would you want to stop trying for a boy?’
‘No.’ Something hot and fierce glowed in his eyes. ‘You really want to stay being my wife, Willow?’
‘Yes. Of course I want that.’
He stared at her, his expression suddenly intense and even fiercer. ‘A family,’ he murmured, as if half to himself. ‘Yes, why not? Dad would have hated that.’
And just like that, the bright light inside her dimmed.
Because it wasn’t desire for her or for their child that ran through the centre of him, she could sense it in the tension in his muscles, see it in the taut lines of his face.
It was anger. Which meant the past still had him in its grip.
That wound is deeper than you can heal.
No, it was deep, no question. But it wasn’t mortal. And she already knew it was going to take time. She could help him with that, she was sure of it.
‘Please don’t agree just to spite your parents,’ she said quietly.
The glow in his eyes focused sharply on her. ‘What? What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you should have a family because you want one. Because you want a wife and a child. Because you love them.’ Her mouth had suddenly gone dry, but she made herself say it. ‘A family isn’t about gaining an inheritance or getting revenge, Achilles. A family is about love. Or do you want your children to have the same childhood you had?’
She was pushing him, she knew it. And perhaps she’d pushed too far, because the expression on his face shut down and let her go, stepping back.
Her heart shrivelled in her chest at the cold look on his face, her fingers curling around the warmth of his body still lingering on her palms. And she wanted to go to him, tell him she didn’t mean to push, that if he didn’t want a family then they wouldn’t, that as long she could keep being with him she didn’t care...
‘Are you ready?’ His tone was courteous, but she could hear the iron in it. He didn’t want to talk about this. ‘The limo will be here any moment.’
An ache crept slowly through her. Because this was familiar, the distance in his voice and the cold, hard edge to the words. He sounded exactly like her father, putting her from him as if her emotion offended him.
You shouldn’t have said anything.
The ache deepened, part of her wanting to be quiet, to contain herself, do what she’d done all her life and keep herself in check. Yet there was another part, the protective, passionate part, that was urging her to fight for what she wanted, because this was important. It wasn’t just about her now, but their child.
And after all, this was Achilles. Who liked her anger and her intensity. Who’d told her that she was a beautiful storm. So why not push him? Why not challenge him? So very few people did...
‘Is that it, then?’ she demanded, not tempering herself this time. ‘Is this how it’s going to be? Whenever we have a discussion about what’s killing you, you walk away?’
His eyes had gone so cold, his expression a mask, but she went on, ‘And what will you tell our child when they want to know how we met? That you married me and conceived them for an inheritance? That they were only ever wanted as a way to get back at your long-dead family?’
Achilles said nothing. He turned his back on her and headed straight for the door.
But that bright thread inside her was hot and it burned, and she wasn’t afraid of it, not any more. Not when she had nothing left to lose.
It was a lifeline and so she threw it to him.
‘I want you, Achilles,’ she said. ‘I want to be your wife. I want you to be the father of my children. And I want a family and a life with you, and not because of some stupid will, but because I love you.’
Achilles stilled in the doorway, conscious of his heart giving a strange jolting leap just as it froze solid in his chest
Love. She loved him.
Shock filtered through him. He hadn’t thought about love, not for one single second. Love was never supposed to be part of this and, because he hadn’t thought of it, some part of him had assumed that she wouldn’t either.
He was wrong though, and maybe, on reflection, he should have known this would happen. That she was too passionate a woman not to let her feelings become involved. Then again, he had no reason to think she would love him, not when no one else ever had.
You always wanted it though. You’re desperate for it.
Ice swept through him, his breath catching, a deep pain unfurling inside him, but he shut it down before it could take hold.
No. He didn’t need it. He didn’t want it. The last time he’d been that desperate he’d been sixteen and his father had told him that he had nothing left to give him. And in that moment Achilles had felt something in his own heart flicker and go out, leaving a void inside him.
It had been a blessing, that void. Because if he didn’t feel anything, then there was no pain, and he was sick of pain. Sick of hope. Sick of everything that love brought with it.
He’d been glad that it had gone, and he was in no hurry to reignite that flame.
‘You shouldn’t have said that.’ His voice sounded cold, and he made no attempt to soften it.
‘Why not?’ Hers, by contrast, was hot, the fire at the core of her blazing in every word. ‘Why shouldn’t I love you?’
She stood by the vanity in her golden gown. She hadn’t got completely ready; her hair was still loose in a wild tangle down her back, and she hadn’t yet put her make-up on.
Her eyes glowed like jewels, her vivid, expressive face filled with something light and somehow defiant.
His golden goddess, blazing with strength.
Something flickered inside him, but he crushed it. Suffocated it.
She’s offering you everything you always wanted.
Yes, it was true. His beautiful wife was pregnant with his child and now she was in love with him...
But he couldn’t take her. He couldn’t close that distance between them.
Because now he understood. Now he knew exactly what his father must have felt the night Achilles had confronted him, telling him that he had a son who was alive and who needed him. And Andrew Templeton must have felt this same void where his heart should have been. This same emptiness, right down deep at the core of him.
He had nothing to give her, which meant he couldn’t take what she was giving him. If he did, he’d be no better than his father, taking love and never being touched by it. Never giving anything back. Taking it all until Achilles’ heart was just as empty and barren as his father’s had been.
He couldn’t do that to Willow. Not to his beautiful Diana. And not to his child, either.
‘You can’t love me, because I have nothing to give you, Willow.’ He tried to sound level. ‘I don’t love you.’
Another woman would perhaps have collapsed in floods of tears, or run from the room. Or turned her back on him and pretended nothing was wrong.
Women had all done that to him at various stages.
But Willow did none of those things.
She stepped away from the vanity and strode up to him, the material of her gown shimmering in the light. The look on her face blazed with something fierce, and a deep part of him gloried in how magnificent she was in this moment, even as another part killed that feeling stone dead.
‘I don’t think that’s true.’ There was a fierce note in her voice, a certainty that somehow worked its way inside him, making him ache. ‘I think you’re lying.’
The ache met the emptiness at the heart of him and died.
‘Why would I lie?’ He stared at her, let her catch a glimpse of the void. ‘I told you that this was only physical. You should have believed me.’
Her gaze searched his, pain glittering in her eyes. ‘It’s not me you’re lying to though, is it? It’s yourself.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you believe you don’t love me. I think you believe you don’t love what we have, and this baby we conceived. I think you’re telling yourself that you feel nothing, when in fact it’s the opposite. You feel everything.’ Her hand lifted and cupped his cheek and he almost flinched. ‘I love you and I want to give you that love. And so will our child. We could—’
He’d taken her wrist in his before he could think straight, pulling her hand away, her touch burning like embers against his cold skin. ‘Don’t,’ he ground out as an inexplicable pain flickered through him. ‘Don’t touch me.’
She didn’t move, her gaze blazing into his. Demanding. Challenging. ‘Talk to me. Tell me why you don’t want this, Achilles. Tell me why you don’t want me when I know you do. When I can see it every time you touch me, every time you’re inside me. You look at me like you want something from me and I think I know what it is now. I think you want love.’ She flung out her hands. ‘Well, here it is. Take it. Or perhaps I’ll just give it to you instead. I’ll give it all to you.’
The World's Most Notorious Greek (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 15