Greek Tycoon, Wayward Wife

by Sabrina Philips

  After only half an hour of wandering between the enormous, characterless, whitewashed villas that comprised the new town, Libby came to the decision that it was far too generic to warrant inclusion on any tour, and went back in the direction from which she’d come. She spent the rest of the morning in and out of a tiny museum that had been set up by a few of the locals who were keen to profit in a small way from the few tourists who ventured down the coast. The lady working there, who turned out to be a dear friend of Eurycleia’s, was a mine of information, pointing out all the local sites of historical interest and keenly offering ideas when Libby suggested she might be interested in securing accommodation for small groups.

  After taking lunch at the taverna across the street, where she sampled some delicious sea bream that had been caught by the local fishermen that morning, Libby decided to head back to the house, filled with enthusiasm for plotting out a potential itinerary based on what she’d discovered so far. Until she passed the amphitheatre, and was reminded that running any such tour would involve being virtually on his doorstep. It made her stomach roll so unpleasantly that she was almost tempted to report back to Kate that the whole of Metameikos was unsuitable for tours.

  But that feeling will pass once you’re divorced—once you’ve forced him to regret trying to control you like this, she reassured herself as she reached the house and let herself in through the back door, ignoring the army of doubts that sprang up in response.

  ‘Where have you been?’ He was hunched forward on a stool at the breakfast bar when she entered the kitchen, eating bruschetta with one hand whilst tapping away on his laptop with the other, but he stopped both and fixed condemning eyes on her the second she entered.

  ‘Oh, you know—here and there,’ she said waspishly, wanting to feel glad that his anger meant she’d successfully pushed him one step closer to signing the divorce papers, but feeling the opposite.

  ‘You don’t think I deserve to know your whereabouts?’

  ‘You haven’t cared about my whereabouts for the last five years.’

  ‘Things are different now.’

  No, they weren’t. He hadn’t suddenly started caring. All he meant was that now where she was and what she did reflected on him. ‘Perhaps you should have checked that I agree with you on that.’

  ‘I rather thought a basic code of conduct was implicit.’

  ‘Did you?’ she said scathingly, sucking air between her teeth and tapping her forefinger against her chin. ‘Oh, dear. So you mean that you were gambling on my code of conduct coinciding with yours? I really think we ought to have compared notes first. But if we must do it retrospectively, let’s see… There was that gorgeous young waiter this morning, and I just presumed that it was okay to—’

  ‘Don’t play games with me, Libby,’ he growled, instantly reaching out his hand to encircle her wrist.

  The sheer eroticism of his thumb on her pulse-point made her bravado falter. ‘I only popped out to do some research for work.’

  The tension in Rion’s shoulders eased marginally. When he’d woken up and found her gone he’d thought—he didn’t know what he’d thought. That she’d left him again, he supposed, or that she was out making plans to. ‘Then perhaps if you’re going to be popping out in future it would be courteous if you could let me know where you’re going—or at the very least how I can contact you if I needed to find out.’

  ‘You’re asking me for my phone number?’

  ‘Do you usually reserve it for men you’re not married to?’

  Libby was ready with a curt response and a fake number, but his words stopped her in her tracks. No, she didn’t usually give out her number full-stop, because she didn’t like the thought of anyone keeping tabs on her the way her parents always had. But for the first time ever Libby suddenly considered how sad that was. Yes, in the intervening years she had achieved the independence she’d always craved, but the result was that no one ever knew where she was going unless it was detailed in an itinerary. And, whilst there was a sense of freedom in that, it also screamed loneliness. If she went missing, who would notice? A tour group of people she’d never met before?

  ‘Okay,’ she mumbled. ‘Seems reasonable.’

  As he whipped out his mobile and she began to list the digits, Libby tried not to think about the we’re each other’s next of kin, but we don’t even know each other’s phone numbers argument she’d levelled at him as a reason why they should get a divorce two days ago. If she did, she’d be forced to admit that, even though she had every reason to be certain that excluding him from her life completely was the right thing to do, she seemed to be encouraging him to waltz back into it.

  When he’d finished punching in her number he swiftly replaced his phone in his pocket, took his plate to the draining board and shut down his laptop.

  ‘I have a meeting this afternoon,’ he said, flicking a glance at his watch. ‘I’ll be back around five.’

  ‘Oh? What kind of meeting?’

  The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement as he slid on his dark suit jacket and ran a hand down his tie—far, far too sexily. ‘For someone who considers it an intrusion for her husband to question her whereabouts, you have an awful lot of interest.’ He raised one eyebrow provocatively.

  ‘I’m just a little surprised. I presumed you’d demand my presence at every event even remotely connected to your campaign.’

  ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to know that, save for the Mayor’s pre-election party next week, I don’t require you to do anything other than remain here, gracing the marital home.’ He nodded to the sun terrace, slipped on his shoes and opened the front door. ‘I dare say you won’t find it too much of a hardship. See you later.’

  In a moment of impulsive anger, Libby grabbed one of Eurycleia’s biscuits from the plate on the side and threw it after him, but he shut the door so quickly behind himself that it didn’t connect with anything other than the wood, breaking into a trillion pieces and falling in a shower of crumbs to the floor.

  So, she thought acrimoniously as she stomped over to sweep up the mess, full of guilt that Eurycleia’s baking had taken the brunt of her anger, not only was he using her, but he’d become a blatant misogynist as well. He didn’t want a woman with a brain who might actually aid his campaign. He just wanted a walking, talking cliché. No wonder he’d sent Eurycleia away—after all, why did he need a housekeeper when he had a wife ‘gracing the marital home’?

  Well, she thought, her eyes scanning the kitchen and finding his laptop, if this morning hadn’t convinced him that she wasn’t prepared to play any such role, then this afternoon would. Quickly she turned it on and ran a search for ‘public meeting, Orion Delikaris, Metameikos’. The results immediately threw up the details of the town hall she’d passed that morning, and a start time of two-thirty. Perfect.

  It was two thirty-three when Libby turned the corner of the street and saw Rion’s Bugatti parked outside the town hall. Which was pretty good going, considering she’d only left the house at ten past, and had been on foot during the hottest part of the day. She pinched her top at the neck and fanned it to create a cool column of air down her body, took a moment to catch her breath, then stepped inside.

  The hall was filled with a large cross-section of people. There were fishermen who must have finished the early-morning trawl and come up from the docks, elderly men with backgammon boards tucked under their arms, women with babies strapped to their chests, and a group of students she presumed must be from the somewhat dilapidated college she’d spotted on the other side of the old town that morning. Perceptive, Libby thought as more people filed in behind her, to choose the time just before siesta, when everyone was walking past on their way home.

  ‘Welcome, and thank you for coming.’

  Libby heard his voice at the front of the room and stood up on tiptoes, trying to find a gap between the heads.

  ‘The aim of this meeting is to explain the main improvements we plan to make to Metameikos if we�
�re successful in the forthcoming elections. However, first and foremost, we want this afternoon to be a no-holds-barred opportunity for you to ask questions of us.’

  There was a murmur of surprise from the crowd, as if such an invitation was unheard of, but, as Libby finally found a direct eyeline to the low stage, she was almost too mesmerised to notice. Because all of a sudden she realised that her husband was the embodiment of the phrase ‘natural-born leader’. She’d never really thought of him that way before, but now he was up there he looked so commanding, so confident and so capable, that even she felt an instinctive need to follow him.

  She silenced her inner floozy, which whispered, Yes, straight to bed. Because, whilst she couldn’t go on pretending that she wasn’t attracted to him, when had she ever been turned on by what boiled down to a display of power, arrogance and control? Since it was accompanied by a look which said he was willing to do anything for the good of these people, she supposed. But then looking that way was what politicians were best at, wasn’t it?

  ‘I didn’t realise you were coming,’ a voice behind her whispered, suddenly interrupting her thoughts. She turned to see a stylishly dressed young man, hand outstretched. ‘I’m Stephanos, one of Rion’s press officers.’

  Libby shook his hand warily, wondering how on earth he knew who she was.

  ‘You were snapped together outside the theatre last night,’ he said, reading her puzzled expression. ‘It made the front page of the Metameikos Tribune this morning.’

  Libby sighed. ‘Then I guess today is a good day for you.’

  He raised his eyebrows towards the stage. ‘It has the potential to get even better. Come with me?’

  For a ridiculous moment she wondered whether Rion had spotted her in the crowd and sent him down to get her. Until it occurred to her that not only was it unfeasible that he’d seen her, or had the chance to do anything about it, but that if he had he probably would have dispatched someone to send her home.

  Stephanos had obviously just noticed her and recognised an opportunity to make use of her. And, although part of the reason why she was here was to protest against being used, the opportunity to defy Rion’s instructions and prove that his colleague clearly didn’t share his chauvinistic opinion that she should be ‘gracing the marital home’ was too tempting to resist.

  She nodded. ‘Sure.’

  Stephanos led her to the side of the crowd and along the edge of the room, whilst Rion launched into an explanation of his plans for a new hospital. His speech was flawless—or at least it was until they were a few metres away from the stage, when she heard him hesitate mid-sentence.

  Libby knew instantly that their movements had caught his attention. She raised her head, and was met by a look of horrified disapproval which momentarily rooted her to the spot. But then, just as quickly, he looked away and continued speaking, his composure seemingly unaffected after all. Blinking to check she hadn’t imagined it, Libby saw that Stephanos had forged ahead and was beckoning for her to follow him up some discreet steps at the edge of the stage. Still dazed, she caught up with him at the top, where he quickly grabbed an extra chair out of nowhere, added it the semi-circle of people seated behind Rion, and signalled for her to join them.

  As Rion began the second half of his speech he sensed her sit down behind him, and felt the tendrils of dread begin to snake around his heart. He’d worked so hard for this: the one remaining goal he was yet to fulfil. Now, thanks to his fixation on proving to her that he had become a success, that she was still as hot for him as he was for her, she was about to condemn him to failure. To lose him the one chance he had to put right everything that was still so wrong here. How foolish he’d been to suppose that two weeks of luxury and a shot at what she wanted would be enough to keep her mouth shut. Now he thought about it, it was obvious; of course she’d seize the opportunity to ruin him. The prospect of a man like him holding any position of power was bound to appall her.

  Rion gritted his teeth, praying he could transmit a telepathic command to Stephanos to get her off the stage. Now. He understood why he’d brought her up here: since she’d turned up of her own accord it would avoid any negative speculation as to why she was in the crowd and not by his side. But what Stephanos didn’t realise was that they’d have more than just speculation to worry about if someone directed a question at her or if she decided to open her mouth.

  But Rion, it seemed, was not capable of telepathy, because, whilst he could see Stephanos at the very edge of the stage, the only movement he was making was with his mouth, silently repeating Start the questions.

  Reluctantly, Rion wrapped up his explanation of how the affordable housing scheme would work. ‘So now it’s over to you. Who has a question for me?’

  ‘Or for one of us,’ his recently demoted campaign manager, who’d always been keen to push the team approach, chipped in.

  Rion pasted on a smile which didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Of course—or for the team.’

  ‘I have a question.’ A middle-aged man at the front of the crowd raised his hand, and Rion signalled for him to go on. ‘You say there’ll be a new hospital, and five hundred new houses that the likes of us’ll be able to afford, but after that how do we know that the rest of Metameikos won’t become like it is up there?’ He motioned in the general direction of the new town amidst murmurs of agreement.

  ‘How indeed?’ another male voice—sly and deeply unpleasant—piped up from further back in the crowd.

  Libby leaned slightly to the right and saw immediately that the owner of the voice was the grubby-looking man who had been standing with Spyros and his wife last night.

  ‘For wasn’t Delikaris Experiences’ last project an exclusive block of apartments?’

  There were renewed mutterings from the crowd, this time of concern.

  ‘Indeed it was,’ Rion said with calm assurance. ‘And, whilst I consider my business endeavours entirely separate from what I hope to achieve in Metameikos, since you have asked I will gladly explain why that was.’

  Spyros’s man looked triumphant, but only for a second. Rion continued. ‘Athens is the best location from which to run Delikaris Experiences. A capital city is always best for business, and,’ he said with a proud curl of his lips, ‘why would I choose anywhere other than the capital of Greece? However, it’s also a very expensive place to live. In order that I might help my employees I bought a block of apartments which had fallen into disrepair and had the whole building renovated—far more cheaply than if each apartment had been bought and refurbished individually. It allowed me to offer them to my staff to buy or to rent at a very reasonable price, if they so chose.’

  Spyros’s man looked incensed that his question had backfired—until he seized upon a counter-argument. ‘Because you do not pay your staff enough for them to be able to afford a home on the open market, Mr Delikaris?’

  ‘No, Stamos, because I believe people deserve a break. So to answer your question, sir—’he returned his attention to the man at the front ‘—I believe luxury has its place, but I’m no fonder of the idea of Metameikos becoming a sea of over-priced holiday homes than you are. Once I’ve built five hundred affordable homes, I promise you I will endeavour to build five hundred more. After all, I’m sure your children would like to be able to buy homes of their own one day too.’

  The man nodded earnestly, and the murmurs of the crowd became more approving, until Stamos interrupted once again.

  ‘Oh, yes, we learned yesterday that, contrary to widespread opinion, you’re the ultimate family man. This is your wife, is it not?’ He pointed at Libby.

  There was no gasp of surprise. It seemed the news had travelled fast. Instead there was a sea of awkward yet curious glances, as though Stamos had asked an inappropriate question, but one to which everyone wanted to know the answer.

  She took a deep breath, wishing she could see the expression on Rion’s face instead of the back of his head. But the composure in his voice suggested it would be giving no m
ore away than it ever did.

  ‘Indeed. My wife and I have been apart for some time, but I’m delighted to say that’s no longer the case.’ He turned to look at her fleetingly, before nodding as if to invite more questions. Preferably not about the woman he hadn’t wanted at this meeting in the first place, she thought glibly.

  ‘And was it your husband’s heart-warming policies that drew you back to him just in time for his election campaign?’ Stamos said archly, directing his question at her.

  Rion’s head turned sharply towards the edge of the stage, anger flaring in his eyes, but Stephanos shot him a warning look which said It will do more harm than good if we throw him out. When he turned to face the front again he saw to his horror that Libby had stepped forward to take the microphone.

  ‘No,’ she said, and heard him draw in a sharp breath behind her.

  It was tempting to blurt out the truth, but the thought of it made her lungs fill with the guilt that had been rising ever since last night. And suddenly she wondered whether if she bit her tongue at this moment, when she had the chance to ruin him, he might see that she was sorry for the pain she had caused him, whether it might make him reconsider whether she really deserved to be used in this way.

  ‘No. Actually, I wasn’t aware of my husband’s decision to run in this election until…very recently. It was my career which led me back to Athens, where we were reunited.’