“Gee, great. Let’s talk more about that, please.”
His eyes narrowed. “You do not like to contemplate my past lovers? What if I told you that the woman who had a place in my bed before you is an Oscar winning actress? And before her, a famous singer? And before her, a supermodel. Before that, …”
“Stop.” She lifted a hand in the air; her fingers were shaking.
“Now imagine how I feel,” he said with an attempt at sounding reasonable. “These women are in my past. They are nothing to you and me. You need not feel jealous of them; I did not know you when I was with them. You have been here with me, and felt what I feel, and still you are going back to him.” He dragged a hand through his hair; it spiked in odd angles that made her tummy flop with love and desire.
But she couldn’t soften. It was a crucial moment. “And so you branded me like cattle?”
Remorse slashed through him once more. “Thinking of him touching you is going to kill me.”
Her breath burned and her chest heaved. “I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice shaking. “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”
“You are hurting us both with this decision.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
He stared at her; his emotions a tornado that was anchored by impotence.
“Do you love your husband?”
She sucked in a deep breath. Her expression was begging him to stop interrogating her. “I … I don’t know.” She said finally.
It wasn’t the denial he needed to hear, but nor was it an affirmative response.
“Do you love me?” He asked, standing from the bed now and crossing the distance. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her to his chest. She lifted her hands and curled them around his neck. Every part of her was hurting.
“I … I can’t,” she groaned. “I can’t. It turns out, I’m not a cheater. I wanted to be. I wanted to, so badly. But our marriage vows … they meant something to me.”
“You have cheated,” he groaned, his eyes devouring her face, wondering how he could feel such love at the same time as such desperation.
“Sex is just sex,” she said tightly. “I’ve come to think that emotional commitment is just as important…”
“Jesus Christ,” he barked crossly. “You are unbelievably childish.”
“Don’t,” she whispered, dipping her head against his chest.
“You are going to go to him, and let him tell you that it was ‘just sex’ with your best friend. And because he’s going to say that he loves you, you will make your peace with his behavior?”
“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “I just know I can’t say that I love you. I can’t say that this has been the most incredible week of my life. I can’t say that leaving you is going to kill a part of me, and that I know I’ll never recover.” She lifted her face to his. “I can’t say any of that, because I’m married. I have a husband. And whatever happens between him and me, I have got to respect our marriage enough to deal with it head on.”
“Like he did?” Thad demanded.
Her smile was filled with grief. “That’s the problem,” she said softly. “I thought that too. But it turns out, two wrongs really, really don’t make a right.”
“And one wrong can’t make a right either,” he insisted.
“No. But I know myself, Thaddeus. I won’t respect myself if I don’t respect our marriage.”
“God, you are crazy,” he said, grabbing her cheeks and lifting her face to his. He kissed her with all of the hope in his soul, but they both knew what it was.
A goodbye kiss.
The end was looming.
Only hours later, at the airport, surrounded by tourists, holiday-makers and corporate types going about their business, he grabbed her once more and pulled her to his body. He was wearing a suit now, and he was clean-shaven. He looked completely at odds with the man she’d fallen in love with.
Saphire looked different too. Dressed in the same Prada dress she’d worn on the flight over, she was gradually returning to her old self. Saphire Arana, Version One.
“This is a mistake,” he intoned warningly.
She could hardly meet his eyes. “Maybe.” Her lower lip quivered and he ached to pull it between his teeth. “But you know why I have to do it.”
“Bullshit.” His expression was implacable. “You want to do it.”
Saphire shrugged her slender shoulders. “I want to know. I need to know.”
“To know what?” He was impatient and furious.
“Everything. When did it begin? Was she his first? Did he love her? Does he love her?”
Wanting to know meant she cared, and that meant, surely, that she loved her husband. That she wanted to go back to him. It was a painful, bitter, choking pill to swallow. “And? If he tells you everything you want to hear?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“This is ridiculous.”
“I’m so sorry.” She lifted a hand to his chest but he stepped backwards.
“No.” It was a sudden and emphatic denouncement. “You can’t have it both ways. I’m not yours to touch anymore. No more kisses. No more. You have chosen, and you must stick with your choice.” His dark eyes bore into hers, as though in looking he might comprehend. But he didn’t. He spun on his heel and moved with the appearance of nonchalance through Athens airport, towards his own first class lounge.
Saphire stared until he’d disappeared through the doors. The whole way, she waited for him to turn back, or change his mind; but he did not. And why would he have?
He was right.
She had made her choice.
And now she had to live by it.
The flight to London was too smooth, and too fast. Every minute that passed installed further grief in her heart, as it reminded her that she was moving further away from him.
When they touched down at Heathrow, she was filled with a sense of deep misery, not helped by the cab’s slow journey through central London.
Eventually, though, it began to meander through streets that were familiar. Names that she remembered shone at her from buildings, and cafes she’d run to on slow weekend mornings came into view.
This was her life. She’d lived here happily. Before the affair. Before Thaddeus. She had lived here, and she had been happy.
She would be again.
* * *
“You sound awful.”
Thaddeus shook his head ruefully; a smile was too much to muster. He stared out over Paris, his eyes taking in the glistening Eiffel Tower, the magnificent Arc De’Triomphe and the golden glow of the low-rise buildings in the late evening.
“Thank you,” he drawled. The evening was warm and Thaddeus wore only a pair of cotton boxer shorts. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that Saphire would walk up to him and wrap her arms around his waist; press kisses to his naked skin, as she had done so often on the island.
“Seriously, man. What’s up?” Rocco, from his townhouse in Rome, frowned at the quality of desolation in his friend’s tone. “This isn’t about that woman is it?”
Thad grimaced. “Saphire is her name.”
“Right. Mrs Saphire Arana,” Rocco drawled cynically. “Your married lover.”
His lips formed a grim slash in his face. Of course it was about Saphire. She was all he could think of. “No. I have just had a hell of a day.”
“You might be able to fool most people with that, but I know you better. What is it?”
Thad shook his head.
“What happened with you two after I left, anyway?”
“Thee mou,” he snapped. “What do you think happened? She went back to her husband. As was her plan all along.”
Rocco let out a low whistle. “When?”
“A few days ago.” Was her back still bearing the mark of his initials? Was her heart thinking of him? Was her body craving his touch? Was she in hell, as he was? “When I came to Paris.”
“That was f
our days ago,” Rocco said slowly. “And?”
“And what?” Thaddeus’s sharp response did not invite further interrogation.
“Listen. You need to forget about her. Go out. Get wasted. Meet someone else. Put Saphire completely from your mind.”
Thad instantly recoiled from the idea. “That isn’t the solution,” he said slowly.
“So? What is?”
An excellent question, to which Thaddeus had no answer.
“Look, Thad. You just buried a man who raised you as his son. Your grandfather was an anchor point in your life and now he’s gone. You are not yourself. That’s the only reason this woman has been able to effect you in this manner.”
“Aristotle is not the reason I … came to care for Saphire. She is.”
“She lied to you. She used you. And she’s in love with someone else. You need to forget about her.”
Thaddeus knew his friend was right. He watched as, in the distance, the clock struck the hour and the tower began to sparkle and shine.
And all it did was make him wish Saphire was there with him, to see it.
How her eyes would have lit up at the spectacle.
But she was not with him. She was back in London; determined to stay married to a man who had never deserved her.
CHAPTER NINE
The building towered over the others, as it always had. From the day it was built, it had been intended to dwarf and belittle.
Saphire stood, hands planted on hips, and stared up at it. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, pocked by the occasional wisp of cloud and the unmistakable marks of passing aeroplanes. A late summer breeze rustled past, plastering her maxi dress to her legs. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, but instead of the salt and sunshine of Greece, she tasted London’s smog and streets on her tongue.
Her bright eyes blinked at the building once more and with a grimace of determination she began to move towards it slowly. Cars were zipping in both directions. She waited on the edge of the footpath, concentrating only on crossing the street.
One step at a time.
One step at a time and eventually this life might feel like hers again.
A gap formed and she moved with alacrity through it, skipping onto the opposing footpath and pausing yet again. Just long enough to draw in another breath, then she was off, moving towards the revolving doors.
A plane flew overhead right as she entered and Saphire paused, spinning sharply to stare up at it. Was it a Konstanides jet? She couldn’t tell from that distance, but she watched until it had passed completely out of sight, then shook her head.
What was Thad doing?
Unconsciously, her fingers reached for her shoulder, where the last of his wax marks were still visible.
It hadn’t even been a week.
Her gut clenched with the force of her memories, but she banked down on them.
It had been an aberration. She’d wanted to break free of her marriage, to hurt her husband as he had her, and instead she’d ruined everything. Most of all her own life.
Her heels made clicking noises against the tiles. She moved efficiently, jabbing a manicured finger into the upward button at the bank of stainless steel elevators. There was a slight delay before the doors swished open, revealing a small cubicle rounded by mirrors.
Saphire hardly recognized herself.
She lifted her fingers to her lips as she entered, then pushed her Gucci sunglasses high up on her head. Her hair was neat, pulled into a chignon. Her make up was impeccable, and she’d worn one of her favorite dresses from the previous year’s fashion week.
But there was a subtle shift in all of her features. A confidence and edginess that had never been there before.
With a moue of impatience, she pressed the button to the twentieth floor and pressed back against the wall.
Its ascent was swift; only seconds seemed to elapse before the doors swished open. “Morrison, McKenna & Male” was etched into a glass sign above the bank of receptionists in the center of the foyer. She pushed her nerves aside and walked with an air of assumed ease into the space.
“Mrs Arana,” the blonde receptionist murmured, her lips lifting with genuine pleasure. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. Congratulations.”
Saphire’s smile was unintentionally dismissive. “Thank you, Marjorie.” The woman was in her forties, and Saphire had always liked her. She’d worked at the firm for a long time.
“Now, who would you like to see today, m’dear? Your father or your husband?”
Saphire’s stomach was in knots. Which of them should she disappoint first? The man she’d believed she loved? Or the man who’d counseled her off this marriage?
“Jordan, thanks,” she murmured, the smile still pinned to her lips.
Marjorie consulted her computer, but another receptionist poked her head up. “He’s free. His meeting just cancelled a moment ago. Must have been the fates telling him you were coming instead.”
“Great,” Saphire expelled a breath of relief. Having made it this far she wasn’t sure she could handle putting the conversation off any longer. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he might have had plans.
“Go on through,” Marjorie grinned, watching with envy the slim figure of Mrs Arana as she swayed elegantly towards the tiled hallway.
Jordan’s office was, perhaps, more prestigious than it should have been. After all, he was not a partner in the firm yet, but as the son-in-law of one of the founding partners, there was evidently some nepotism in play.
Saphire didn’t bother to knock. She pushed into his office and caught him standing, staring down over the city. Her heart didn’t skip a beat, but she still felt a swirl of anguish.
“Saffy!” Jordan stalked across the office and stopped just short of his wife. “What the hell? When did you get back?” He put his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him. He smelled good; just as she remembered. But there was no answering crush of interest.
“Jordan.” She patted his back and then stepped out of the embrace as soon as she felt she could do so politely.
“Saffy, God. When did you get here?”
“A few days ago.” She cleared her throat.
“A few days ago? Jesus. Where have you been? Have you been home?”
Saphire lifted a finger to her temples and flashed him a distracted smile. She crossed to one of the elegant armchairs near the windows and took a seat. In the end, she hadn’t been able to face their home. She’d caught a cab towards it as soon as she’d arrived back in London. But as she’d stared at the place they’d lived together, her own heart had finally become clear to her. “I went to a hotel,” she spoke clearly and calmly.
“Why? Saff, I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.”
She bit down on her lip. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“But you knew how I’ve been. My God, you disappeared into thin air.” He moved across to kneel before her, his eyes scanning her face hungrily. His hair flopped forward over his brow; he was handsome. Very handsome. She could see why Anita had fallen for him. And surely she must have, to have taken the step of sleeping with her best friend’s husband.
“I needed to think, Jordan.”
He nodded, his hand solicitously placed on her knee. “And?”
She swallowed. This was it. The words she’d rehearsed again and again. “I want a divorce.”
Jordan flinched as though she’d slapped him. The flesh around his thin lips went white. She stared at it, fascinated that she could see some fine veins pulsing purple. “What?”
“A divorce.” Saphire licked her lower lip.
“Darling, you’re being extreme,” he laughed, shaking his head in that patronizing way of his.
“No,” she intoned flatly. “I’m being entirely reasonable.”
“Your feelings were hurt. You felt hurt. Wronged.” As she opened her mouth to interject he laughed again. “You had every right to feel that wa
y. I wish I could do something to take that away. I never could have imagined you’d find out in that way.”
Saphire pursed her lips. “I shouldn’t have found out at all.”
He frowned.
“There shouldn’t have been anything for me to find out.”
He nodded, belatedly comprehending. “Right, of course. Saffy, it’s over with Anita. It should never have begun. I love you.”
“No,” she smiled wistfully. “You don’t.”
“I love you,” he responded firmly.
“If you loved me you could never have hurt me like that.” She ignored her own dull, throbbing denial. After all, she loved Thaddeus, and yet she’d hurt him. Badly. “If you loved me, you would never have slept with my closest friend behind my back. If you loved me, you would never have treated me with such disrespect. You don’t love me. And maybe you never did.”
“How can you say that?” His expression was perfect; he looked, to all the world, like a truly wounded man. Only Saphire understood him so much better now. She knew what motivated him, and it wasn’t love. Nor was it loyalty.
“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “I don’t love you either. I can’t pinpoint when I started to fall out of love with you. But gradually, and a long while ago, I did. I don’t love you. I want a divorce.”
He stood up and paced across the room. Despite the earliness of the hour, he poured himself a measure of whiskey and threw it back.
“I won’t let you do this to me,” he said when he spun around.
She grimaced. “What did you think would happen? You must have known I wouldn’t put up with it.”
“You weren’t supposed to find out,” he blathered, spittle pooling in the corners of his lips.
“No,” she shook her head, and her laugh now was genuine. “But I did. And that was your mistake, not mine.”
“You were having lunch with your mother.”
“God, Jordan, it wasn’t the first time you slept with her. Presumably it wasn’t the last. If I hadn’t walked in on you, I would have found out soon enough another way. Secrets like that can never be kept. You’re a lawyer. You should know all this. No secret is perfect.”
Seasons of Sin: Misbehaving in summer and autumn... (Series of Sin) Page 10