by Julia James
She was looking blank. Totally blank.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
Anatole’s hand pressed hers. ‘What if,’ he said, ‘that husband—that father figure—were me?’
For a timeless moment she simply stared at him with huge, blank eyes. Then, with a jolt, she moved away, pulling her hands free from his. They felt cold without his covering clasp, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she say what was searing through her head.
‘That’s insane!’
Anatole gave a quick shake of his head. He had expected that reaction. It was, after all, exactly the reaction he’d had himself when the notion had first inserted itself into his brain yesterday, as he sought for ways to sort out the infernally complicated situation he was in.
‘Not insane—logical.’ He held up a hand. ‘Listen to me—hear me out.’ He took a breath, his eyes going absently to Georgy, who was still, he was glad to see, totally absorbed with chewing on his beloved set of keys while avidly watching the toddlers tottering about on the park’s play equipment.
‘This is what I propose,’ he said, turning his gaze back to Lyn.
She had gone white as a sheet, with the same stark expression in her face he had seen yesterday. It did not flatter her, he found himself thinking. But he brushed that aside. Her looks were not important right now. What was important was getting her to see the world his way—as fast as he possibly could.
‘If we were to marry, it would solve all our problems in one stroke. For the authorities here it would dispose of their objection to you being a single mother, as yet unable to support a child financially. Moreover, in addition to your being Georgy’s maternal aunt, the fact that you would be marrying someone who’s the closest thing to Georgy’s uncle as can be has to be compelling! And finally—’ his voice was dry now ‘—there would be absolutely no question about my ability to support a family financially!’
She was still staring at him as if he were mad. ‘But you’re a complete stranger! I only met you yesterday!’
And you are about as far removed from anyone I am likely to marry as it is possible to be!
That was the consciousness that was burning in her most fiercely, making her feel hot and cold at the same time, overriding all that he had been saying about the logic behind his insane idea!
Anatole gave a shrug. ‘All married couples were strangers once,’ he pointed out. There was still a sense of disbelief within him. Was he really saying this to the girl sitting beside him? Seriously talking about marrying her?
Yet the logic was irrefutable! It was the most effective way of achieving what had to be achieved—getting Marcos’s son out to Greece, to be raised as Timon’s heir.
‘Think about it,’ he urged. ‘I’ll give you time—obviously! —but I beg you to give it serious consideration.’
As he looked at her he thought, privately, that right now she couldn’t give serious consideration to anything short of a tornado heading for her—she was still staring at him totally blankly.
‘I can’t possibly marry you! It’s...it’s just the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard!’ Her voice was high-pitched with shock.
‘It isn’t absurd—’ he began.
‘Yes, it is! It’s completely absurd—and...and...’
She couldn’t go on, was bereft of speech, and he took ruthless advantage of her floundering.
‘The purpose of our marriage would be solely to ensure Georgy’s future,’ he said. ‘Once that has been achieved, then...’ he took a breath, never taking his eyes from her ‘...then there will be no need for it to exist.’
She blinked. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘This is what I envisage,’ Anatole explained. ‘Marriage between us will surely secure Georgy’s adoption—we are the closest living relatives he has—but once he has been adopted then there will be no compelling reason why we have to stay married. We can get divorced.’ His expression changed. ‘Provided Georgy continues to be raised in Greece.’
‘Why is that so important?’ she asked.
‘Timon will insist,’ he answered. He paused a moment. ‘Timon will make Georgy his heir. He will inherit the Petranakos Corporation when Timon dies—just as Marcos would have done, had he lived.’
Lyn frowned. ‘But you are his grandson too,’ she said. ‘Why won’t you inherit?’
Anatole gave a quick negating shake of his head. ‘I am Timon’s daughter’s son—I am not a Petranakos. I have my own inheritance from my late father and I do not,’ he emphasised, ‘seek Georgy’s. What I do seek—’ he took a scissoring breath ‘—are the powers required to run Petranakos until Georgy’s majority.’ His eyes rested on Lyn. ‘I do not need to tell you how very grave the economic situation is in Greece at the moment. Unemployment is rife and causing considerable distress. The situation at Petranakos is...difficult. And it has become more so since Timon’s illness. Worse, when Marcos was killed Timon decided to make a distant Petranakos cousin his heir—a man who, quite frankly, couldn’t run a bath, let alone a multi-million-euro business in a highly precarious economy! If he inherits,’ Anatole said flatly, ‘he’ll run it in to the ground and thousands will lose their jobs! I will not stand by and watch that happen!’
He took another breath and kept his eyes on Lyn, willing her to understand what was driving him. ‘I know exactly what I need to do to get it on track again and safeguard all the jobs it provides. But for that to happen Timon will insist that Georgy grows up in Greece.’
She heard the steel in his voice, the determination. Yet that did not change her reaction to what had to be the most absurd, insane suggestion she’d ever heard in her life! Even if he was wishing they could divorce later...
She opened her mouth to say so, but he was still speaking.
‘You can see just why a marriage between us makes sense! Not only does it keep the adoption authorities happy, but it keeps Timon happy too! He will know that Marcos’s son will be raised in Greece, under my guardianship, once his days are gone.’
And that, Anatole knew, would be exactly what Timon would want. He would expect Anatole to take care of Marcos’s son, raise him as his own.
That is what I want, too!
The realisation hit him as his eyes went once again to the diminutive figure in the buggy. Emotion welled through Anatole. Of course he would look after Marcos’s son—there was no question that he would not! He had known of his existence such a short time, known the tiny bundle for even less, but already that tiny bundle had seized upon his heart. He would never abandon him—never. That was an indelible certainty now.
Whatever it took to make certain of it!
Whatever...
‘It’s still impossible! Completely impossible!’
Her voice, still high-pitched and strained, made him twist his head back round to her. She saw his expression change. Something about it sent a shaft of fear spearing through her.
He spoke quietly, but there was a quality to that quietness that made her tense—something about the way his veiled eyes were resting on her. ‘Please understand that if we cannot agree on this, then...’ he paused a moment, then said what he knew he must say to her, to make it clear that he was set on this course. ‘Then I will put in an application to adopt Georgy myself, as his closest, most suitable relative on his father’s side.’
He had said it. And it had on her the impact he’d known it must. She paled again, her skin taut and white over her cheekbones.
He pressed on relentlessly. ‘Do you really want to take the risk that my claim to Georgy may supersede yours, despite my only being his second cousin, not his mother’s sister, as you are?’
She seemed to shrink away from him, and the flash of fear in her eyes was the strongest yet. He could see her face working, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap.
&
nbsp; He covered them again with his own. Set his gaze on her. ‘It doesn’t have to be like that—truly it does not. I do not want confrontation or conflict. I want you to trust me—trust me that what I am suggesting, that we solve this situation by agreeing to marry, is the best way forward.’
She was still shrinking away from him, her expression still fearful.
‘I need you to trust me,’ he said again.
She could feel his gaze pouring into her, willing her to accept what he was saying. But how could she? How could she possibly accept it?
He’ll try and adopt Georgy himself! He’ll use the pots of money he’s got—that Georgy’s great-grandfather’s got—and throw it at lawyers and judges and just go on and on and on...
And it was not just his money that would give him the power to take Georgy from her...
Fear coursed through her again—so familiar—so terrifying.
She gave a little cry, jumping to her feet, pulling free of the clasp that was so warm and strong on her hand.
‘I don’t want this! I don’t want any of this! I just want to go back to the way it was!’
He got to his feet too. A sigh escaped him. He understood her reaction.
‘I, too, wish we could go back,’ he said quietly, but now the quietness was different. It was threaded with sombre emotion. ‘I wish I could go back to before Timon was diagnosed with terminal cancer, to before he gave that lethal car to Marcos, to before Marcos smashed himself to pieces in it. But I can’t go back. And neither can you. All we can do...’ his eyes sought to convey the ineluctable truth ‘...is go forward as best we can.’
His eyes went to Georgy. Softened. Then back to Lyn, standing there trembling in every line of her body.
‘And the best that we want is for Georgy.’
Right on cue Marcos’s baby son seemed to hear himself addressed and turned his head enquiringly. Anatole went over and hunkered down to pay him attention. Lyn stood, looking down at them both. Emotion was churning in her over and over, like a washing machine inside her.
Anatole glanced up at her. He could see how overwrought she was. It was time to lighten the atmosphere.
‘Come,’ he said, holding out a hand towards her. ‘We have had enough heavy stuff for the moment. Let’s take a break from it. Tell me,’ he asked, glancing towards the swings and slides, ‘can Georgy go on any of those yet?’
She nodded, swallowing. ‘He likes the slide, but you have to hold him—don’t let him go!’ she said.
‘Great,’ said Anatole.
He unfastened the safety belt of the buggy and drew Georgy out. Georgy gave a crow of excitement. Lyn stood watching them interact—Anatole talking to him in what she realised must be Greek. A little pang went through her. Georgy was as much Greek as he was English. Could she truly deny him all that his father’s family could offer him?
He will be the heir to a fortune.
She might not care, but wouldn’t Georgy want that inheritance when he grew up? Wouldn’t he want to be part of his Greek heritage as well?
Yet what Anatole Telonidis had just proposed was absurd—no one could say otherwise, no one at all!
A chill crept through her. Except if she did not agree to that absurdity then he had made it very clear—ruthlessly clear—that he would seek to adopt Georgy himself.
Fear knifed her. I can’t lose Georgy—I can’t!
The cry—so familiar, so desperate—sounded in her head, her heart.
She watched Anatole carry Georgy over to the slide, hold him on the slippery surface halfway up and then whoosh him down to the end, to Georgy’s patent delight. He repeated the whole process over and over again, and she heard his words resonate in her head. She could not go back to the way it had been when it was just Georgy and her. That was over now—over. All she could do was go forward. Forward into a future that seemed frighteningly uncertain. Full of risks of losing Georgy for ever.
I have to do whatever I can to prevent that—whatever I can to safeguard him, keep him with me. I have to do whatever it takes.
And if that meant taking the most insane, most absurd decision of her life then she would have to do it...
‘If...’ Lyn began slowly. ‘If we...go ahead...with what you said...then...’ She tried to make herself stop talking so hesitantly, but couldn’t. ‘How long do you think—um—before we could—well—divorce?’
‘It depends,’ said Anatole. He’d lifted Georgy off the slide and returned to sit next to Lyn, keeping hold of Georgy. It felt good to have the weight of his solid little body perched on his knees. He’d presented Georgy with his favourite plastic keys, and the little hands shot them straight to his mouth to start chewing on them enthusiastically.
He felt his heart clutch, thinking of the tragedy that had befallen his wayward, headstrong young cousin, who had not deserved to die so young, so brutally. Leaving his helpless child behind.
But his son has me now—me to care for him—to guard his interests, ensure his future.
‘On what?’
Lyn’s thin voice dispersed his memory, his vehement thoughts. He took a breath, focusing on what she’d said, this woman he’d met only the day before whom he was now telling he wanted to marry.
And then divorce again as soon as possible.
‘Well, I guess whatever is the minimum time needed, really. I’m not sure what the law is—or if it’s different in Greece from here. Obviously the adoption has to go through first, since that’s the whole reason for getting married.’
Lyn frowned. ‘I think there are laws about not getting married...well, artificially. You know—the law says it has to be a genuine marriage.’ She swallowed uneasily.
Anatole did not seem fazed. ‘Well, it will be, won’t it? We will genuinely get married in order to provide security for our orphaned relative. I don’t see any problem with that.’
The problem, thought Lyn wildly, was in the very idea of her marrying Anatole Telonidis at all! She swallowed again. ‘When...when would it actually happen? The—um—wedding?’
‘Ah...’ he answered. ‘Well, again, I believe there are legal timescales—and, again, I don’t know what the law is here on how soon a couple can marry.’ His eyes moved to her and held hers. ‘The thing is, we will need to marry in Greece. Timon,’ he said, ‘is not well enough to travel.’
‘Greece...’ echoed Lyn, her voice hollow.
Anatole’s mouth quirked, and Lyn felt that little pulse go through her, as it had when she had first seen humour lighten his face.
‘You speak of my country as though it were the far side of the moon,’ he said wryly.
‘I—I’ve never been there,’ she answered.
‘Then you are in for a pleasant surprise. My grandfather lives outside Athens, within commuting distance, on the coast. His villa is at the shoreline, with its own beach, where Marcos and I used to play as children when we visited our grandfather. What I suggest is that you and I make our base not in the main villa—which is massive and very old-fashioned—but in the beach house, which is much more manageable and also goes straight out onto the sand beyond the terrace. It will be ideal for Georgy.’
His voice had warmed and Lyn tried to sound appreciative. ‘That would be nice...’ she said.
Nice—the word echoed in Anatole’s head. Yes, Timon’s palatial villa with its luxuriously appointed beach house set in extensive private gardens would indeed be ‘nice’ for someone whose current accommodation was a cramped, dingy furnished flat in a hideous sixties concrete block...
‘Does that reassure you?’ he asked.
No! she wanted to shout. No. Absolutely nothing about this insane idea reassures me!
But what was the point of saying that? Of course the idea was insane and absurd and outrageous—but Anatole Telonidis was taking it seriously. Talking about
it as if it were really going to happen.
Am I really going to go through with this? Go through with marriage to a man I never knew existed forty-eight hours ago?
A man she was a million miles removed from—a man who lived in the distant stratosphere of the rich, while she was an impecunious student struggling along the breadline.
It wasn’t as if she were like Lindy, she thought bitterly. Lindy with her lovely blonde hair, her blue eyes and curvaceous figure. No wonder she’d drawn the philandering eye of Marcos Petranakos when she’d lived in London. If Lyn had possessed Lindy’s looks she wouldn’t feel so abysmally awkward, sitting here talking about something as intimate as marriage to a man like Anatole Telonidis.
But it won’t be ‘intimate’ will it? she castigated herself roundly. If it’s absurd and insane to think of marrying him, it’s beyond either to think of anything at all beyond the merest formality. It will be a marriage in name only, solely and simply for the purpose of safeguarding Georgy.
She and Anatole would be presenting a united front to convince the adoption authorities that they were the best possible parents for him. And if they didn’t present a united front...if Anatole applied for Georgy entirely on his own...
Fear stabbed at her. If that happened then he would inevitably discover what she must not let him find out...
Must not!
‘Lyn?’
His deep, accented voice interrupted her troubled emotions. She jerked her head up and felt the impact of his gaze, felt the flurry in her veins that came as his eyes rested on her, his look enquiring.
‘Are we agreed?’ he asked. ‘Have I convinced you that this is the very best possible step for us to take?’
She bit her lip. She wanted time—time to think, to focus! But how would that help? The longer she delayed, prevaricated, the more likely it was that Anatole Telonidis would get impatient and set his lawyers to the task of making a formal application to adopt Georgy himself.
She took a breath, ragged and uneven. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘OK, I’ll do it.’