They’d married in the small church on Sidiro two weeks after they’d declared themselves to each other. A month after that, Helena had come off the pill. They’d both been thrilled when she’d fallen pregnant a month later. They’d both been confounded when, four months after Freya’s birth, Helena had discovered she was pregnant again.
As she thought of Freya, she quickly scanned for her mother, who was on babysitting duty that day, and found her chatting, Freya on her hip, with her mother’s oldest sister. Her mother had come to stay in Agon when Freya was born and had never gone back. Seeing her daughter in a marriage of equals, with love and laughter always in abundance, had been all it took for her to see that the misery of her life would never change if she didn’t do something about it. Having since installed her in the guest wing of their new home, Theo and Helena were in the process of building her mother a home of her own, designed by Helena, close to their summer house.
Helena’s father continued to live in his city home. He employed a full-time housekeeper to look after him. The irony that her husband now paid someone to do the job she’d been forced to do for free was not lost on her mother. He’d met baby Freya only once. When he’d learned Helena planned to open her own architectural practice and would work from home, sharing an office with Theo—they’d made adjustments to the original design to include a vast office space for the pair of them to share—he’d pulled Theo aside and given him advice on the best ways to neutralise Helena’s wanton need for independence. Theo had laughed in his face.
Takis appeared, followed by four strapping young men, all carefully dragging a draped six-foot sculpture on a wheeled pallet. Another three men dragged a plinth on another pallet.
All the guests stopped chatting to watch.
Theo had placed one of the marble benches Takis had made in the vine section of their garden. The men placed the plinth next to it then they raised the other pallet to slide the draped sculpture onto it.
When they were done, Theo winked at her before striding to it. At the same moment, the staff they’d hired for the day—Natassa and Elli were too much like family to them not to be at the party as guests—spread amongst the guests with trays of champagne.
Helena accepted an alcohol-free sparkling wine while wondering what her devious husband had been up to behind her back. This had never been part of the script they’d planned for the day.
Theo called for everyone’s attention.
‘Thank you all for coming and for the excellent gifts you have given us. We will treasure them.’ Now he looked straight at Helena.
She held her breath.
‘The person I most want to thank is my wife. You all know I worship the ground she walks on...’ a peal of laughter and much nodding of heads ‘...and I thought it fitting that in this garden she created there should be a monument for me to worship her if ever I lose her for five minutes.’
Another peal of knowing laughter.
Theo nodded at Takis.
Takis pulled the sheet.
There was a collective gasp. The loudest came from Helena.
The statue was identical to the statue of Artemis in the Agon Palace gardens she’d sat beside when she’d first met Theo. But this Artemis had Helena’s face.
Tentatively, she placed a hand to it, felt the smooth, cold marble beneath the pads of her fingers.
‘What do you think?’ Theo whispered, sidling up behind her.
‘That you’re a sneaky, gorgeous devil and that I love you. It’s wonderful.’
‘It felt fitting. Like it brings us full circle.’
She turned to wrap her arms around him. ‘Thank you. I love it. I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
She gazed up at him. ‘Do you know what I think?’
He shook his head.
‘That if Artemis had met you, she would have forgone her vow never to marry too.’
His eyes gleamed. He smiled. And then he kissed her.
Coming next month
THE SECRET KEPT FROM THE KING
Clare Connelly
‘No.’ He held onto her wrist as though he could tell she was about to run from the room. ‘Stop.’
Her eyes lifted to his and she jerked on her wrist so she could lift her fingers to her eyes and brush away her tears. Panic was filling her, panic and disbelief at the mess she found herself in.
‘How is this upsetting to you?’ he asked more gently, pressing his hands to her shoulders, stroking his thumbs over her collarbone. ‘We agreed at the hotel that we could only have two nights together, and you were fine with that. I’m offering you three months, on exactly those same terms, and you’re acting as though I’ve asked you to parade naked through the streets of Shajarah.’
‘You’re ashamed of me,’ she said simply. ‘In New York we were two people who wanted to be together. What you’re proposing turns me into your possession.’
He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘The money I will give you is beside the point.’
More tears sparkled on her lashes. ‘Not to me it’s not.’
‘Then don’t take the money,’ he said, urgently. ‘Come to the RKH and be my lover because you want to be with me.’
‘I can’t.’ Tears fell freely down her face now. ‘I need that money. I need it.’
A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘So have both.’
‘No, you don’t understand.’
She was a live wire of panic but she had to tell him, so that he understood why his offer was so revolting to her. She pulled away from him, pacing towards the windows, looking out on this city she loved. The trees at Bryant Park whistled in the fall breeze and she watched them for a moment, remembering the first time she’d seen them. She’d been a little girl, five, maybe six, and her dad had been performing at the restaurant on the fringes of the park. She’d worn her Very Best dress, and, despite the heat, she’d worn tights that were so uncomfortable she could vividly remember that feeling now. But the park had been beautiful and her dad’s music had, as always, filled her heart with pleasure and joy.
Sariq was behind her now, she felt him, but didn’t turn to look at him.
‘I’m glad you were so honest with me today.’ Her voice was hollow. ‘It makes it easier for me, in a way, because I know exactly how you feel, how you see me, and what you want from me.’ Her voice was hollow, completely devoid of emotion when she had a thousand throbbing inside her.loz
He said nothing. He didn’t try to deny it. Good. Just as she’d said, it was easier when things were black and white.
‘I don’t want money so I can attend the Juilliard, Your Highness.’ It pleased her to use his title, to use that as a point of difference, to put a line between them that neither of them could cross.
Silence. Heavy, loaded with questions. And finally, ‘Then what do you need such a sum for?’
She bit down on her lip, her tummy squeezing tight. ‘I’m pregnant. And you’re the father.’
Continue reading
THE SECRET KEPT FROM THE KING
Clare Connelly
Available next month
Copyright ©2020 by Clare Connelly
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His Greek Wedding Night Debt (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 17