Rumours Behind The Greek's Wedding (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Pippa Roscoe

  Having to explain to Annabelle what had happened nearly eviscerated him as his little sister’s eyes had welled, just like Célia’s, and she’d run away too. He’d known how she’d felt at that moment, wanting himself to hide and lick wounds yet again inflicted by his mother. Though these particular wounds had a sense of self-infliction he just couldn’t shake.

  So many times in the last three days, he’d wanted to reach out to Célia. Wanted to call her, to see her, but with his lawyers on damage limitation, Annabelle nearly heartbroken at Célia’s absence and the insecurity of the looming custody hearing, he barely found the time to eat, let alone sleep.

  He was exhausted. He’d not been back to his room since Célia had left. The scent she’d left on his pillows, in the air of the room, he wanted to both avoid it and hoard it at the same time.

  But it was more than that. He’d made his choice, that had been unquestionable. But living with it? Again and again he questioned how Célia had come to impact his life so much. Almost daily he wondered what she was wearing—if she had gone back to her beige T-shirt that he’d honestly give anything to see at that moment, or whether she’d continued to wear the beautiful bright clothing that brought out the colours of her eyes and hair. He wondered if she had spoken more with her mother, a reconciliation that he knew would be so healing for her. He missed the simple touches that passed between them as much as the deep passion that drove them to impossible sensual heights, a thirst that he had not come close to quenching.

  More than all those things, though, he missed the way she would question him, challenge him to be better, to do more, to think his actions through. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing. Epically. Especially when it came to Annabelle.

  He wanted her to tell him how to fix it. She had always seemed to know.

  He heard the patter of Annabelle’s bare feet on the marble staircase and waited until her pyjama-clad little self came into view.

  Frowning at the clock, which read eleven-thirty, he turned. ‘Everything okay, Nanny?’

  Her little hands twisted in front of her, her eyes bruised by lack of sleep.

  ‘Is Célia a bad person?’

  Shock sliced through him and he had to bite out the demand for her to explain, forcing himself to think through the words Célia might have said in that moment.

  ‘Why would you think that?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

  ‘Mummy said she did a bad thing and that’s why she had to go away.’

  Every primal instinct to deny, to vent the sudden and shocking fury he felt, roared through him.

  ‘No, sweetheart. She didn’t do a bad thing. She...invented something that people used for bad things, but no. Absolutely not. Célia isn’t bad at all.’

  ‘Then, can you tell Mummy that so Célia can come back?’

  Loukis forced a smile to his features. ‘I...’ He was about to explain that he had told Meredith, that he had defended Célia, when he realised that he hadn’t. There had been no defence of Célia, not in the court and not since. Something twisted in his belly then. Something acidic and harsh and painful.

  ‘You’re right, Annabelle. I should do that. But I’m not sure that it would bring Célia back.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Meredith doesn’t want Célia to live with me while you’re here. And sadly the judge might agree.’

  ‘Then I... I think I should go and live with Mummy.’

  ‘Is that something you want to do?’ he asked, his voice level and compassionate even as everything in him trembled and shook.

  Annabelle frowned. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘But then Célia could come back.’

  ‘Why would you want that?’

  ‘Because you are sad without her. And I don’t want you to be sad.’

  ‘But wouldn’t you be sad, living with Meredith?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’d be okay.’

  Loukis cursed silently. How could a ten-year-old contain such stoicism? More than he ever had even five years older when Meredith had walked out on him and his father. And that thought brought a startling revelation. He was teaching his little sister, at ten years old, exactly the same lesson that their mother had taught him.

  That love had a price. Annabelle was making her own bargain with him. His happiness for hers. And that devastated him. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t allow this cycle to continue. No matter the cost to himself. But in order to break that cycle, he would have to risk everything.

  He opened his arms to her and Annabelle threw herself into his embrace.

  ‘So, how was it?’ Ella’s voice fed into her ear from where the phone was cradled between her shoulder and head as Célia pushed the plunger down on the cafetière.

  She had rejected a video call, knowing that her friend would be horrified at the way Célia looked in that moment. She sighed.

  ‘Weird, awkward, painful, but kind of okay.’

  ‘Well, the kind of okay bit is good?’ she asked, rather than stated, probing for more than Célia was capable of providing.

  Célia had just got back from lunch with her parents. Both of them. Her father had aged so much in the last five years, she had been shocked. Shocked that the salt and pepper hair had transformed to a pure brilliant white. Shocked at how the lines on his face had increased in the time she had missed. Shocked that he had been so contrite, when—at the time—he had resolutely ignored any and all attempts to discuss the repurposing of her designs.

  From words she’d been forced to read between, she realised that in his own way he had been hiding from the effects of his actions. A man wholeheartedly used to making quick, determined decisions about his company, he’d not quite been ready to interrogate the motives behind them.

  It still hurt. That her father couldn’t admit that he’d been wrong. Still awkward and distant in his feelings, he couldn’t offer her the words of love and reassurance that she so desperately needed to hear. But if she wanted to be loved for who she was, she could hardly demand perfection from him. She too had to find love in imperfection, whether with her father, or herself. And that realisation had been the first step. In confronting the past she was so ashamed of. And in that bittersweet painful moment, she realised that she could no longer be bound by it. That she needed to live her life and stop hiding—as she had once accused Loukis of doing.

  She poured the coffee into a mug and crossed the room of her Parisian apartment and curled up on her sofa, the phone still cradled between her shoulder and ear the way her hands now cradled the steaming cup of goodness.

  ‘It is,’ she said, finally answering Ella’s half-question.

  ‘Have you heard from him?’

  Célia didn’t have the energy to muster ignorance as to whom Ella was referring. ‘No. But I didn’t expect to,’ she replied around the lump in her throat. ‘Anyway, tell me about your gorgeous little one. How is Tatiana?’

  ‘Teething.’

  Célia groaned in sympathy. ‘And Roman?’

  ‘Loving everything about parenting. I’m lucky if I can get a look-in.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s just making up for the time he’s away with work.’

  ‘It’s him I can’t get a look-in with,’ Ella replied quickly with a beautiful laugh. ‘Tatiana only has eyes for him. For me, she has dirty nappies!’

  Célia smiled, even as her heart broke. She’d have been lying to herself if she denied that she had hoped that perhaps her future could follow a similar path to her best friend’s and to one day find that same happiness with Loukis.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t come down to Puycalvel? Roman would send the jet in a heartbeat.’

  ‘That’s okay. Honestly. Yalena has returned the signed contracts and there is plenty of work to do now. It’s certainly enough to keep me busy.’

  ‘Life doesn’t have to be all work
, you know,’ Ella chided, unconsciously cutting at Célia’s heart. Because work was all she felt she had left now.

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ she mused, noncommittally.

  Célia heard a mewl in the background. One that was beginning to become insistent. ‘You should go, Ella. I’ll be fine. Promise.’

  As she disconnected the call and placed her phone down on the table, the sapphire ring glinted in the dim light of what was quickly becoming a very late evening. She twisted the ring with her thumb, not in the least ready to remove it. It meant too much to her. The moment when she had felt finally seen by someone. Accepted. She threw her head back against the plush pillow resting against the arm of her sofa, growling at herself.

  She had to let him go. She knew that. But she wouldn’t deny the things he had brought to her. Never would she have known the feeling of empowerment resulting from being desired for who she was. Never would she have approached such an incredible client as Yalena, found a sense of pride in her work through that relationship. Never would she have reached out to her mother to ask her to arrange a lunch with her father if she had not met Loukis. If she had not realised that people made mistakes, sometimes not entirely their own fault. That love could be felt and wanted, despite events that shaped wishes into other things. Just as she loved and wanted Loukis, despite knowing her actions had brought about their separation. And though he was no longer going to be a part of her life, he had left behind those fundamental changes within her. Even as her heart ached, she felt transformed by him.

  Glorious scent-laden steam wafted up from the cup of coffee. For the last three days, Célia had desperately tried to stave off sleep for as long as possible. Because at night, the dreams came. Memories mixed with fantasies, as Loukis kissed and caressed his way through the sleeping hours, leaving her to wake with tears on her eyelashes as she realised he was no longer a part of her life.

  Her phone pinged with a message she would have ignored had it not been from an unknown number.

  Leaning forward over the cup, she read the text.

  can you call .me cherry

  A spike of adrenaline sliced through her so quickly, it took her a moment to decipher the unpunctuated message.

  She grabbed for the phone, immediately worried that Annabelle was in some kind of trouble, uncaring of the way she had slammed her cup on the table or the spill of dark caffeinated stain soaking into the plush white rug on the floor.

  The moment the call rang through, Célia demanded to know if Annabelle was okay.

  ‘Yes. No. Well, yes,’ came the somewhat confusing reply. ‘I am,’ she concluded, perhaps realising how scared Célia had been in that moment.

  Célia expelled a giant lungful of air and leaned back against the pillow again.

  ‘Well, ma chérie, what can I do for you?’ she said, somehow wrangling her voice under control, even as her pulse began a slow descent to normality.

  Please don’t talk about Loukis. Please.

  Célia honestly didn’t think she could bear it. But she was desperate to find out what happened with the court case after she had left. Had they awarded Loukis guardianship? Or had the damage been irretrievable? She drew her thumb to her mouth and bit at the nail to prevent all the questions from falling onto the shoulders of a ten-year-old girl.

  ‘Can you come to Greece?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry, ma chérie, it’s nearly midnight here. There are no flights. And even then, I’m not sure—’

  ‘It’s just that the judge is deciding the custurdy thing on Wednesday. I really need you there.’

  ‘It hasn’t been...?’ She cut herself off. Clearly the court case hadn’t been finalised yet, but it would the day after tomorrow. ‘I don’t really think I should be there, Annabelle.’

  ‘But you have to be. You have to.’

  Célia’s heart ached more than ever.

  ‘Because Loukis will be on one bench and Mummy on the other and no one will be with me.’

  Célia felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes at the mournful voice through the phone.

  ‘Does Loukis know you’re asking me?’

  ‘No. It’s a surprise!’

  Not one she could imagine Loukis being happy with.

  ‘Please don’t tell him that you’re coming. It will ruin it. Please, Cici. Please? Pinkie promise? I need you there. With me.’

  As Célia made her way up the stairs of the court building she looked around furtively, hoping that she wouldn’t run into anyone. The feeling was ridiculous, considering she was about to return to the courtroom itself where everyone would see her.

  She hadn’t had the strength to refuse Annabelle. If it had been for anyone else, she would have found it somewhere.

  ‘I need you there. With me.’

  It had been too much. She defied anyone to turn down the pleas of a ten-year-old girl. She pushed through the heavy swinging circular door and followed the familiar hallway towards the chamber where Annabelle’s future was to be decided. Where Loukis’s future would be decided too. A future that she had, albeit accidentally, put at risk.

  She had already decided that if he asked her to leave, she’d go. She’d go and never come back. But Annabelle’s call had lifted a lid on Célia’s hopes and all the hurt and fear that came with them. She needed to know what was going to happen today.

  She looked up to find Annabelle standing outside the chamber, half hanging on the large wooden door, her other arm frantically beckoning her forward as if Célia was about to miss something.

  Her reluctant steps picking up speed at Annabelle’s urgency, she barely had time to say hello before the little girl had grabbed her hand and led her into the courtroom. She looked up fearfully at the table where Loukis and his lawyers sat. Only the suited men she recognised from the previous court attendance turned round. Far from the way they had looked at her before—as if she were a bomb that had detonated their case—they nodded, faces grim with protocol and severity, but without censure. The judge, mid-sentence, barely acknowledged the interruption, while Meredith and her lawyers seemed gleefully outraged. Byron, on the other hand, looked strangely miserable and deeply unhappy. Reluctantly her gaze was drawn to the broad outline of Loukis’s shoulders, stiff and immovable as if he were refusing even to register her attendance. He must have known, she realised, otherwise he would have turned. He would have wanted to know who had entered the court.

  ‘I’ve already told them,’ Annabelle said in a not-so-quiet whisper the way only a child could get away with. ‘I’ve done my bit.’

  ‘Your bit?’ Célia asked, in a much more quiet tone. ‘I thought you wanted me here for that? Am I late? You said ten-thirty?’ Célia’s voice gained a trace of panic as she realised that she had somehow let Annabelle down again.

  ‘No. You’re just in time.’

  ‘Your Honour?’

  Loukis’s voice, rough and deep, as if he too had had many a sleepless night.

  ‘I understand that it is time for my final statement, and, although it is an unusual one, I have a request.’

  When the judge gestured for him to continue he said, ‘I would like to call Célia d’Argent back to the stand to clarify some aspects of her statement.’

  The whispers started between the lawyers, Meredith clearly unhappy with the new development, and Célia absolutely terrified. What on earth was Loukis doing? Was he planning to engineer a way to place all the blame at her feet? Was that the only way he could hope to win guardianship? If so, she could not blame him and would willingly do whatever it took to help.

  Annabelle was smiling at her, pushing her forward and letting go of her hand. It was that loss that Célia felt most keenly. Unable to meet anyone’s gaze, she kept her eyes on the floor as she approached the chair beside the judge. She feared that the moment she locked eyes with Loukis she might c
ry and that wouldn’t help anyone. But when she looked up, rather than seeing hatred or vengeance in his eyes, she saw...something she couldn’t hope to put a name to.

  ‘Célia, thank you for coming today.’

  She tried to keep the frown from her face, as it sounded as if he had known that she would be here. A quick glance at Annabelle’s beaming face seemed to suggest that her plan was going winningly. A plan that was—contrary to her assurance—not some great surprise to Loukis.

  ‘Five years ago, when you were working on the technical specifications for a drone tracking system, what were your hopes?’

  ‘I’m not sure what you—’

  ‘What was the intended use?’

  Célia could give him this. She could see that he was trying to resolve the implications made the last time she was here. Felt somehow soothed by the fact that he was giving her the chance to explain. Even if it was too late.

  ‘To help improve the tracking and data management of agricultural drones in drought-affected areas.’

  ‘Areas such as...’

  ‘Parts of Africa, Australia, areas in Pakistan...there are many places in the world that are drought-affected and that number is only increasing with global warming.’

  ‘And you had no intention of that technology being used by the defence industry.’

  ‘No. It was coursework for my degree but I had been using some of the equipment and time at my internship at Paquet.’

  ‘And as such it was considered to come under their intellectual property disclosure.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In fact, the use of the designs caused you great emotional stress?’

  Célia bit the inside of her cheek before responding.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I... It just did,’ Célia replied, not quite sure what he wanted from her.

  ‘In fact, it severely damaged your relationship with your father whom you were estranged from for nearly five years, it led you to leave a promising future in computer sciences and...it made you doubt yourself.’