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The discovery—which had at first overwhelmed her—had made her realise over again just how miraculous it was that Markos should have chosen her to be with him.
He could have any woman he wants—but he wants me.
It was a warm glow around her heart.
But it brought its difficulties, all the same. The rich, she had swiftly discovered, really were different. They saw life not as ordinary people saw it, and treated others differently from themselves. Markos was never rude to anyone, yet there was, Vanessa had swiftly become aware, an intransigence about him. What he wanted, he got. Not by demands, or petulance, or bad behaviour. He got it because…well, because he was Markos Makarios. People did what he wanted. Staff, servants—everyone.
Even her.
Unease skittered through her mind. No, she did what Markos wanted because she wanted to do what he wanted. How could she possibly want to do anything else? She loved him, adored him; he was everything to her—everything! She would walk over broken glass for him. Not that he would ever ask her to.
Now, as his brows drew together, evincing displeasure at the very thought that she might not have enjoyed being a model, she knew that he would never subject her to something she did not want. Entirely the opposite! He had showered her with his largesse, lavishing his wealth on her. And far, far more than his wealth.
Himself.
That was what melted her heart, warmed her like a living flame. That he spent his time with her, took her with him wherever he went, showing her all the wonderful far-away places she’d only ever dreamt of, kept her at his side by day and by night, except when work took him away as it must, inevitably, when he was running half of a business empire as vast as the Makarios Corporation.
‘We run it between us, Leo and I,’ Markos had told her, when she had first realised just what his true circumstances were. ‘His father—my uncle—is dead, and mine is retired now, so Leo and I have it to ourselves so far as executive power is concerned.’
‘Don’t you ever argue?’ she had asked, half curious, half teasing.
Markos had shrugged, humour pulling at his mouth.
‘Oh, big cousin Leo likes to think he gets his own way, but I see him off when I have to.’
When she had met Leo she had seen that the relationship between them worked well. Though cut from similar cloth—both with scarily sharp business minds, both as rich as each other—Markos had the cooler head, Leo was swifter to anger. Markos was more calculating, Leo more impulsive. True, Leo liked to make Markos recognise his place as the younger of the two, but he also, she could see, had both respect and fondness for him.
A frown crossed her brow. Leo had spent the evening of the launch gala with one of the models—Anna—clamped to his side. Anna hadn’t seemed very happy about it, but then she wasn’t very happy about the shoot anyway. Vanessa wasn’t surprised—Anna had clashed with the horrible photographer, who had done nothing but shout at them all day.
Now, with Markos asking her if she had enjoyed it, she could—knowing it was finally all over—be honest.
‘Not really,’ she confessed. ‘I don’t think it’s my thing, really—modelling.’
‘You looked fantastic.’
‘It’s harder work than you think,’ Vanessa answered. ‘I hadn’t realised what a strain it would be. I know you think it’s just posing in gorgeous clothes, wearing fabulous necklaces and things, but you get so tired. And Signor Embrutti was very demanding. He was rather unpleasant, actually.’
Markos’s expression was thunderous. ‘To you? You should have walked out. Come and told me.’
‘No! Honestly, it was fine. If anything he was less horrible to me than any of the other girls. Because everyone knows that you and I—’ She fell silent again.
Markos nodded. ‘That is as well,’ he said grimly, and reached for her hand. She squeezed his fingers, seeking to lighten the atmosphere, glancing out for inspiration over the darkening snow-covered landscape they were driving through.
‘When did you learn to ski?’ she asked.
‘God knows,’ he replied, easing back in the seat. ‘My mother skiied and she took me wherever she went, so I suppose I was pretty young.’
‘Did she teach you?’ Vanessa’s face broke into a smile, seeing a miniature Markos lovingly helped to ski by a doting mother. It was a rare glimpse of the man behind the lover.
‘No, she hired instructors.’
His face shuttered. The last thing his mother would have bothered with was teaching him to ski. Not only had she been too busy with her lover du jour up in a mountain lodge somewhere private, but the only reason she had lugged her son around with her everywhere had been to make sure she kept him safely. He was, after all, her prime asset, and he had to be kept secure.
Vanessa saw his expression close and changed the subject, knowing she must not feel snubbed. Markos never talked about his family—except for his cousin Leo—and she respected his privacy. After all, he did not talk to her about her family. When he had swept her off with him she had simply told him that her parents had died when she was young, and that the grandparents who had raised her had both died, so she was a free agent. He had only smiled glintingly down at her, said ‘Not any more, Vanessa,’ and kissed her, deeply and possessively, taking her mind very effectively off anything other than himself—and the wonderful, magical implications of what he had just said to her.
Now, casting about for something innocuous to say, she asked, ‘Is that the Dorf below the castle? I can see lights through the trees.’
Markos glanced ou
