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His mouth pressed tightly. ‘I was not jesting, believe me. Cosmo Dimistris can forget all about poaching my mistress from me!’
Vanessa’s hands clenched. ‘Markos—please. Don’t even say that word. Not even about a creep like him.’ She shuddered again. ‘Mistress.’ There was revulsion in her voice.
Markos stepped forward, his hand going around the nape of her neck. He tilted her face up to him with his other hand and dropped a light kiss on her mouth.
‘No man’s mistress but mine,’ he said reassuringly, as he let her go again.
But Vanessa was still upset, even after this comforting gesture.
‘No, please—don’t use that word. It’s so horrible. I know you’re just trying to make a joke of it, but—’
‘A joke?’ There was a blank note in his voice.
Vanessa gazed up at him, her expression confused. ‘Well, yes, of course it’s a joke…saying I’m your mistress…’
Markos dropped his hand. ‘You think it a joke to be my mistress?’ His expression was suddenly taut.
The confusion deepened in Vanessa’s eyes. ‘I—I don’t understand.’
‘What do you not understand? You’ve been my mistress for half a year, and in all that time you—’
She jerked back.
Staring up at him.
Disbelieving.
‘Markos—don’t say that. Please.’ Her voice was faint suddenly.
The planes of his face were still taut, but now the expression in his eyes had changed to blankness.
‘Don’t say what? Vanessa, you are not making sense.’
‘Mistress.’ Her voice was fainter still. ‘You keep saying mistress. It’s a joke, isn’t it, Markos? Just a joke. Saying that to me? Calling me that?’
Her eyes were huge in her face. In her chest, she could feel her heart rate quicken, anxiety build. Something was going wrong here—she was getting it wrong. She had to be! Markos spoke such superb English she sometimes forgot he was half-Greek. Maybe she was confusing him.
He was still gazing at her blankly.
‘I repeat,’ he said, and she could hear the edge underlying his words as he spelt them out. ‘Why do you think being my mistress is a joke?’
Vanessa shut her eyes, then opened them. She had to explain. He’d got hold of completely the wrong end of the stick.
‘No—you don’t understand.
I mean, I know you are just using the word “mistress” as a joke, but I just… I just don’t see it as funny, Markos. I’m sorry. It’s such a repellent thought—’
His face had stilled.
‘You think it repellent to be my mistress?’ The anger was there now, unhidden.
And suddenly, with a ghastly sick realisation, Vanessa realised that it was not Markos who did not understand her—but she who did not understand him.
Oh, God, he means it. He really means it. He’s not joking, he’s not making fun of the word—he means it.
She heard herself speak, still in that same faint voice.
‘You mean it, don’t you? When you say mistress you mean it.’
