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Her gaze upon the other woman’s immaculately made up, thirty-something face was limpid.
At her side, she could hear Theo clear his throat suddenly. She almost frowned. That couldn’t possibly have been a smothered laugh, could it?
Then he was intervening, his voice smooth and emollient.
‘Christina—Victoria, as I’m sure you know, is Aristides Fournatos’s niece.’
The other woman smiled. It was her turn for a shot now, and she took aim pointedly.
‘Of course—and I’m sure you will both allow me to congratulate you on an excellent match. Fournatos and Theakis—a formidable commercial combination. And now, my dear Theo,’ she went on, having relegated her lover’s marriage to nothing more than a corporate merger, ‘you must tell me when you will be free for lunch. I need your business acumen in selecting the best investment of my divorce settlement.’ She reverted to Greek, once more cutting out Vicky.
Vicky could feel her muscles tense again. If the woman was talking investments in that slinky voice she’d eat her nonexistent hat! She stood there, a fixed, doggedly polite smile on her face, sipping at her glass of wine, until with a final throaty laugh Christina Poussos reached up, brushed her mouth agains
t Theo’s, and glided off again.
‘Until Friday, then, Theo darling,’ she murmured, in a Parthian shot that found its mark dead on Vicky, whose fingers suddenly tightened around the stem of her wineglass.
Forcibly she made herself relax them. She didn’t care squat what Theo got up to with Christina Poussos. Or anyone else.
Deliberately she raised her wineglass and took a larger mouthful than usual.
I don’t care. I don’t care squat.
Not even microsquat…
And why should she? She hadn’t even wanted to marry Theo Theakis, so of course she didn’t give squat about him carrying on with any women. She just didn’t particularly want to know about it, that was all.
Brightly, she turned to Theo, fuelled by the wine inside her.
‘Sorry about making that bitchy remark about her age. A bit of a low shot. I do hope I didn’t hurt her feelings.’
Theo’s dark gaze swept over her before answering. She pinned the bright look to her face with sustained effort.
‘I’d say she got her own back quite easily, wouldn’t you?’ One eyebrow quirked sardonically.
Vicky widened her eyes. ‘What, talking about the commercial advantages of a Fournatos-Theakis marriage? What’s bitchy about that? It’s only the truth.’ Her tone was dismissive. ‘So long as she doesn’t blab to my uncle that it’s a totally fake, totally temporary marriage. Speaking of my uncle—isn’t that him over there?’ She craned her neck slightly, seeing past the people around her. ‘Yes, it’s definitely him. I’ll go over and say hello. I can’t stick here by your side like I’m on a string all evening.’
She made to move, but a light touch on her arm stayed her. Theo’s long fingers loosely circled her wrist. She felt a current of electricity go through her that dismayed her, and she froze.
‘Why not?’ Theo’s voice was easy, but she could discern something underneath it—some note that made her muscles tense yet again. ‘We are newlyweds, after all.’
She gave a pointed shrug. ‘Oh, if you think the show must go on, so be it. Shall we go arm in arm?’ she said, with deliberately heavy, terse jocularity.
‘Why not?’ said Theo again, with smooth assent this time, and now there was a blandness in his voice that somehow managed to grate at her. He tucked her arm into his and drew her forwards towards her uncle. Stiff as a board, Vicky went with him.
The moment she could, she disengaged.
She knew it was only for show, but it didn’t make it any easier. Keeping her distance from Theo Theakis was the only way to get through this ordeal.
Her mood was bleak. What the hell had she gone and let herself in for? She wanted to go home—to London, to Jem, to Freshstart, and her safe, familiar world.
A long, long way from Theo Theakis and her ridiculous fake marriage that meant nothing, nothing at all to either of them.
And let’s keep it that way! she thought vehemently.
It was far, far too disturbing to think of anything else.
But at least, to her relief, she only had to play the part of Theo Theakis in public. In private, audience gone, she could finally go off duty and let the tension racking her slacken off. And Theo could, too. He could drop all the pretence he had to put on of being the attentive husband and do nothing more than treat her with indifferent civility, his expression completely neutral. When he spoke to her she might have been anyone—anyone at all—fifteen or fifty, male or female. She was glad of it, and told herself so. It was totally abundantly obvious that Theo Theakis was as indifferent to her as she could possibly want. Off duty, she could revert to the truth of what she and Theo were to each other. Passing strangers who’d united to help her uncle in the only way he would accept help.
