She didn’t want to be the little girl she’d been.
She didn’t want to live on a knife’s edge that one day what she hid would be discovered.
She should have told her mum.
She should have been brave.
The cramps eased in her stomach.
She stood tall. Straightened her spine.
She had to tell him the truth.
It was an invasion.
Konstantinos pushed his hands inside the pockets of his trousers and surveyed the army of ants beneath his window. Theywerefire ants, in too big tiaras and gowns of silk. They herded together dressed in costume. Reds and oranges, blacks and blues. They left their boats at the jetty, landed in rows on the helipad, and in they swarmed.
He was surrounded from every angle. The island was being taken over by select journalists, celebrities, dignitaries, and business associates.
He’d invited them to gather. To attack as one. To bite. To nip at the bubble he’d trapped them in. Him and her. And now they were tearing it apart. Intruding on the life he’d hidden himself in for weeks with Poppy.Just them.And this…
He knew why today was important. He understood the stakes, but he didn’t want them here. He didn’t want to parade in front of them. He didn’t want to makeherstand in front of them.
Poppy’s shuttered looks had happened more often these last few days. Her eyes had stared too long at him. And the kiss in the chapel…
She’s hiding something from you.
She wasn’t.
She was worried about today.
He snarled at them. Bared his teeth.
He wanted them to see. To be here and bear witness to the strength of the marriage they had probed in the press. He hadn’t wanted them to receive a carefully organised selection of photographs; even the best photographs could be distorted by a journalist who wasn’t in attendance. And the distortion would be classed as free speech—an opinion.
He wanted them all to know the facts.See them.They were strong. His marriage was strong.
But it was a violation.Hefelt violated. And he couldn’t explain it. He’d invited them!
His hands balled into fists in his pockets.
What was wrong with him?
All his life, he’d fought to project the right image. Of the right kind of man. But none of it felt…important.
He turned on his heel and made his way to the door.
He’d get this over with.Now.
Afterwards, everything would go back to how it was before.
He reached for the handle.
The handle was torn from his grasp.
The door opened outwards.
Flowers. Tiny white blooms, some closed buds, with the smallest green leaves, some open, made up the bodice of her dress to her waist. And then, like ivy, the flowers snaked down her hips. Sheer organza silk flared there. Made up her layered skirts to fall to her feet. Her silk pumps.More flowers.As if she took the world with her wherever she went. Her footsteps cushioned by uncrushable petals.
