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Antonios stared at her, his face expressionless even though his eyes blazed—but with what emotion? Anger? Pity? She hated the thought, even now, of him pitying her. ‘How can you say that?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘My father finally noticed things weren’t right when I was eight,’ Lindsay continued, squeezing the words out past that awful lump. ‘He took me to a specialist and had me examined and diagnosed. And he accepted a position in upstate New York, where I live now, far from Chicago, where we’d been living. My mother felt it was a demotion, and she didn’t want to live in some poky town.’
‘So she left because of that,’ Antonios said. ‘Not because of you, Lindsay—’
‘I suppose it was the whole package really. The town, the house, the husband, the child.’ She took a deep breath and met his gaze, the seventeen-year-old memory as fresh and raw as it ever had been. ‘She came to New York to look at the house and college. We all went, and I remember how she walked around the empty rooms. She had this terribly blank look on her face and she didn’t say anything, not until my father asked her what she thought, and then all she said was, “This isn’t what I expected.”’ Tears stung her eyes, and one slipped down her cheek. Lindsay dashed it away. ‘My father and I thought she meant the house, or maybe even the town. But she meant us. Life with us. It wasn’t what she’d expected. We didn’t make her happy.’
‘She said that?’ Antonios asked, his voice sharp with disbelief, and Lindsay nodded.
‘She spoke with my father that night. I heard them from my bed. She said she couldn’t cope, living in a place like this with...with a daughter like me. She said she was leaving.’
‘Oh, Lindsay.’ She was staring down at her lap by that point so she didn’t see Antonios move, didn’t know he had until his arms were around her and he’d pulled her onto his lap. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago,’ she said with a sniff, but she couldn’t keep the tears back, couldn’t keep them from sliding down her face as Antonios wiped them away with his thumbs, just as he had back in New York when she’d told him about her father’s death. He’d been so tender with her then, and he was so tender now.
‘So you blamed yourself,’ Antonios said quietly, one hand still cradling her cheek. ‘For your mother’s abandonment.’ He was silent for a moment, one hand stroking her back. ‘Were you afraid I might react the same way?’
‘I...’ She stilled, her mind spinning with that new and awful thought. Had it not just been shame, but fear, that had kept her from speaking honestly? Had she been afraid Antonios would reject her, even leave her if she told him the truth, the whole truth? Maybe some secret, sad part of her had. ‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly. ‘I know some deep-seated part of me hates anyone to know. I don’t like you knowing now, even though it doesn’t matter any more.’ Thoughts and memories tumbled through her mind. ‘I suppose I felt with you the same way I did with my mother. Wanting to hide my anxiety because I knew it made her angry, yet desperate at the same time for her to see it, to see me.’
‘And I never saw you.’ Lindsay couldn’t tell anything from Antonios’s flat tone. ‘I only thought I did.’
What they’d felt for each other hadn’t been real. It was no more than what she’d been telling him all along, yet it still hurt to hear him acknowledge it. To know how little they’d actually had together.
Antonios was silent for a long moment, one hand still cupping her cheek while the other stroked her hair. ‘And so what happened after you moved to New York?’ he finally asked.
‘Things got worse. I think my father expected them to get better, but with my mother leaving...’ She trailed off, then forced herself to continue. ‘I started having panic attacks about school—being asked a question, being in a classroom. My father finally withdrew me when I was ten and I was homeschooled. I did all my lessons through a cyber academy, online.’ It had been a relief, to leave all the stares and whispers of school, for everyone had realized she was different, that something was wrong with her, but it had made for a lonely existence. Her father had tried to be at home as often as he could but he hadn’t possessed the resources or sensibility to enrol her in extra classes or activities so she could meet people, make friends. It had just been the two of them, rubbing along together, until he’d died.
‘I graduated from high school when I was fifteen,’ she continued. ‘And started college early, which was hard at first. It made me realize that I had to start coping, that I couldn’t hide from life forever. I started therapy and I worked hard to deal with my anxiety. It helped that I was studying mathematics. Numbers have always felt safe to me. They never change.’
‘And so you managed for quite a while,’ Antonios said. ‘Studying and teaching.’
‘Academia has always felt like a safe environment to me. I stayed at the same college for my BA and MA and PhD. I taught a few introductory classes, and I was actually okay standing in front of a classroom.’
‘And then your father died,’ Antonios recalled quietly.
‘Yes. He suffered from early-onset dementia and I cared for him. Life became a bit limited because of that, but I didn’t mind.’ How could she have minded when her father had given up so much for her? Moved and sacrificed his marriage for her?
‘It must have been hard.’
‘Yes. And when he died I felt—lost. Adrift. I’d been in the same place for fifteen years but it was as if I didn’t know anything any more. So I went to New York to escape everything, even myself, and I met you.’
‘And I,’ Antonios said after a moment, ‘was the ultimate escape. The perfect fairy tale.’
‘Yes.’
They were both silent, the only sound the draw and sigh of their breathing. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t know all of this before,’ Antonios said finally. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could tell me.’
‘I don’t know if it would have made a difference, Antonios.’
He turned her on his lap so he could look her in the face. ‘How can you say that? You were suffering—’
‘I never should have married you,’ Lindsay told him, even though it hurt to say it. ‘I never should have come to Greece with you. I should have realized it wasn’t real. That it couldn’t work.’
Antonios didn’t answer, and Lindsay wondered if he agreed with her. If she wanted him to agree with her. She felt tired and sad, the relief of having told him the truth coupled with a weary resignation that it didn’t, after all, change anything.
‘It’s late,’ he finally said. ‘You should get some sleep.’ He slid his hands up to cradle her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Lindsay closed her eyes, willing yet more tears away. It had been far easier to convince herself she’d never loved Antonios when he was arrogant and dismissive. It was much harder when he was so gentle. ‘Thank you for telling me now, Lindsay,’ he said softly and wordlessly she nodded. She was afraid if she spoke she would cry. Again.
He stared at her for a long moment, and then he tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. He smiled sadly and Lindsay tried to smile back, but her lips wobbled and, knowing she was far too close to losing it completely, she slid off his lap and hurried from the room.
* * *
Antonios stayed in the living room, drinking far too much whisky as Lindsay got ready for bed. He could hear her in the bedroom, opening and closing drawers, the sensuous slide of material as she took off the robe.
He could imagine her, her alabaster skin, so creamy and smooth, the full, high breasts he’d held in his hands and taken into his mouth. Her slender waist and slim hips, those long legs she’d once wrapped around his waist. Her hair as soft and blonde as corn silk, spread out across his bare chest.
They’d been happy together, damn it, even if just for a little while. And yet now he could no longer live in the little bubble of his own certainty. He’d been so damnably certain about how right he was. How wronged he’d been. He’d blamed Lindsay for everything, when he hadn’t even noticed that she’d been struggling. Suffering.
Drowning.
He poured himself another whisky and tossed it back, needing the burn of alcohol against the back of his throat, in his gut. Craving the oblivion. He’d been blind before, of course. He’d been ridiculously, wilfully blind when it came to his father. He’d refused to see that anything was wrong, that Marakaios Enterprises was struggling. Just as he had with his marriage.
What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he see what was right in front of his face?
Because you didn’t want to see it. Because you were afraid.
Looking back, he could remember moments that should have given him pause. Moments he’d pushed aside because it had been easier. Lindsay claiming she had a headache, her eyes puffy and red. Excusing herself from a party or dinner table with sudden urgency. Yes, looking back, he could see that she’d been unhappy. He just hadn’t wanted to see it at the time.
