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And maybe you’re just spinning another fairy tale. Another fantasy.
She pressed the blossom to her cheek and closed her eyes once more. Even if she and Antonios understood each other now, even if they became friends, a marriage still couldn’t work between them. She couldn’t be the kind of wife Antonios needed, the social hostess and organizer. No matter how much she managed to control her anxiety, the endless social engagements his career as CEO demanded would still defeat her. And what of her own research? She’d told Antonios she could do her research anywhere, which was true. But her PhD would be finished in a few months and she’d already started looking for professorships. Staying here in Greece meant kissing her career goodbye.
Something she hadn’t cared about or even considered when he’d asked her to marry him, to come with him to Greece. She’d been so desperate then—desperate to be happy, to leave the sadness of her life behind. But, nine months later, she could acknowledge how incompatible their life goals really were.
Antonios had stated plainly he would never leave Greece. Even if he wanted to restart their marriage, it would mean staying here, doing her best to be the wife he needed, playing hostess and socialite. Roles she couldn’t bear.
‘May I join you?’
Lindsay opened her eyes to see Daphne standing in front of her, offering her a kindly smile.
‘Of course.’ She shifted on the bench to make room for her mother-in-law.
Daphne sat down with a sigh of relief. ‘Everything aches,’ she said quietly, her gaze on the mountains cutting a jagged line out of the horizon. ‘I think, when it is my time, I will be ready for the aching to stop.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lindsay said quietly. She felt inadequate for the moment, especially in the light of Daphne’s grace in the face of so much suffering and sorrow.
‘Knowing you are going to die shortly is, in some ways, a gift,’ Daphne said after a moment, her gaze still on the mountains. ‘It gives you a chance to set your affairs in order and say things you might have resisted before.’ She turned to Lindsay, a surprising humour lighting her eyes. ‘Speak the truth of your heart, because it doesn’t really matter if you ruffle a few feathers.’
‘I suppose,’ Lindsay agreed after a second’s pause. She had a feeling Daphne was going to speak a few truths now and she had no idea what she’d say in return.
‘I know,’ Daphne began, choosing her words with care, ‘that things went wrong between you and Antonios.’
Shock blazed through her, followed by a deep unease. If she admitted the truth, would Antonios be angry? Was she to lie even now?
‘I also know,’ Daphne said, patting her hand, ‘that Antonios doesn’t want me to know. He tries to protect me from so much.’
Lindsay swallowed hard, searched for words. ‘He loves you very much.’
‘And I love him. I want him to be happy.’ Daphne was silent for a moment. ‘I think you can make him happy, Lindsay.’
Lindsay shook her head, the movement instinctive and utterly certain. ‘I can’t. I know I can’t.’ Too late she realized how much she’d admitted, but her mother-in-law seemed unsurprised.
‘Why don’t you think you can?’
‘Because I’m not what he needs. I can’t be the kind of wife he needs.’
‘I think,’ Daphne answered, ‘Antonios doesn’t know what he needs.’
Curious now, Lindsay asked, ‘What do you think he needs?’
‘A wife who loves him. Who believes in him. You love him, don’t you?’
‘I...’ Lindsay shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I thought I did, and then I thought I didn’t. And now...now it doesn’t matter.’
‘Why not?’
Lindsay bit her lip. She’d said far too much. She’d been startled into more honesty than she’d ever meant to share. ‘I only mean because we’re already married,’ she said feebly and Daphne smiled, as if she knew what a pathetic pretence this was.
‘You weren’t happy here,’ she said after a moment. ‘Were you?’
‘No,’ Lindsay admitted after a second’s pause. ‘But that was as much my fault’s as—’
‘A husband’s duty is to make his wife happy, no?’
‘I suppose a husband and wife should try to make each other happy—’
‘Let me say again,’ Daphne corrected. ‘If a wife is unhappy, a husband needs to address her unhappiness.’
Lindsay swallowed hard. ‘Antonios didn’t know I was unhappy.’
‘Exactly. I could see it and he could not. Because he is just like his father, Lindsay. He only sees what he wants to see.’ Daphne let out a long weary sigh. ‘Evangelos was a good man and I loved him dearly. But he worked himself to the bone for his business and he closed his eyes to any problems because he could not bear to think of them. Just as Antonios closed his eyes to your suffering because he could not bear it.’
Lindsay blinked, taking this in. It was an entirely new thought, and one she had to sift over for a few moments before replying. ‘His eyes aren’t closed now,’ she said, half-amazed at how honest she was being. ‘We’ve talked about it since I’ve returned. He knows everything. I’m not sure it makes much difference.’
‘Because you still are not happy here,’ Daphne said quietly. She sounded sad.
‘Because, I told you,’ Lindsay said sadly, ‘I can’t be the wife he needs.’
‘And I told you that what he needs is to love and to be loved. That is all anyone needs.’
‘You make it sound so simple.’
‘No, not simple. Endlessly complicated and difficult.’ Daphne smiled, resting one bony hand on top of Lindsay’s. ‘But worth it, if you both resolve to try. To learn.’
Lindsay swallowed and nodded. She wanted to believe Daphne, wanted to believe love could be that easy. But the question remained: did she want to try again? And, more importantly, did Antonios?
* * *
Antonios stared at his brother and tried to mask his shock. ‘So you kept this from me?’
‘I wanted to make sure it was a definite go,’ Leonidas answered, his voice level. The brothers stared at each other, tension simmering in the air.
Antonios glanced back down at the file folder of information Leonidas had presented to him ten minutes ago, much to his stunned amazement. The neat rows of figures and the printed transcript of correspondence showed his brother had been planning this investment in providing luxury bath products to a chain of hotels for a long time. Without telling him a damned thing.
‘And it never occurred to you,’ he asked, an edge entering his voice, ‘to tell me you were thinking about doing this?’
‘No, it didn’t,’ Leonidas answered flatly. Antonios jerked back.
‘Do I need to remind you that I’m the CEO of this company?’
‘No,’ Leonidas interjected, ‘you certainly don’t.’
Antonios stared at his brother, felt a ripple of shock at the anger he saw there. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Exactly what I said. You remind me every day that you’re the boss, Antonios. That’s why I didn’t approach you about this plan. I knew you’d want to take it over.’
Antonios’s gaze narrowed. ‘As CEO, it’s necessary that I—’
‘Have your fingerprints on everything? And why is that, Antonios? I am your second-in-command, the Head of European Operations, a Marakaios.’ His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘He was my father, too.’
Antonios slapped his hand on the desk, the sound loud in the taut stillness of the office. ‘Damn it, I do not need this now.’
‘Fine. We won’t discuss it. Just sign off on the deal and I’ll go to our investors.’
‘No.’ The word came out in a sudden, sharp cry. Leonidas raised his eyebrows. Antonios’s jaw tightened. He had, he knew, kept his brother on a short rein because he’d been hiding the extent of the debt their father had amassed. He’d cleared it now, but if Leonidas went to their investors, if he looked at their bank statements or credit history, he would know in an instant how bad things had been. How their father had failed.
And Antonios had promised never to let anyone know.
He’d kept Leonidas busy wining and dining new clients, visiting factories and restaurants, drumming up new business. He’d always handled the money side, but now Leonidas had gone behind his back, set up an entire new deal that he, quite naturally, wanted to close.
And Antonios couldn’t let him.
‘I’ll sign off on the deal,’ he said tersely, ‘and I’ll contact the investors.’
Leonidas’s mouth twisted. ‘Taking the glory, as usual.’
As if he concerned himself with glory. As if there was anything glorious about the debt and despair his father had fallen into, the life Antonios had lived for far too long. ‘You can have your name on it,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ll give you credit. But I’ll handle the finances and paperwork.’
Leonidas stared at him for a long moment, his face taut with fury. ‘Don’t you trust me?’
‘This isn’t about trust, Leonidas.’ At least not the kind his brother thought.
