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‘Maybe you never really loved me, Antonios,’ she said quietly, and he jerked back in both shock and affront.
‘Is that why you left? Because you didn’t think I loved you?’ he asked in disbelief.
‘I’m trying to explain how I felt,’ Lindsay answered evenly. ‘Since you seem determined to draw an explanation from me, even if you say you don’t want one.’
‘So you’ve convinced yourself I didn’t love you.’ He folded his arms, his face settling into implacable lines.
‘I don’t think either of us had enough time to truly love or even know each other,’ Lindsay answered. ‘We only knew each other a week—’
‘Three months, Lindsay.’
‘A week before we married,’ she amended. ‘And it was a week out of time, out of reality...’ Which was what had made it so sweet and so precious. A week away from the little life she’d made for herself in New York—a life that had been both prison and haven. A week away from being Lindsay Douglas, brilliant mathematician and complete recluse. A week of being seen in an entirely new way—as someone who was interesting and beautiful and normal.
‘It may have only been a week,’ Antonios said, ‘but I knew you. At least, I thought I knew you. But perhaps you are right, because the woman I thought I knew wouldn’t have left me the way you did.’
‘Then you didn’t really know me,’ Lindsay answered, and Antonios swung round to stare at her, his eyes narrowed.
‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’
‘I...’ She drew a deep breath. She could tell him now, explain everything, yet what good would it do? Their marriage was over. Her leaving him had brought about its end. But before she could even think about summoning the courage to confess, he had turned away from her again.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he answered. ‘I don’t care.’
Lindsay sagged back against her seat, relief and disappointment flooding her as she told herself it was better this way. It had to be.
* * *
Antonios sat in his first-class seat, his glass of complimentary champagne untouched, as his mind seethed with questions he’d never thought to ask himself before. And he shouldn’t, he knew, ask them now. It didn’t matter what Lindsay’s reasons had been for leaving, or whether they’d truly known and loved each other or not. Any possibility between them had ended with her two-sentence email.
Dear Antonios,
I’m sorry, but I cannot come back to Greece. Our marriage was a mistake. Lindsay.
When he’d first read the email, he’d thought it was a joke. His brain simply hadn’t been able to process what she was telling him; it had seemed so absurd. Only forty-eight hours before, he’d made love to her half the night long and she’d clung to him until morning, kissed him with passion and gentleness when she’d said goodbye.
And she’d known she was leaving him then?
He hadn’t wanted to believe it, had started jumping to outrageous, nonsensical conclusions. Someone else had written the email. A jealous rival or a desperate relative? He’d cast them both in roles in a melodrama that had no basis in reality.
The reality was his phone call to Lindsay that same day, and her flat voice repeating what she’d told him in the email. Maybe he’d been the one to hang up, but only because she’d been so determined not to explain herself. Not to say anything at all, except for her wretched party line. That their marriage was a mistake.
Disbelief had given way to anger, to a cold, deep rage the like of which he’d never felt before, not even when he’d realized the extent of his father’s desperate deception. He’d loved her. He’d brought her into the bosom of his family, showered her with clothes and jewels. He’d given her his absolute loyalty, had presented her to his shocked family as the choice of his heart, even though they’d only known each other for a week. He’d shown how devoted he was to her in every way possible, and she’d said it was all a mistake?
He turned to her now, took in her pale face, the soft, vulnerable curve of her cheek, a tendril of white-blonde hair resting against it. When he’d first seen her in New York City, he’d been utterly enchanted. She’d looked ethereal, like a winter fairy, with her pale hair and silvery eyes. He’d called her his Snow Queen.
‘Did you intend to leave me permanently,’ he asked suddenly, his voice too raw for his liking or comfort, ‘when you said goodbye to me in Greece?’ When she’d kissed him, her slender arms wrapped around his neck, had she known?
She didn’t turn from the window, but he felt her body tense. ‘Does it matter?’
‘It does to me.’ Even though it shouldn’t. But maybe he needed to ask these questions, despite what he’d said. Perhaps he would find some peace amidst all the devastation if he understood, even if only in part, why Lindsay had acted as she had. Perhaps then he could let go of his anger and hurt, and move on. Alone.
She let out a tiny sigh. ‘Then, yes. I did.’
Her words were like a fist to his gut. To his heart. ‘So you lied to me.’
‘I never specified when I was coming back,’ she said, her voice tired and sad.
‘You never said you were going. You acted like you loved me.’ He turned away from her, not wanting her to see the naked emotion he could feel on his face. She wasn’t even looking at him, but he still felt exposed. Felt the raw pain underneath the anger. Still, one word squeezed its way out of his throat. ‘Why?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Why, Lindsay?’ he demanded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to leave, that you were unhappy—?’
‘I tried telling you the truth but you never heard it,’ she said wearily. ‘You never listened.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Antonios demanded. ‘You never once said you were unhappy—’
Lindsay shook her head. ‘I don’t want to go into it, Antonios. It’s pointless. If you want an explanation, it’s this: I never really loved you.’
He blinked, reeling from the coldly stated fact even as he sought to deny it. ‘Why did you marry me, then?’ he asked when he trusted his voice to sound even. Emotionless.
‘Because I thought I loved you. I convinced myself what we had was real.’ She turned to him, her eyes blazing with what he realized, to his own shock, was anger or maybe grief. ‘Can’t you see how it was for me? My father had died only a few weeks before. I went to New York because I wanted to escape my life, escape my loneliness and grief. I wandered around the city like a lost soul, still feeling so desperately sad and yet wanting to be enchanted by all the beauty. And then you saw me and you told me you were lost, and when I looked in your eyes it felt like you were seeing me—a me I hadn’t even known existed until that moment.’
She sank back against her seat, out of breath, her face pale, her shoulders rising and falling in agitation. Antonios’s mind spun emptily for a few stunned seconds before he finally managed, his voice hoarse, ‘And that was real.’
‘No, it wasn’t, Antonios. It was a fairy tale. It was playing at being in love. It was red roses and dancing until midnight and penthouse suites at luxury hotels. It was wonderful and magical, but it wasn’t real.’
‘Just because something is exciting—’
‘Real was coming to Greece—’ she cut across him flatly ‘—and discovering what your life was like there. Real was feeling like I was drowning every day and you never even noticed.’ She bit her lip and then turned towards the window; he realized she’d turned to hide her own emotion, just as he’d tried to hide his. The anger that had been a cold, hard ball inside him started to soften, but he didn’t know what emotion replaced it. He felt confused and unsteady, as if someone had given him a hard push, had scattered all his tightly held beliefs and resolutions.
‘Lindsay...’ He put a hand on her shoulder, conscious once again of how small and fragile she seemed. ‘I don’t understand.’
She let out a choked laugh and dashed quickly at her eyes. ‘I know, Antonios, and you never did. But it’s too late now, for both of us. You know that, so let’s just stop this conversation.’
A stewardess came by to take their untouched champagne glasses and prepare them for take-off. Lindsay took the opportunity to shrug his hand from her shoulder and wipe the traces of tears from her eyes.
When she turned to look at him, her face was composed and carefully blank. ‘Please, let’s just get through this flight.’
He nodded tersely, knowing now was not the time to demand answers. And really, what answer could Lindsay give? What on earth could she mean, that she’d been drowning? He’d taken her to his home. His family had welcomed her. He’d given her every comfort, every luxury. Just the memory of how she’d responded to his touch, how her body had sung in tune to his, made a bewildered fury rise up in him again. What the hell was she talking about—drowning?
And if she truly had been unhappy, why hadn’t she ever told him?
CHAPTER THREE
[AS SOON AS the sign for seat belts blinked off, Lindsay unbuckled hers and slipped past Antonios. She hurried to the first-class bathroom, barely taking in the spacious elegance, the crystal vase of roses by the sink. She placed her hands flat on the marble countertop and breathed slowly, in and out, several times, until her heart rate started to slow.
