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He gazed at her for a long, fathomless moment before rising from the window seat. ‘That’s not very much, really.’
‘I’m still grateful.’
It seemed as if he were going to say something else, something important, and Margo caught her breath...waited.
But all he said was, ‘Get some sleep,’ before returning to the darkness of his bedroom.
* * *
Leo stretched out on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, as far from sleep as he’d ever been. So much had happened today, tender little moments that had left him feeling uneasy and raw. It would be easy, he realised, to let himself care about Margo again. Let himself fall in love with her.
Let himself be rejected. Again.
Whatever had kept Margo from being with him before, it was still there. He didn’t know what it was—the conversation he’d just had with her had left him wondering, uncertain. He’d seen a new vulnerability and fear underneath Margo’s glossy, confident sophistication, and it had shocked him. It had made him realise there was depth and sadness to the woman with whom he’d had a passionate affair. The woman he was going to marry tomorrow.
The results of the paternity test were nothing more than a formality; he knew the baby was his. He knew Margo knew it. And with a baby and a marriage they could, in time, begin to build something together. Maybe not a grand passion or love, but something good and real and strong.
Then he reminded himself with slamming force of how she’d refused to marry him just four months ago, when they’d still been having their fling. She still clearly viewed their marriage as a sacrifice. How could he build on that—and, even if he could, why would he want to?
He’d had enough of trying to win people’s trust or affection. For his entire childhood he’d been desperate for his father to notice him, love him. But Evangelos Marakaios had only cared about his business, and about handing it to his oldest son. In his mind Leo had been nothing more than spare—unneeded, irrelevant.
When his father had died Leo had hoped that his older brother Antonios would include him more in the family business, that they would have a partnership. But Antonios had cut him off even more than his father had, making him nothing more than a frontman, the eye candy to bring in new business without actually having any serious responsibility.
All that had changed six months ago, when Antonios had finally told Leo the truth. Evangelos had been borrowing against the company, making shoddy and sometimes illegal investments and running everything into debt. He’d hidden it from everyone except Antonios, confessing all when he’d been on his deathbed. Antonios had spent the next ten years hiding it from Leo.
He’d finally told the truth when prompted by his wife Lindsay and by Leo’s own furious demands. And, while Leo had been glad to finally learn the truth, the knowledge didn’t erase ten years of hurt, of anger, of being intentionally misled. His father and his brother, two of the people most important to him, had lied to him. They hadn’t trusted him, and nothing they’d done had made Leo believe they loved him.
After so many years of trying to make them do both, he was far from eager to try the same with his soon-to-be wife.
He let out a weary sigh and closed his eyes, willed sleep to come. Enough thinking about Margo and what might have been. All he could do was take one day at a time and guard his heart. Make this marriage what they’d both agreed it would be: businesslike and convenient, and, yes, amicable. But nothing more.
Never anything more.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IF BRIDES WERE meant to look radiant on their wedding day, Margo thought, she fell lamentably short. She still had the exhausted, washed-out look she’d been sporting since the nausea had first hit, and she was, according to Leo’s plan, going to get married this afternoon.
Sighing, she dragged a brush through her dark hair and wondered which of the two outfits she’d brought would be better to get married in—a sweater dress or jeans?
She didn’t actually want the whole white wedding affair that Leo had mocked yesterday, but even so it felt pathetic and sad to be married like this, in the clothes she’d travelled in, looking like death barely warmed over.
With a sigh, she pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail and went in search of Leo.
She found him in the dining alcove of the kitchen, where the wide windows overlooked the small garden at the back of the townhouse. He’d made breakfast: toast and coffee, yogurt and fruit.
‘I know you probably can’t manage anything,’ he said, gesturing to all the food, ‘but I thought I’d make it just in case.’
‘Thank you,’ Margo murmured and sat down.
