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As the weeks passed Margo wondered if this wasn’t actually a good thing. If Leo kept a little distance, then she could too. Maybe they could enjoy each other’s company and bodies and still stay safe. Still not risk getting hurt.
Yet she knew that for a lie when she thought about the possibility of losing Leo. She would be utterly devastated.
* * *
At the end of January Leo came into the house, where she’d been browsing through a catalogue of baby toys, and asked if she’d come to the office with him.
‘The office? Why?’
‘I need your opinion on something.’
Surprised and a bit bemused, she walked with him across the estate to the long, low-lying building that overlooked the olive groves.
‘What do you think of these?’ he asked, and gestured to a box of olive-based bath supplies.
Frowning a little, Margo examined the items, noting the pleasingly thick glass bottles, the nutty smell of the olives.
‘They feel expensive,’ she offered. ‘Although they smell a bit more like cooking oil than something you’d want to put in your bath.’
He nodded. ‘I was afraid of that. I want to develop a new range of bath products to supply the Adair chain of hotels, but I don’t think these are up to scratch.’
‘A little olive oil goes a long way, I suppose,’ Margo answered with a smile.
‘I could use your expertise here,’ Leo said. ‘If you’re willing to give it. Someone with a good eye for design and good taste to offer an opinion about our merchandise.’
Margo just stared.
‘Not a full-time job, necessarily,’ he continued. ‘I know with the baby coming you wouldn’t want that. But you have a lot of talent and expertise to offer, Margo, and I don’t want to squander it.’
And so she started going into the office two days a week—to review the different products Marakaios Enterprises was offering and strategise the best way to market them. She enjoyed the work—and even more so because it meant she and Leo were working together...a true partnership.
* * *
Leo glanced across the breakfast table and smiled to see Margo balancing her teacup on top of her bump. Her hair was loose and dark about her face, her expression thoughtful as she read a journal about decorative art. They’d been married for only two months but they were already acting like an old married couple, reading their separate periodicals over breakfast.
Not that Leo minded. He loved these mornings with Margo, even when they weren’t talking to each other. Just being in her presence, seeing her smile or watching the way her eyes darkened intently as she listened to him, made him happy.
Several weeks ago Margo had asked him if he was happy and Leo hadn’t been able to answer. Now he knew he could. Yes, he was happy with Margo. He was happy—and in love—with his wife.
Just acknowledging that fact to himself gave him a little fizz of anticipation, as well as a twist of apprehension. He wanted to tell her how he felt, all he felt, and yet he held back. No time felt right. What if she told him she didn’t love him back? What if she wasn’t capable of it? He understood why she’d kept herself from love and life before, but it wouldn’t make it any easier to accept now.
Rejection, Leo thought bleakly, was still rejection.
‘How would you like to go to Paris?’ he asked now, and she looked up from her journal, her eyes widening in surprise.
‘Paris? Why?’
‘I have a little business there. We could make it pleasure too, though. We could check on your apartment and see the city together. Visit some of our old haunts.’
‘That sounds good,’ Margo said slowly, almost as if she didn’t trust that he’d want to go to Paris with her. ‘It would be great to check in with Achat too. I gave my notice, obviously, but it would be good to have a proper goodbye. I worked there a long time.’
‘Very well. Shall I make the arrangements? We could leave tomorrow.’
Margo nodded, her gaze still moving over him, and Leo looked away. He didn’t want anything in his face to reveal the surprise he was planning for her.
They left early the next morning, driving to Athens and then flying on to Paris; they were in Margo’s apartment on the Île de la Cité by mid-afternoon.
Leo stood on the threshold of the living room and gazed at the picture window overlooking Paris, the twin towers of Notre-Dame visible in the distance.
He’d asked Margo to marry him here. He’d felt the painful sting of rejection, the bitter and furious hurt that had led to the baby boy now nestled inside her waiting to be born. So much had changed, and yet for a moment he felt mired by the past.
He didn’t actually know what Margo wanted. Once, six months ago, he’d thought he did. He’d asked her to marry him, feeling confident of her answer.
