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‘Yes,’ he lied. ‘The whole time,’ he said, unable to bear the sight of his wife so distraught any more. Instead, he focused his ga
ze over her shoulder, but was unable to avoid the images of Ella dancing in Fiji, seeing her cry her pleasure the night they’d shared at the gazebo, seeing the way she had looked at him the night they had conceived their child, with wonder and awe and—even then—the beginnings of a foolish love.
‘I was the one who called Loukas,’ he said, knowing that this would lay bare the true darkness within him.
‘You...what? I don’t... I thought...’
‘You thought wrong. I have known Liordis for nearly four years. Knew that he’d been looking for something that would redeem him in the eyes of the world. He was perfect for what I needed of him, and what you wanted of him.’
‘And you got him to demand the money that I could only achieve by selling my shares.’
It was a statement. Not a question. And he was thankful for that, for it meant he didn’t have to lie about that, he could simply let her assume the worst. And somehow, even though that was his intention, it hurt. It hurt that she could so easily believe that of him—and he realised that painful bitter irony of his hurt. Because that was precisely why he was doing this. Because, for all her declaration of love, of trust, she couldn’t really love him or trust him. He had done far too much damage before they’d even had a chance at something more. He knew that. And far better for it to end now than later. Than after he had let down his guard, after he had allowed himself to fall...
He cut off that thought with a sharp slashing movement of his hand, which Ella seemed to interpret as confirmation of her supposition.
‘Once you sold me your shares I was finally able to destroy Kolikov Holdings. And if there is any justice in this world then Vladimir is turning in his grave, knowing that I, not he, got the last laugh.’
‘Laugh?’ she demanded. ‘Laugh? You dare reduce my life and the life of our child to a laugh?’
She was shivering now, but with anger, with fury. And it incited his own.
‘Nyet. No. No, I would not.’
‘I loved you.’
‘Then it can’t have been that great a love if it is already gone.’
* * *
Nausea swelled in her stomach, her hand sweeping to soothe, to calm the erratic kicks she could feel there as if even their child was reeling with horror at her husband’s...her... Roman’s actions.
She thought then that she might have seen him flinch, might have seen the tightening of his jaw and an echo of the pain that she felt rising within her, but knew she was wrong. Because this man...wasn’t capable of such a feeling. Gone was her fiancé, who had indulged her every whim, gone was the husband who had confessed his pain, his hopes for the future, his passion and, she had once thought, a bourgeoning love, in his touches and kisses. This man was new—he had neither the smooth charm of the former nor the hot anger and heated passion of the latter. This was someone cold to her. Someone almost dead to her.
Her soft heart cried foul, desperately torn by the hope that he was lying. That her husband had not utterly manipulated her once again. He had arranged the meeting with Loukas to make her hand over her shares? That was a blow too low. That all the while she had been hoping for the future and he had still been held in the past, where vengeance and the need for destruction were his only focus.
‘What kind of monster are you?’
‘The kind your grandmother warned you about. The kind that would steal more than your innocence. A monster made in my grandfather’s image. One who was only ever after the money I could get from Kolikov Holdings’ liquidation—a small compensation for the life of my mother. One who would do whatever it took to get what I wanted. And who is letting you go now that I have what I want.’
Unaccountably, images from their time together rose in her mind. The first time she’d felt as if he were stalking her in the woods, the weight of the red cloak around her shoulders, the glimpse of him smiling at her joy in Fiji, the way he had looked at her when she had asked him to buy her shares, almost with fear, as if he didn’t want her to do that. There was a fervour in him now that she had never seen before. An almost wild determination, as if he were trying to convince her of something too much. Too hard. Money? He’d said it was about money?
She shook her head, hating the way her thoughts, even now, seemed to want to find the good in him. Wanted to find the truth in the lie. Only there were so many lies and so many versions of the truth, she simply didn’t know any more.
So, instead of trying to find a way through, she tried for a way out. A way out of the only conclusion Roman was forcing them towards.
‘Look me in the eye and tell me this was just about the shares. That all this time,’ she demanded, ‘it was about destroying the company. When you told me I would have to return to your side. When you told me our child needed its father. When you told me about the loss of your mother. When you lost yourself in my body, when you slept beside me all night long for the first time in years.’
‘Puycalvel is still yours,’ he said, as if completely ignoring her. ‘Everything you came to this marriage with is still yours and yours alone—’
‘Apart from the damn shares—’
Apart from my heart.
‘For which you were paid generously.’
And for a moment she almost thought he’d been talking about her heart too.
‘Have your lawyer look over the paperwork. If you would like to negotiate anything further, I will consider it—’
