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An amateur mistake, wearing white. Thea stormed into her room and tore off her shirt, throwing it on the dresser. She should have been more careful. Yet she wasn’t thinking clearly, being ruled by emotion. It was causing her to make stupid mistakes.
She reached behind her, peeled off the dressing and turned to look in the mirror. Okay, more bleeding than she’d had before, but not infected—at least she didn’t think so. This tattoo hurt more than usual too, but that was bound to be its position on her spine.
She peered over her shoulder at the flock of birds soaring across her back, showing that no matter how many people tried to cage her, in the end she’d be free.
Christo couldn’t hold her. Nor could her father. They’d all try, but she’d slip through the bars one day and fly away for ever. Until then she’d add bird after bird. Marks to commemorate each insult as a reminder that her time would come.
Thea grappled with the dressing, twisting awkwardly as she tried to replace it. Only a few days and the tattoo would heal. She’d just be more careful. Perhaps she should wear a black shirt?
Then in the mirror she saw a movement. Christo. Watching with fury twisting ugly across his features.
‘What the hell is this?’
She snatched up her shirt. Clutched it to her chest. And all the simmering feelings bubbled and boiled and spilled over in a scalding flood.
‘Get out!’ Her composure was gone in a torrent of white-hot anger. She trembled as it burned through her. ‘You’ve no right to be in here.’
‘I have every right. This is my house.’ He towered in the doorway. Jaw hard. Mouth stretched in a thin, brutal line. ‘You’ll explain this.’
‘It’s my body. I can do what I like with it.’
Christo’s lip curled into a sneer. ‘What else have you been doing with it when my back’s been turned?’
‘I’m sure your imagination can conjure any number of horrors.’
The cool air of the room chilled her overheated skin. Or perhaps it was the cold rage in Christo’s eyes. She felt too exposed, with the shirt held in front of her and his icy gaze flicking to her tattoos reflected in the mirror behind.
‘And you will document each one for me,’ he said. ‘My study. One hour.’
* * *
Christo hadn’t thought himself a fool for years—not since childhood. Not since he’d believed his parents’ false promises time and again, till he’d stopped believing anything. Yet here Thea was, sitting in front of him, her whole presence mocking as if he was one.
He’d gone to check on her. Genuinely worried. And what had he found? Evidence of betrayal. Lies. People always told lies. Especially those you allowed close to you. Never again.
It was clear she didn’t care. Leaning back in the chair opposite, arms crossed, a victorious gleam in her eye. That was why she’d looked so happy—because she’d thought she’d won.
It might not be a real marriage, but he’d made vows and he’d keep them till the end. He’d expected the same of her.
Where to begin when the rage scorched through him? He searched for the chill usually running in his veins. She did this to him—made him unreasonable. And he was usually a reasonable man.
‘Sergei’s employment has been terminated.’
‘That’s unfair. I want you to reinstate him. He’s an excellent bodyguard.’
‘He told me everything.’
Actually, Sergei had only admitted to an error of judgement—trying to protect Thea’s shattered honour, no doubt. But Christo knew there was little that would make a consummate professional like Sergei forget where his allegiances lay. An illicit affair with his employer’s beautiful young wife was the only explanation.
But Christo wanted the truth from Thea’s lips, not Sergei’s. The truth that she hadn’t stuck to their bargain of fidelity, that she was like his parents. An opportunistic liar.
As he stared her down, myriad emotions flickered across her face. It was like watching a movie on fast forward. Surprise, disbelief, sorrow. Until she plastered on her usual smooth veneer of calm.
‘Love can make a man do uncharacteristic things. Of course you don’t believe in love, so you would never know.’
Christo gritted his teeth. His suspicions were right. A pain knifed him deep inside, causing an aching wound to his soul. He’d craved her. Kissed her. And for what? Merely to repeat Hector’s mistakes?
‘You’re so like your father.’
