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‘And then one day I heard h
im on the phone to someone—in what was clearly a romantic conversation. I was old enough to know what was happening straight away.’ She shakes her head. ‘My mum was in the kitchen; it wasn’t her. I hedged around the subject for a few years and then, as more evidence came to light, eventually spoke to Mum about it. I was so nervous, terrified of devastating her but convinced she should have the facts.’
‘Of course.’
She rocks back on her heels a little, then nods, as though being swallowed by the past. ‘She told me relationships are complicated and that I should remember we’re a family, that our business is private.’ Her eyes slice me with her grief. ‘That was it. That was the extent of it. She knew about the affairs; she made it seem like she didn’t care. I was so angry that day, I blamed Mum. How could someone put up with that? How could she disrespect herself in that way? But then—’
I wait, watching as she rallies her thoughts. Her smile is tight, lacking humour.
‘Then, I grew up. I realised that life isn’t black and white and relationships are complicated, just like she said. I realised she did care, deeply, but that she was trying to protect me and the fragile construct of our family—because it means so much to her. I realised she didn’t feel she had any options or power, and that Dad was the reason for that.’ She sucks in a furious breath. ‘I stopped being angry with Mum and began to feel that solely for Dad. He betrays Mum every day. He undermines her confidence and damages her every day.’ Her eyes flick to mine.
‘Something I imagine you had at the forefront of your mind when you came up with the idea for She-Shakes?’
Her eyes find mine, surprise evident in their depths. She nods slowly.
‘My mum doesn’t have a lot of close female friends. We moved around a lot and that was very isolating—for her, and us. It meant she didn’t have any girlfriends supporting her, telling her how great she is and that she doesn’t need to stand for what Dad does.’ She swallows, her throat moving softly. ‘The app is that for millions of women around the world. A voice of support, a show of faith.’
‘That’s very important.’
‘I know.’ Her brow crinkles as though she’s trying to remember what we were talking about. Her laugh is uneasy. ‘Anyway, it was stressful. The party, I mean. I respect Mum’s decision to stay with Dad, and I love her so much, Zach. But I hate watching it all play out in front of me. I hate seeing how he treats her.’
It’s something we have in common. I too witnessed the pain one parent could inflict on another—with absence rather than presence and cruelty, but the hurts and resultant wounds were just as deep.
‘And that’s before you get into my brother-in-law,’ she says with a grimace and a shake of her head.
I open my mouth to ask her about that but she stands up on tiptoes and presses a finger to my lips. ‘Nope. Don’t want to talk about him. I’ve made myself all bitter and stressed already.’
But something about her worry bleeds into me. I drop my head, kissing her gently, wanting to ease her worries. ‘Why don’t you come see the rest of my place?’
‘You mean, there’s more than this?’ she teases, gesturing to the bedroom.
I grin. ‘Just a bit.’
* * *
An hour later, I’ve seen every room of his palatial penthouse and I have to say, even though I expected something pretty grand, this has blown me away. It’s three stories and each level takes up the whole floor of the high-rise. To call it a sky mansion would be an understatement. When I make some throwaway comment about being terrified if there was a fire—how would you escape?—he shows me to the roof where there’s an extensive garden, a second infinity pool and a helipad complete with a sleek black helicopter. His apartment has its own private lift, though we use the sweeping staircase. There’s a basketball court on the top floor with panoramic views of the bay, and a library that looks as if it has just about every book ever printed.
There are only three bedrooms, four bathrooms. When I mention how unusual that is for a place of this size he agrees, explaining, ‘I had several of the bedrooms joined to make the study.’
‘The study’ is a misnomer. The space he’s referring to is half of one level of the apartment, and when you step inside it’s like being in any corporate high-rise. His corner office is huge but there’s also a boardroom, and two ancillary offices for his assistants. The design of his penthouse means they can access the office space directly from the foyer, without coming through his living area.
‘It’s incredible,’ I say sincerely as he walks towards me with a glass of champagne, shirtless, just the way I like him. The living space opens out onto a large balcony. The floor has terracotta tiles and large vibrant pots house bougainvillea that climbs rampant across the pillars, making it feel as though we’re in a garden high up in the clouds. There’s a beautiful pool here too, and in the warmth of the evening I contemplate a swim.
‘Yeah, I was lucky to snap it up when it became available.’
I pull a droll face. ‘I can’t imagine there’d be too many people with the cash available to “snap it up”.’
‘You’d be surprised.’
‘No, I don’t think I would be.’ I know he’s wealthy—the Papandreo name is synonymous with money, and lots of it—but this is different. This is a level almost unto himself.
‘You don’t have any domestics?’
‘Nah.’ He shakes his head. ‘I have Mrs Amaro, who comes and cleans for me once a week. She leaves some meals if she thinks my fridge is looking bare—she doesn’t approve of my habit of ordering in,’ he says with a laugh that sends flickers of pleasure spreading through me. ‘I send my shirts out for laundering. But don’t tell my mum.’
He winks—a joke. I’m not going to meet his mum and he’s not going to meet mine—obviously.
‘She wouldn’t approve?’ I respond in kind, moving towards the swimming pool as I sip the champagne, sitting on the edge and running my fingers through the water.
