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“Don’t!” She stormed over to him, her body tense. “You made me say that. I wanted my husband to make love to me. I wanted you. I’ve missed you.” Her heart was twisting painfully in her chest. “I wanted you. I love you,” she whispered, her words haunted.
“And I love fucking you,” he said with a drawl. “Food?”
Sophie stared at him, her mind shuffling in a strange way. Everything he’d ever said. Everything he’d promised her. Why had he married her?
Her blue eyes examined him for a long time, trying to find some semblance of the man she knew. But in his place was this hard-hearted, rude megalomaniac.
“Go to hell,” she said finally and stormed away from him. Only where could she go? Not to their room, with its beautiful flower arrangements and the scent of hope and passion in the air. She went up another level, and selected a guest room at random. Two of the towelling robes that hung in each room were against the door. She wrapped one around her shaking frame and went to lie down. Only a moment later, nausea and shock combined in her gut and she had to bolt to the ensuite. She vomited until there was nothing left
in her stomach and then she crawled back to bed, hot, cold, shocked and miserable.
What had happened to her husband?
And what was she going to do?
* * *
All night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Flashes of memory scorched his brain, and kept him from sleeping.
He had decided, whilst in Athens, that he hated his wife. That he hated her for what she’d done to his sister, and what she obviously intended to continue doing to her. He hated her, and he had wanted to hurt her, perhaps in the same way Sophie had hurt Helena.
And yet it had made him feel ill to treat her with such contempt and disrespect. She might not deserve any better, and yet it sat like a knife in his gut that he’d behaved in such a fashion. He rolled over and stared at her empty side of the bed. It smelled like her. Sweet and soft.
He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, but that was worse. Then he saw her face. The depth of emotion she was able to convey with one look was almost too much to bear. The betrayal and bewilderment might as well have been spelled out for him.
He rolled the other way, but his eyes landed on the stunning arrangement of flowers she’d put beside the bed. He imagined her forming this collection of wildflowers into a bouquet. She would have hummed as she did it, in her slightly off-key voice. Her hands would have moved deftly, as she created this sculpture in the vase. Bright, fragrant and spiked, they were, in many ways, symbolic of his wife’s traits.
Then just … don’t do or say anything yet. Not until I work out what to do about Helena. This would be so much easier if we could meet in the kitchen for one of our late night sessions, wouldn’t it?
Alex thwomped his fist into his pillow.
I’ll try to get over and see you all soon. Perhaps when Alex is travelling next.
She hadn’t gone to him, though. Alex had checked in with Alena every day, and made enquiries of his wife. When Alena had offered to get Mrs Petrides, Alex had employed his most indulgent tone and insisted that she not be disturbed.
But, nonetheless, his wife was evidently planning to continue the affair.
That, and only that, was what he needed to hold onto.
He stood with a sound of frustration, giving up altogether on the idea of sleep. He began to walk towards the door and then thought better of it. He retraced his steps angrily and lifted the vase of flowers. One of the bougainvillea stalks grazed his forearm with a sharp needle. Blood seeped out slowly.
He ground his teeth together as he carried the flowers out of the villa and dumped them in the garden beside the front door.
It was a cathartic act, and afterwards, he made a pot of coffee and settled to his desk. Work, the act of concentrating on problems he could easily solve, always calmed him.
And so he worked, hoping that eventually, calmness would come.
CHAPTER SIX
Hunger, finally, drove her from the guest room. Still wrapped in the robe, with a face that was ashen and eyes that were red, she padded downstairs slowly and silently. Perhaps, if she was very lucky, her husband would be gone.
She did not wish to – and felt she could not – face him yet.
Her luck, though, had deserted her. Alex was in the kitchen, dressed casually, staring out of the window at the rolling ocean. Sophie froze in the doorway, and began to step backwards.
Hungry or not, she couldn’t do it.
Only he heard her and spun around, his face a dark mask of feeling before he smoothed it away. Sophie’s throat worked overtime as she tried to bring moisture back to her mouth. Her traitorous body frothed with desire. She dropped her eyes away and moved to the opposite side of the kitchen. It was large; she could avoid him, even while being in the same room.
