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Don’t be too long. I might suffocate under this mountain.
He went to put the phone down, but didn’t. Instead, he stared at the phone, and his heart raced, and his pulse fired, and his chest hurt, and he felt the strangest, most absorbing emotion he’d ever known.
He couldn’t make sense of it, but in that moment, staring at the photo of his pregnant wife, her smile huge, her face free of make-up, he felt as though she had become a physical part of him, and he of her. He felt inextricably bound to her.
He felt… something.
Everything.
And he felt afraid.
For the first time in his adult life, Vitalo Katrakis cared enough about someone and something to not want to lose them – and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could ensure he wouldn’t.
But it started with Kat. It started this night. And all other nights depended on getting this done right.
CHAPTER NINE
BELLA STARED OUT AT Athens, the compelling mix of old and new like a fascinating, contradiction, that conversely made all the sense in the world. Shiny, metallic highrises were surrounded by low-set, ancient buildings, cream in colour, glowing gold in the evening light.
And though she’d considered herself to be a citizen of the world for a long time, having spent so long abroad she no longer felt purely ‘American’, there was an odd, biological imperative wrapping around her.
She looked out at Athens, and something like pride fired through her. This baby, in her stomach, would be Greek, just like his or her father. This ancient culture, the birthplace of democracy, poetry, the Olympics, would belong to this land, its people and traditions humming through its blood and soul.
Did that make her a part of this culture, too?
Her eyes glanced across the ancient buildings and yes, she felt something spark in her chest. Pride. Belonging. Love. Affection.
The knock on the door came at that moment, and she approached it with a smile on her face.
It fell, ever so slightly, when she found her newly-minted stepfather standing on the other side. “Lorenzo?” She frowned; his arrival made no sense.
If Bella was confused, he was even more so. “Arabella?” He stepped backwards, scanning the house, reading the number, then looking at her, his handsome face – and he was very handsome, Bella accepted – showing his lack of comprehension. “What are you doing here?” And then, with a scowl. “I suppose you are with your mother.”
“Mom? No.” She shook her head. “Mom’s … I thought she was in Rome, with you?”
“No. She flew to Greece a week ago.” His expression was taut, his manner showing barely-concealed impatience. “I must speak to her.”
“Mom’s not here,” Bella repeated. “I haven’t seen her since a couple of weeks after the wedding. Why? Is she okay? Is there a problem?”
“Si. Certamente. Is he here?”
It made no sense, but she was too flummoxed by her stepfather’s sudden appearance, and trying to work out what she could say to explain her own presence in Vitalo’s house. “Do you mean Vitalo?” She asked breathily.
“Of course I mean Vitalo.” Lorenzo pronounced her husband’s name with clear contempt. “So? I can come in?”
“Oh, right, yes, I mean, of course,” she frowned, stepping backwards and waving her hand down the hallway, towards the lounge room. She flicked a glance at her watch. It was just after eight. “He said he was working late tonight, but he won’t be…”
“He is married. You know this?”
Bella’s heartbeat began to crash against her chest. She stared at him, searching for something – anything – she could say to explain, but her words were tangled inside of her.
“I thought once we were married, it would be an end to it, but it wasn’t.” He strode across the room, pulling the lid off one of Vitalo’s decanters and pouring a generous measure of whisky into a glass. “You want some? No. Of course. You have the baby.” His scowl was one of pure rage. “It wasn’t though,” he continued, angrily. “Not even days after they were together again. She came to him here and spent the night, you know.”
Something like ice ran down Bella’s spine. “What are you talking about, Lorenzo? You’re making no sense.”
“Your mother,” he spat. “And il bastardo Vitalo Katrakis. And now he’s married, and his poor wife is just like me – always second choice to the other. Who is she? A friend of yours?”
“I don’t understand,” she spoke slowly, calmly, her eyes flitting to the clock above the mantelpiece. She had no idea when Vitalo would be home but she needed him, in that moment. She needed his strength and support, his common sense. She needed him.
