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‘It’s very nice to meet you,’ Effie said carefully, trying and failing to follow the twisting undercurrents of the conversation. It was clear neither man had expected to see the other—but surely that was a cause for joy, not caution?
As if reading her mind, Andreas tilted his head again and said in the same polished voice, ‘We should celebrate.’ Turning slightly, he narrowed his eyes across the crowded ballroom. ‘Now, where is Eugenie? Ah, there she is—’
Achileas’s mother!
Curiosity overcoming her confusion, Effie followed the direction of his gaze. She felt a jab of both admiration and disappointment. Dressed in the palest blue of a dawn sky, the woman talking to a couple at the edge of the dance floor was younger than Andreas, and very beautiful, but she looked nothing like her son. Achileas was all molten heat. Eugenie Alexios was cool and blonde and regal—like a storybook snow queen.
Beside her, Andreas was making one of those small, indefinable but unmistakably autocratic gestures with his hand that had several waiters running across the room. ‘I think champagne is in order,’ he said softly.
‘That would be—’ Effie began.
‘A bad idea,’ Achileas interrupted. His arm tightened around her waist. ‘We’ve had a busy few weeks and Effie is feeling a little done in. We were just on our way home when we bumped into you.’
‘A pity.’ Andreas frowned. ‘But you should certainly go home, my dear. Get some rest. However, I insist you both join us for lunch tomorrow. After all, we have a lot to talk about.’
‘Tomorrow, then,’ Achileas said, and before she had a chance to say goodbye, he had caught her elbow and was propelling her through the building.
But why were they leaving? He hadn’t even spoken to his mother. Nor, as it turned out, was he planning on speaking to her.
On their journey back to the villa Achileas was silent—the kind of silence that was like a heavy, stifling shroud. Her pulse trembled. She knew he was angry. She just didn’t know why. Although she suspected it had something to do with his need to be in control. Each time things had come to a head between them, that had been the touchpaper for the ensuing fireworks.
But he had been so abrupt with his father, rude almost and it made her feel as if she had been rude by association. She knew she should be angry too, and she was—only every time she caught sight of his rigid profile the flame of her anger seemed to go out like too-damp kindling.
Back at the villa, the staff who had been waiting for their return took one look at Achileas’s dark, dangerous expression and retreated. Effie glanced around the empty sitting room. Now it was just the two of them.
And then there was one, she thought, as he stalked through the French windows onto the balcony.
Taking a breath, she followed him. The sky was littered with stars, just as it had been in the planetarium, only these stars were joined by a huge pale moon.
Beneath it, Achileas was leaning against the rail, looking at the dark Aegean, a part of the darkness, almost. And now he reminded her not of his father, but hers. A man who had gambled big on the horses and lost. Only unless she was missing something this was what he had wanted to happen.
‘Do you want to talk?’ she said quietly, and at the sound of her voice he turned, as she knew he would.
But not to talk but to blame.
‘I think you’ve done enough talking for one night, don’t you?’ he snarled, his anger circling her like a narrow-eyed panther.
So, she had been right. This was about her not waiting for him to make the introductions. But for him to get so angry was not just unreasonable, it was illogical. ‘He’s your father, Achileas. I could hardly just ignore him.’
‘But you didn’t have to tell him about the engagement.’
‘I didn’t. He saw the ring. But why wouldn’t I tell him anyway? Isn’t that why we’re doing this? For him?’ She took a step forward, wanting to touch him, to lead him back to that place of closeness they had found. ‘Look, I know it was a shock, the two of you meeting like that, and I know you probably had it all planned out in your head—’
‘You don’t know anything.’ He walked towards her, his movements precise with fury. ‘You don’t know anything about me.’
She flinched from his words as if he had hit her. And she felt as if he had.
It wasn’t true. She did know him. Or had she simply got lost in the miraculous addictive hunger that gnawed at both of them? Confused that obliterating passion with a deeper understanding of the man standing in front of her with his hands balled at his sides?
‘You’re right. I don’t understand why this is a problem. So talk to me. Tell me what I need to know.’
‘I don’t need you to know anything. I don’t need you.’
‘Everybody needs someone,’ she said, trying to stay calm, or at least sound it. ‘If you can’t talk to me then talk to your father. Or your mother.’
The angry creature pacing beside her stumbled, and she felt her heart twist, remembering the beautiful, elegant blonde woman at the ball who was so unlike her own mother. And yet they shared a love of old musicals...
She felt a sudden tilting vertigo, as if she had drunk the champagne Andreas had suggested. Something had occurred to her—something so shattering she could hardly believe it.
