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He heard the patter of Annabelle’s bare feet on the marble staircase and waited until her pyjama-clad little self came into view.
Frowning at the clock, which read eleven-thirty, he turned. ‘Everything okay, Nanny?’
Her little hands twisted in front of her, her eyes bruised by lack of sleep.
‘Is Célia a bad person?’
Shock sliced through him and he had to bite out the demand for her to explain, forcing himself to think through the words Célia might have said in that moment.
‘Why would you think that?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice level.
‘Mummy said she did a bad thing and that’s why she had to go away.’
Every primal instinct to deny, to vent the sudden and shocking fury he felt, roared through him.
‘No, sweetheart. She didn’t do a bad thing. She...invented something that people used for bad things, but no. Absolutely not. Célia isn’t bad at all.’
‘Then, can you tell Mummy that so Célia can come back?’
Loukis forced a smile to his features. ‘I...’ He was about to explain that he had told Meredith, that he had defended Célia, when he realised that he hadn’t. There had been no defence of Célia, not in the court and not since. Something twisted in his belly then. Something acidic and harsh and painful.
‘You’re right, Annabelle. I should do that. But I’m not sure that it would bring Célia back.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Meredith doesn’t want Célia to live with me while you’re here. And sadly the judge might agree.’
‘Then I... I think I should go and live with Mummy.’
‘Is that something you want to do?’ he asked, his voice level and compassionate even as everything in him trembled and shook.
Annabelle frowned. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘But then Célia could come back.’
‘Why would you want that?’
‘Because you are sad without her. And I don’t want you to be sad.’
‘But wouldn’t you be sad, living with Meredith?’
She shrugged. ‘I’d be okay.’
Loukis cursed silently. How could a ten-year-old contain such stoicism? More than he ever had even five years older when Meredith had walked out on him and his father. And that thought brought a startling revelation. He was teaching his little sister, at ten years old, exactly the same lesson that their mother had taught him.
That love had a price. Annabelle was making her own bargain with him. His happiness for hers. And that devastated him. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t allow this cycle to continue. No matter the cost to himself. But in order to break that cycle, he would have to risk everything.
He opened his arms to her and Annabelle threw herself into his embrace.
‘So, how was it?’ Ella’s voice fed into her ear from where the phone was cradled between her shoulder and head as Célia pushed the plunger down on the cafetière.
She had rejected a video call, knowing that her friend would be horrified at the way Célia looked in that moment. She sighed.
‘Weird, awkward, painful, but kind of okay.’
‘Well, thekind of okaybit is good?’ she asked, rather than stated, probing for more than Célia was capable of providing.
Célia had just got back from lunch with her parents. Both of them. Her father had aged so much in the last five years, she had been shocked. Shocked that the salt and pepper hair had transformed to a pure brilliant white. Shocked at how the lines on his face had increased in the time she had missed. Shocked that he had been so contrite, when—at the time—he had resolutely ignored any and all attempts to discuss the repurposing of her designs.
From words she’d been forced to read between, she realised that in his own way he had been hiding from the effects of his actions. A man wholeheartedly used to making quick, determined decisions about his company, he’d not quite been ready to interrogate the motives behind them.
