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Tessa painted until the light was dim and her hand cramping, but some time after eight she packed up, diligently cleaning her brushes, sealing her paints, wiping her work surface and locking up the shared studio space, moving slowly, because in the back of her mind was a sense of dread at the evening ahead.
In Epíneio, they’d become close. Sleeping together, swimming, playing chess. The past had ceased to matter. But here, it was all around her, and the weight of that truth pressed into her like concrete.
She couldn’t pretend this was simple, she couldn’t pretend it was safe. Tessa had to keep her wits about her.
He was in the kitchen when she walked through the door, and the moment their eyes met her heart began to skitter and roll.
‘Hi.’ A deep, throaty greeting that made her stomach drop to her toes.
Her hands clasped more tightly around her bag. ‘Hi.’ Her own voice was breathy, hoarse from misuse. She cleared her throat.
‘How are you?’
‘Fine.’ She cleared her throat again.
‘I was just about to order dinner. What do you feel like?’
Panic skittled through her. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t pretend everything was fine. It wasn’t. Suddenly her head was swimming—with worries about her dad, anger at Jonathan, and most of all confusion about the man she’d married, the man who’d broken her heart, the only man she’d ever loved.
‘Nothing. I’m not hungry. I—’ she looked anxiously towards the hallway ‘—I’m going to catch up on emails in my room. Goodnight, Alex.’
He watched her walk away with a groaning sense of impatience. ‘My room. Goodnight, Alex.’ Was she kidding? They’d spent five days living in each other’s pockets on Epíneio and now she wanted to go back to separate bedrooms? To sex on weekends, as she’d originally suggested? Before he could stop himself, he began to move after her. ‘Wait a second.’
Her shoulders slumped, and if he’d been thinking straight, that would have been enough to make Alex pause, but his own emotions were crowding him, so it was almost impossible to comprehend hers.
‘Yes?’ Her voice was quiet, soft.
His gut twisted. ‘You are running away from me,’ he said simply, because there was nothing else he could say. He just wanted her to confirm it. No, he wanted her to explain it, too.
‘I’m just going to my room,’ she said softly.
‘Why?’ he pushed.
Her eyes lanced him and then dropped away. The turmoil in them was too much to bear. He ached for her. The Jonathan media storm might have seemed like nonsense to him, but to Tessa it was obviously painful. But didn’t she understand, he could fix this? He could fix it by holding her close, by making love to her, by getting his legal team involved with the newspapers running the baseless stories. He could fix everything if she’d let him.
‘I need to be alone,’ she replied quietly.
‘But you are not alone,’ he insisted, moving closer, gratified when she stood her ground rather than moving back. ‘I’m right here, and I can help you.’
She bristled. ‘I don’t want help.’
‘Why not?’
She looked up at him, anguish in her face. ‘Because this is my problem.’
‘And I’m your husband.’
‘But not really,’ she pointed out quickly. ‘You were so, so kind to marry me, and at the time I really thought our marriage would fix everything, but it didn’t, and I just—need to think.’
Something shifted at his side. He felt as though he’d been punched, hard, right in the gut. ‘Are you saying you want a divorce?’
Her skin paled. ‘No.’ She shook her head for emphasis. ‘That would make everything worse. Unless you want a divorce, in which case of course I’ll agree.’
He wondered at the anger writhing inside his chest. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I want to be married to you. Your father’s health situation has not changed, has it?’
She shook her head.
‘Then we stick to our agreement,’ he said quietly.
