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‘You’re a connection to him,’ she continued nervously, turning her honey-coloured eyes on the view of Athens without really seeing it. ‘They love you.’
‘Your parents are special people.’
She lifted a hand, drumming her fingers against the base of her throat. ‘Yes, they are.’ She forced her eyes back to his, knowing that if this was going to work, she’d have to appeal to his affection for them.
‘They always hoped we would get together,’ she blurted out, finding it hard to hold his gaze but knowing it was important. ‘But I was never a big fan of the idea of an arranged marriage,’ she said with a self-mocking grimace.
‘Particularly not with me?’ he drawled, and she held her breath, something in the region of her heart flickering as remembered girlhood wishes crashed right into her, when dreams of a big wedding to Alex had dominated all her thoughts. But she’d tried marriage once—it had been a disaster.
Straightening her spine, she shook her head once. ‘No.’ She bit down into her lower lip, a sense of ambivalence gripping her. ‘You were always Stavros’s friend, not mine.’
‘Except for that one night.’
Her eyes swept shut, her throat thickening so swallowing was almost impossible. ‘That night didn’t make us friends.’
She didn’t see the way his eyes combed her face with speculative appraisal, or her heart might have leaped right out of her chest.
‘Why have you come here today?’
Nerves were a writhing pit of snakes in Tessa’s belly.
‘I’m worried about him.’
‘Who?’
‘Dad.’ She blinked over at Alex, and her gut twisted for the genuine concern she saw, briefly, before he concealed it behind his usual mask of determination.
‘Tell me what’s going on.’
‘I’m—’ her mouth parted, then her lips pressed together. The words lodged hard in her jaw.
‘Go on.’ His command pulled at her, and she realised she didn’t have anyone she could talk to about this. Jonathan had made her wary; his constant gossiping to tabloids had her on a knife’s edge, terrified to trust anyone. But Alex was different—he always had been.
‘He’s really sick, Alex. I don’t know when you last saw him—’
‘Not for several months.’
Was that guilt in his voice?
‘Then you won’t have noticed. He’s lost weight. He’s tired, all the time. It’s so unlike him.’ Her voice cracked as she forced herself to admit what she’d known for some time. ‘I don’t think he has long.’ The words were whispered.
Alex’s frown was contemplative. ‘You think? Or you know?’
Her eyes met his and her lower lip trembled. ‘I know,’ she whispered, standing then, moving to the window on knees that were unsteady. ‘It’s nothing he’s said, but I can just tell. He keeps talking about Mum, about how to take care of her.’ She lifted a finger and dashed at a tear before it could spill over. She’d told herself she wouldn’t do this! Not here, and not in front of this man; not after how he’d treated her.
Her nerves pulled taut. ‘If there was anyone else I could ask...’ she said slowly. ‘You have to understand, I’ve looked at this from every angle.’
‘You need help with your father?’
‘No...yes.’ She sighed with exasperation. ‘In a sense, yes. I...made a mistake, Alex, and I need help to fix it.’
‘You’re not making sense.’
‘I know.’ She rubbed her temples. ‘My parents always hated him.’
‘Who?’
‘My ex-husband, Jonathan.’ She couldn’t meet his eyes. So much of her choice to marry Jonathan was bound up in Alex’s cold-hearted rejection of her. Her entire world had then been tipped on its edge—by the death of Stavros, by sleeping with Alex and the way he’d reacted, by her parents’ total and all-consuming sense of grief, which had translated into an over-protectiveness that was beyond suffocating. Jonathan had been her way out, she just hadn’t realised she was jumping out of the frying pan into the fire.
