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Close enough to touch her, instead, Anastasios held out the book, and she curled her fingers around it without thinking, looking down belatedly. Van Gogh’s self-portrait looked back on her.
“The impressionists,” she murmured, tracing the cover with her fingertip, feeling his eyes on her face, so that when she looked up a burst of energy jolted through her. “Thank you.”
He dipped his head.
“Don’t you ever wonder what you’re missing out on?”
His eyes probed hers. “Never.”
“But—,”
“And even if I had, revelations of the recent weeks would have shaken those thoughts from my mind. My parents had, from the outside, the ideal marriage, yet look what he did to her. There is no such thing as a perfect marriage, a flawless couple. He had a wife, and children, yet still he sought more.”
“I don’t think you should presume that’s an indictment of his love for your mother.”
“My mother is another topic we should avoid discussing. She wouldn’t like it.”
Phoebe sighed. He was still so convinced she’d had an affair with his father. How would she ever get through to him? Perhaps she never would. Could she accept that? Could she live in a world where Anastasios believed the worst in her?
Of course she could. But she really, really didn’t want to.
“Thanks for the book,” she said quietly, taking a step backwards, seeking to break the connection that had tightened around them, the invisible string that seemed to bond them. “I’ll go read it now.”
And she turned and left swiftly, because staying there with him, staring down the barrel of his disapproval, was making her heart ache in a way she couldn’t bear.
Chapter7
IT WASN’T THAT Phoebe had forgotten the date, but she’d been so caught up in recent events that it had, temporarily, slipped her mind. So the day before her twenty fifth birthday, it was an alert on her phone that reminded her of the impending event.
Tomorrow! 7.00pm – dinner with Konstantinos.
She read the alarm with a wave of nostalgia, turning towards the windows of her bedroom and sighing. Last year, they’d gone into the West End to grab take out, then seen a show.
Not only had it been the first time she’d attended a theatre performance, it had been the first time anyone had done something truly thoughtful for Phoebe’s birthday. She’d been overwhelmed by Konstantinos’s generosity, and kindness.
He’d insisted they’d repeat it the following year, and made her put it in her calendar. She’d had no idea he wouldn’t be here. Even at eighty four, Konstantinos had always seemed so alive and virile, so well.
Phoebe dressed slowly, her mind distracted, as she contemplated how truly alone she was. Her father was dead to her, courtesy of his own actions. Her brother had passed away shortly before she’d left for the UK, his passing the catalyst to escape. Her mother, she’d never known. She had some friends at the restaurant, but no one she’d really describe herself as close to. No one, certainly, who’d remember her birthday.
And now, she was stranded in the middle of the Mediterranean with a man who despised her. It was hardly the ideal way to spend her last day as a twenty four year old, but she refused to be maudlin.
This was certainly better than life on the streets in Melbourne. She had a roof over her head, a good job with excellent tips, and the debt she owed the rehab center for her brother’s treatment was slowly coming down. Maybe by the time she was forty she’d be in the clear, she thought with a wrinkled brow, then a shrug of her shoulders. Because what else could she do?
Her fingers stilled on the collar of her singlet.
The cheque from Konstantinos would have more than cleared her debt. But her pride?
She couldn’t accept payment from Anastasios, knowing what he thought of her. And even if Kon had offered her that money, she’d have refused to accept it. She’d never welcomed his lavish gifts. She liked him as a person, not because of his wealth, and she never wanted him to doubt that.
But just for a moment, she allowed herself to be tempted. To imagine paying off the exorbitant fees and be able to focus a little on her life and her future.
It was never going to happen though. The money would come at too high a price.
“Good morning.”His eyes raked over her, before settling on her face. He didn’t smile, but her heart still stammered as though he had.
She offered a tight smile in response. “Good morning.”
“Did you sleep just as well last night as the night before?”
