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Phoebe, A little something until we see one another again. Wear it and think of me, as I will be thinking of you. This weekend meant the world. You’re very special to me. K.
He read it again, trying to explain it, trying to rationalize it. He imagined any circumstances in which his father might have innocently penned the note. There were none. It was so intimate. So affectionate. He closed his eyes, picturing his father’s face. His father who had been made of iron, who was tough and demanding, and he knew that only the deepest love would have softened him to the extent that he would communicate like this. White hot rage barreled through him at the betrayal. He told himself he was angry on behalf of his mother, who’d loved Konstantinos for so many decades, only to be treated like this, but deep down, there was more. It was personal to Anastasios.
He was still processing the letter when another message came through. ‘Also, there’s this.’
Anastasios braced for what was to follow, then stared at his screen as a picture appeared. He recognized the interior of the restaurant instantly, and could tell the image had been snapped from behind the counter. It was a close up of Phoebe and Konstantinos, and seeing them together was so discombobulating, he felt as though the world was tipping sideways.
Kon was sitting at the table, and Phoebe stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder, body angled towards his, and his father’s expression was so full of love, of lust, that Anastasios wanted to punch something. There was no mistaking their intimacy.
Something inside of him shattered at her deception, at the feeling of having been lied to by this woman, who he had come to—to what? To like? Care about? To trust? All such bland terms to describe the way she’d taken up sole occupancy of his mind.
But she’d lied. To his face, and all along. She’d drawn him in with her act, she’d been so goddamned insistent about her ‘friendship’ with Kon, that Anastasios had actually started to believe her.
And yet, he’d been right all along. What a hollow victory that was.
On went the show,so glorious, the other singers dwarfed by the brilliance of Ophelia, and when it ended, Phoebe stood spontaneously, tears in her eyes. She turned to enthuse with Anastasios, but he was staring straight ahead, brooding, as if he hadn’t even realized it was over.
Ophelia returned to curtsy; the applause was deafening. Anastasios finally stood, leaned close to Phoebe and said, “Excuse me a moment.”
He slipped out and away before she could stop him.
With a small shrug, she returned her attention to the finale of the performance.
But when the performers had left the stage and the lights had come on, and half the audience had emptied, there was still no sign of Anastasios. With a frown, she moved out of the performance chamber, into the stunning, wide corridor. There were no paintings on the wall, but the ceiling was a frieze, from the renaissance age, so she paused to admire it, studying the artwork until long after the rest of the crowd had left. Only security guards and staff remained, but Phoebe barely noticed. There were so many details in the art, so much to see, she wasn’t remotely conscious of time passing.
“You cannot just walk away from me.” A woman’s voice reached her, and Phoebe looked, naturally curious, only to see Ophelia Agnavadi, now dressed in jeans and a sweater, striding towards—of all people—Anastasios.
“Unlike you, I have not had decades to come to terms with this.”
Phoebe stared from one to the other, totally at a loss as to what was happening.
“And that’s supposed to be my fault?” In speech, Ophelia’s accent was American.
“You are no longer a child. You could have reached out to us.”
“And said what?” She demanded. “He was my father, too, Anastasios. Do you think I wanted to ruin his life?”
Shock was reverberating inside Phoebe. Konstantinos had a secret child? The byproduct of his affair with Anna? And that child was Ophelia Agnavadi? Was that why Konstantinos had taken Phoebe to the concert in London? Why his eyes had overflowed with tears at the end? Phoebe moved closer, her heart in overdrive, concern for Anastasios at the forefront of her mind, but also loyalty to Konstantinos, who would have hated this scene.
“Have you thought, for one second, what it was like to be me? To know about all of you, and your big, happy family? Your cousins and aunt and uncle and corporation and family parties, that my mother and I were excluded from? A dirty little secret that would threaten everything he cared about most? Do you know what it’s like to get to see your father two or three times a year, when he can escape his ‘real’ family? To watch your mother pine over him, be devoted to him, until she can barely survive, and then to be discarded when someone new catches his eye?”
Phoebe’s heart twisted. She wanted to rail against that, to scream, because Konstantinos wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be true.
“Why would I come to you, Anastasios? Why have you come to me?”
Unconsciously, Phoebe moved even closer, the pain on Ophelia’s face drawing her in, making her want to weep.
“To see if it was true.”
“Well, you have your answer. Now, go away.”
He made a gruff sound. “It’s not that simple. You are mysister, for God’s sake.”
“Whatever,” she waved a hand through the air. “If your dad didn’t see it that way, then why should we?”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Phoebe said gently, moving to Anastasios’ side as if just by her presence she could calm him. “But perhaps this is a matter better discussed in private—,”
Ophelia blinked, as if only just realizing where she was.
