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“I—yes. Why?”
“How do you know him?”
She bristled visibly, just as she had when he’d asked about her boyfriend. A coincidence? Anastasios didn’t believe in them.
“I—met him through work,” she gestured to the restaurant. “What business is it of yours?”
His eyes bore into hers, assessing her, reading her, deriding her. She might be sexier than sin, but he couldn’t feel anything but disgust for a woman who’d sleep with an old man just for money.
“I came to inform you of his death.”
Her gasp was given extra impact by the silence of the restaurant. She reached forward, bracing her weight on the kitchen counter. “He can’t be,” she murmured, tears stinging her eyes. It was further evidence of their relationship; grief made her features wretched. She lifted her face to his. “When?” A hollow whisper almost made him pity her. Did she have any idea about them? About Konstantinos’s family, his wife, children? His other mistress and daughter?
“A little over a week ago.”
She lifted a trembling hand to her lips, covering a gasp, as she moved backwards to prop herself against the wall. “I can’t believe it. I wondered why I hadn’t seen him. Usually, on Mondays, we—,” her voice trailed off into nothing as emotions wrapped around her. A single tear rolled down one cheek. So she might have been using Konstantinos for money, but it was clear she genuinely cared about him. The realization brought no relief.
“You?” He prompted, aware that she’d been about to confess to their sordid affair.
“Spend time together.” Her eyes closed, blocking him out. “But not this Monday. And he didn’t call to explain. I tried, but—oh, I can’t believe it.”
Another tear fell, and though he hated her, he also felt sorry for her. How could he not?
“What happened?”
She’d moved closer to him again, as though she needed all the details.
“He had a heart attack. He was alone, and it was massive. Perhaps if he’d been with someone, but it was hours before a maid discovered him.”
She let out a soft cry. “But he was so young.” Her head tipped back as she stared at the ceiling, apparently trying to contain her emotions. “I mean, I know he wasn’t, but heseemedso young. Age barely touched him.”
Anastasios stood taller. “Yes.”
Phoebe wrapped her arms around her chest. “Thank you for coming to tell me. When is the funeral?”
“It’s happened. Your attendance wouldn’t have been appropriate.”
Her lips formed a perfect ‘o’. “Why not?”
“His wife wouldn’t approve.”
She frowned. “His wife?”
“Yes. Did he fail to mention his longstanding marriage?”
“No, of course not. He’d spoken to me of Maggie.”
The betrayal of that was searing.
“Did he indeed?”
“Just in passing,” she whispered, and then, as if only just putting two and two together, she focused on him with renewed intent. “Who are you?”
“I’m his oldest son. So far as we know.”
Her eyes widened at that revelation. “Anastasios?”
“I see he mentioned me, too.”
