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Ice sledged her. She nodded quickly and looked away, hoping he’d go away before the tears stinging the backs of her eyes found purchase on her cheeks.
He was in a foul mood, and leaving the yacht only worsened it. He stared down at her for as long as he could as the helicopter lifted above the ocean, then he tacked towards Italy, making a beeline for Rome. He had an office there, and a home, and a whole normal life that he could slide into, pretending, for a time that he’d never met Phoebe Whittaker.
As soon as he was settled behind his desk with its view of the Foro Romano, and in the distance the Colosseo, he focused on the practicalities of distraction. He’d neglected work since Konstantinos’s passing; it was time to rectify that.
He made a flurry of calls, sending his secretaries into a spin with his sudden reemergence and lightning round of demands. He organized meetings, checked reports, anything he could think of to push Phoebe from his mind, and when she finally crept in—only two hours after sitting at his desk, he surrendered, just for a moment.
“Tommy? It’s me,” he said, as soon as his friend had answered the phone.
“Tasso. I wondered when I’d hear from you again.”
“I’ve been busy. How are things?”
“If you’re asking about the article, it’s close to running.”
Anastasios gripped the receiver more tightly. “It’s not true.”
“The source reckons there’s proof.”
Anastasios felt like a band was tightening around his chest. “What proof?”
“A love letter.”
“Christós. From my father?”
“Apparently.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“No, but the legal department has.”
“Can you get me a copy.”
“The source wouldn’t let us have it. It’s been shown to the relevant person, that’s all.”
“Tommy, I thought you were going to help me out on this.”
“I’m trying, mate.”
“Don’t you own the damned tabloid?”
“Ever heard of media censorship laws? I can’t get involved on editorial.”
“It’s going to kill my mother.”
“All I can say is that you should think about warning her. Do it your way, in your own time, so it’s not such a bolt out of nowhere.”
“You have no doubt it’s true?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.”
Anastasios frowned. Then why did he? Nothing had happened to exonerate Phoebe and yet, in the last two days, he’d started to question his original conviction. He’d started to wonder—to hope?—that he’d been wrong.
He ground his teeth together as that hope died a savage death.
“The one thing they’re waiting on is a quote from the girl. No one can find her though. I suppose that’s your doing?”
Anastasios ground his teeth. “I need you to kill this. Think of whatever loophole is at your disposal.”
