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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 my sister, 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.
“Ophelia,” Anastasios’ voice was drawled, and when he looked at Phoebe, there was none of the easy affection they’d shared all day. “Allow me to introduce Phoebe—a ‘friend’ of our father’s. She met him around eighteen months ago.”
The intonation he laid on the word ‘friend’ left no room for doubt as to his meaning, the timeline added grist to the mill. She startled, eyes wide, spine straight. His betrayal was like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, shocked, hurt, nauseated. The hurt was all the worse, coming as it did from the peak of happiness.
“You?” Ophelia asked, the word roughly dragged from her. “You’re who he left my mother for?”
Anastasios said nothing. There was no help from that quarter. Her heart splintered.
“I was good friends with your father,” she said, quietly, trying to find calm, reason, sense.
“I can just imagine,” Ophelia spat.
“It really wasn’t like that.”
“Sure,” Ophelia rolled her eyes. “So what was it like? Were you spending time with an eighty four year old for the fun of it?” Phoebe hadn’t expected this vitriol from Ophelia, and it hurt. It hurt because she’d adored her performance, and admired her greatly. It hurt because Anastasios was standing by and letting this happen. Her world was crumbling.
“Actually, yes,” she responded with quiet pride and an angry defensiveness of Konstantinos. Her hurt had her adding, “He was truly the best man I’ve ever known.”
Unfortunately, it only validated both Anastasios and Ophelia’s suspicions. Phoebe couldn’t care less. She felt angry and hurt and used, because Anastasios had thrown her to the wolves with no warning and no hesitation.
“I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree,” Ophelia responded tartly.
