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“I made the worst mistake of my life that night.”
She understood what this apology meant to him, that Anastasios was not a man to admit his failings, and that he was doing so now unreservedly. But her heart was still too damaged, her memory too strong.
“I’ve been hurt so many times,” she said softly. “I’d rather be alone than risk going through that again.”
His eyes swept shut, a look of torture on his features. “You deserve safety,” he agreed. “You deserve everything.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight, to sink into his words and promises and stop overthinking things. But her past made her wary, and she wore that wariness like a shield now.
“I didn’t come here with any expectations or hope, except that you might consider giving me a chance to show you how sorry I am.”
“But a chance might lead to success and then—,”
“You worry I’ll hurt you again.” The words were wrenched from his chest.
She sobbed, pulling away from Anastasios. “You broke my heart.” She shouted the words, needing him to understand. “You broke my heart,” softer now, but heavy with pain. “And I had given it to you, so completely.” She wiped her eyes.
“I know that. God, Phoebe, I know.”
“That day…my birthday…it was so perfect. For the first time in my life, I felt cherished. I felt loved.” She shook her head. “And the contrast of those feelings to the crash down to earth afterwards. The way you looked at me, I’ll never forget it.”
“I hated the idea of you with him. It made me so angry, I couldn’t see sense. I got those messages from Tommy and I just…saw red.”
“You couldn’t see me.”
“I did. I do. I see you, and I love you.”
“Love isn’t enough,” she said, honestly, her heart collapsing at that admission. “You say you love me? That you loved me even then? And yet you thought the worst of me every day. Every day.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she slashed a hand through the air, silencing him, angry beyond bearing. “You know what my life was like, growing up. I’ve been on the run from that pain for so long; don’t ask me to walk right back into it.” Doubts throbbed inside of her, but she knew she was speaking the absolute truth. There was danger in Anastasios, and it didn’t matter that she loved him too, that she wanted to be with him, she had to look after herself, first and foremost. “Please,” she groaned, wretchedly. “Just leave me alone.”
“Jesus Christ.” Dimitrios opened the door with a look of thunder on his stony features, his grey eyes raking Anastasios from head to toe. “What the hell, Anastasios?”
Dimitrios did not use any diminutives when speaking with his family. He never allowed himself to relax around them, and that was a part of it.
Anastasios shouldered his way into the door and Dimitrios lifted two thick, dark brows at the stench of alcohol that followed. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Of course I do,” Anastasios rumbled, squinting at his watch anyway. “Were you sleeping?”
Dimitrios barely slept. He looked around his Kensington penthouse with a grim look. His office light was on, casting a narrow beam into the living room. A half-full scotch glass was on top of the grand piano. “What do you think?” He nodded to the glass. “I’d ask you to join me, but it smells as though you’ve already emptied a bar.”
Anastasios’ eyes narrowed. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just fine.”
“Really?” Dimitrios would have been amused if he were capable of feeling any degree of levity. “You don’t seem fine.”
“I’m fine,” Anastasios said, dropping his head into his hands and standing so completely still that Dimitrios could only stare. Humour was beyond Dimitrios but worry was not, and he felt it in spades now.
“Is this about Konstantinos?” Dimitrios did not refer to their parents as ‘dad’ or ‘mum’. Distance was best kept, at all times.
Anastasios’ eyes locked to Dimitrios’, and there was such torture in their depths that Dimitrios completely understood. He moved to the piano and poured a second glass, handing it to his brother. “Sit down. Tell me what the hell has happened.”
Anastasios drank the scotch as though it were a lifeline, wincing afterwards, as the alcohol burned its way down. “I’ve messed up.”
Dimitrios frowned. “You’re Anastasios Xenakis. You don’t mess up.”
Anastasios swore in response, a sharp, short curse that flooded the room with dark emotion. “I’ve ruined it.”
“What have you ruined?”
