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It was weekends which were hardest, when his failure to leave for the office left a gaping hole in the day ahead, along with the distraction of having him around without a break. This was when breakfast became a more awkward meal than usual. Was she imagining him staring at her intently, or was that just wishful thinking on her part? Had he deliberately left a button of his silk shirt unbuttoned, so that a smooth golden triangle of skin was revealed? Ellie would feel her breasts tingling with a hateful kind of hunger as he slid a jar of marmalade across the table towards her. She remembered what he’d said about faking affection for the wedding photos. No. She definitely wasn’t going to have a problem with that.
On the third weekend, she was as edgy as an exam candidate and glad to get out of the apartment for Alek’s suggested trip to the Victoria and Albert. It was a museum she’d longed to visit again, even though this time the statues were wasted on her. She kept looking at the carved and stony features of various kings and dignitaries and comparing them unfavourably with the beautiful features of the man by her side. Afterwards, they walked to an open-air restaurant for a late lunch and she had to fight to quash her stupid desire to have him touch her again. She thought about their wedding and their wedding night, and wondered how she was going to cope with that.
This time next month I’ll be his wife, she thought. Even though both of us seem determined not to talk about it.
The sun was dipping lower in the sky as they walked back across the park, but when she got back to the apartment she found herself unable to get comfortable. Her feet were aching and she was wriggling around restlessly on the sofa.
She didn’t know what she was expecting when Alek walked across the room and sat down next to her, lifting her bare feet into his lap and beginning to massage each one in turn. It was the first time he’d touched her in a long time and, despite her thoughts of earlier, her instinctive reaction was to freeze, even though her heart had started hammering. Could he hear its wild beat or maybe even see it, beneath her thin T-shirt? Was that why he gave that slow half-smile?
But her initial tension dissolved the instant the warm pad of his thumb started caressing her insole and once she realised that this wasn’t a seduction but simply a foot massage, she just lay back and enjoyed it. It felt like bliss and she found herself thinking how ironic it was that all his money couldn’t buy something as good as this. Did he realise how much she loved the thoughtful gesture, even though she’d done her best to conceal her squirming pleasure from him? Was he aware that small kindnesses like these were the dangerous blocks which made her start building impossible dreams?
The following Monday, she was drinking ginger tea at the kitchen table when he glanced up from his newspaper and narrowed his eyes.
‘About these new clothes you’re supposed to be buying,’ he said.
‘Maternity clothes?’
‘Not quite yet. I meant pretty clothes,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what we agreed? Something to make you look the part of a Sarantos bride. Not long to go now.’
‘I know that.’
‘You haven’t shown very much interest in your wedding so far.’
‘It’s difficult to get enthusiastic about a ceremony which feels fake.’
He didn’t rise to the taunt. ‘I thought you’d be itching to get your hands on my chequebook.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ she said in a hollow voice, thinking about the foot massage. Didn’t he realise that something that simple and intimate was worth far more to her than his money? Of course he didn’t. It suited him much more to imagine her salivating over his credit card.
He put his newspaper down. ‘Well, there’s no point in putting it off any longer. I can arrange for Alannah to take you shopping and you can choose your wedding dress at the same time, if you like. You’ll find she has a superb eye.’
‘You mean I don’t?’
He frowned. ‘That wasn’t what I said.’
‘But that’s what you implied, isn’t it? Poor little Ellie—snatched up from rural Hampshire with no idea how to shop for clothes which might make her believable as the wife of the powerful Greek!’ She stood up quickly—too quickly—and had to steady herself. ‘Well, I’m perfectly capable of buying my own clothes—and my own wedding dress. So why don’t you give me your precious credit card and I’ll see if I can do it justice? I’ll go out this morning and just spend, spend, spend like the stereotypical gold-digger you’re so fond of portraying!’
