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That softening arrived again, more insistent than before. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from uttering the words that wanted to emerge. She couldn’t do this. It made no sense for her to feel this way towards the man who was hell-bent on retribution against her and her family.
But that man didn’t feel like the one sitting in front of her. The man who was clutching his espresso cup with white knuckles, stoically enduring the pain he was in.
‘Can I help?’ Something eased and settled inside her the moment she said those words.
He looked at her, his gaze resting on her face in that probing manner as if he was trying to decipher her thoughts. After an age, his lips twisted. ‘Thank you, but there is nothing you can do that hasn’t already been tried.’
Imogen swallowed her next retort. It was better this way, she told herself. Better to keep everything at arm’s length the way it was before.
She glanced down at her half-eaten dessert, unwilling to consider where her appetite had suddenly fled. Why there was a faintly hollow space in her stomach. Surely she wasn’t feeling dejected because he had rejected her offer of help?
Because that would mean...
No, she wasn’t even going to consider that. Caring in any way for this man would only lead to a dangerous imbalance that would weaken her position in the end.
She started when he stood abruptly. ‘Walk the deck with me,’ he said.
She frowned. Opened her mouth and then shut it again. As much as she wanted this evening to be over so she could flee to the safety of her room, there was still the matter of the jeweller’s visit.
She glanced at her watch, a little perturbed to see it was nearly ten p.m. ‘Are you sure? It’s been a long day for you. Look, I can push the jeweller’s visit to tomorrow...?’
He was already shaking his head before she was halfway through her sentence, a determined set to his jaw that reminded her who she was dealing with. ‘No. It’s happening tonight.’
She frowned inwardly, wondering why this was so important to him. Then she gave up. From the moment she’d met him, she’d known that Zeph’s mind was a labyrinth that would stump most normal human beings. ‘We won’t be any less married tomorrow without the ring, you know.’
Wry humour twisted his lips again despite the pain most likely throbbing at his temples. ‘Who knows what will happen between now and tomorrow morning? I could tumble over the side again and go missing. At least when I wake up in a strange place again, I will know that I am a married man.’
She gave a small gasp. ‘Is that why you’re doing this? Because of some abstract identification purposes?’
For a long moment he remained silent, and then he shrugged. ‘If I had known that I was married, perhaps it would’ve lent a little urgency to my decisions.’
Imogen was caught between feeling wavelets of desolation and a dash overwhelmed at the response. The thought of Zeph fighting his way back to her shouldn’t have made her feel so elated. Because at the end of the day their marriage truly meant nothing emotionally. She would do well to remember that.
‘Well, the chances of you going over the side of the boat twice feels a little remote to me.’
His gaze remained on her, probing again. ‘Tell me about that night,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’m really supposed to. The doctor said—’
‘I don’t care what the doctor said.’ His face hardened, displeasure tautening his cheekbones. ‘And I don’t think leaving me in the dark is helpful to my state of mind.’
She swallowed. Hunted around but couldn’t find anything to counter that argument. Averting her gaze from him to stare at the path of the moon over the glistening waters, she tried to gather her thoughts.
‘You had just finished the Avalon deal. That is the big merger you had been working on for the better part of five years. To celebrate, you invited the CEO, Philip Avalon, and his family for a dinner party.’ She let out a small laugh. ‘The Avalon family is large. There were over fifty people on the boat that weekend, and I think at some point you were a little irritated by their exuberance. That last Sunday, they partied really hard. The crew said it was almost three a.m. before they eventually went to bed.’
Even without looking at him, she felt the power of his stare. ‘And where were you?’
‘I’d gone to bed about two hours before. You wanted to stay up and talk to Philip Avalon. The last time I saw you, you were on the upper deck. The head steward said he served you and Philip drinks at around one. Then Philip went to bed. The security camera filmed you standing at the aft railing after that with a drink in your hand.’
His eyes narrowed. Then his lips thinned. ‘Was I drunk?’ The question was rasped, filled with surprising self-loathing.
‘I don’t think so. You were never a heavy drinker,’ she found herself reassuring. ‘I think you just joined Philip because he was known to indulge on occasions like that, just like the rest of his family, and you wanted to be an accommodating host.’
He nodded, the tension easing a touch from his shoulders. ‘And then what happened?’ he pressed in a tight voice.
‘Then you fell over. We’d just left Santorini. Philip had expressed an interest in purchasing a private island so the captain was instructed to sail us and the Avalon family there by morning. No one knew where you were until the morning when we woke up.’
He remained silent, willing her to continue.
