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‘Enough!’ He sliced through her words like a guillotine. ‘I amnotgoing to sit here and listen to this sentimental hogwash.’
‘Well, I think youshould!’ she returned. ‘Unless, of course, you’re too scared to hear what I’ve got to say.’
The silence which followed became so loaded with tension that Mia felt she could have reached out and cut it with a knife. His black eyes were blazing now—their dangerous warning unable to conceal the smoky flicker of lust. For a moment she thought he was going to come round to her side of the table, and pull her into his arms, and didn’t her heart thump with painful longing as she found herself wishing he would? Wouldn’t his angry kiss blot out all her pain and confusion—so that maybe she could reach out to him when he was soft and sated and more open to persuasion?
But he didn’t.
His black gaze iced into her. ‘Too scared?’ he echoed furiously.
‘What else am I supposed to think?’ she demanded. ‘You say you don’t do family because you’ve never known one yourself. But that’s not really true, is it, Theo? Because all that time, you had a relationship with Georgios which was better and deeper than many father-son relationships.’
‘Enough, Mia,’ he repeated warningly.
But Mia couldn’t stop. She felt like a shaken bottle whose top had been wrenched off and all the words were spilling out—words she should have said to him a long time ago. ‘You were more of a son to him than my own father was—you know that. He was proud of you, Theo. So very proud. Why else did he invest in your education and place so much hope in you? He relished all your achievements. Every one. And yes, sometimes he drove you mad with his cantankerous nature, but that wasn’t enough to drive you away, was it? You were the one constant in his life,’ she breathed. ‘You say you don’t do family, but hewasyour family. And you were his.’
‘Mia—’
She thought he was about to berate her again but she was wrong. He was still shaking his head, but tears had begun to slide down his hard cheeks—rivulets of gold in the setting sun. He bent his head and buried his face in his hands, his big body convulsing with silent sobs. For a long time, Mia sat there, rooted to the spot, keeping a silent vigil over the weeping man she had never been able to stop loving. And when at last his shoulders had grown still, she pushed his untouched glass of brandy towards him and he lifted it up to quaff it back, in a single draught.
Still she said nothing, despite the bright glitter of his eyes which burned into her like black fire. She felt as if she were walking on a tightrope—one false move and it would all be over. Perhaps it already was. Because Theo was the personification of a proud, alpha man and she wasn’t sure how this would sit with his image of himself. Would he resent her for bearing witness to his heartache and his pain? Would he regard his meltdown as an expression of acceptance, or weakness?
After a while, bright stars began to pepper the Saronikos sky and he seemed to stir himself, like a giant wakening from a long sleep.
‘Are you okay?’ she whispered, her words barely louder than the whirring call of the cicadas which surrounded them. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
A pulse worked steadily at Theo’s temple as he thought about the candour of her question, and how impossible it was to answer with any degree of accuracy. He felt drained. Exhausted. As if he had just climbed to the top of a hill in the heat of the midday sun, the stones beneath his feet tearing his flesh to pieces. He was still trying to process some of the things she’d said, but although he had no trouble rationalising complex numbers, he didn’t have the ability to do the same thing when it came to his feelings. He had no template for dealing with emotion. All he knew was that right now he felt empty.
In the starlight, only the oval of her face and the brightness of her hair were visible, her black funeral dress absorbed by the darkness. Her eyes were huge and her lips were soft, and a shuddered sigh left his lungs. She was a siren to his senses and, oh, how he wanted to take her in his arms and lose himself in her delicious heat. How easy it would be to alleviate the pain he felt with that.
He swallowed.
Easy, yes.
But simple?
No. Nothing was ever simple where Mia was concerned.
A pulse began to work at his temple. Just before her grandfather’s death, she’d told him she wanted to go back to England, to carry on with her life, and she’d pretty much repeated that tonight. Why wouldn’t she be eager to get away from a hastily conceived fake marriage which had served its purpose?
‘I’m all done with talking,’ he said flatly. He felt like a ghost, as if he had no real substance, and he rose to his feet and stared down into the upturned oval of her face. ‘Would you mind very much if I called it a night? If you want dinner I can ask Dimitra—’
‘It’s all right, Theo. I’m perfectly capable of finding myself some hummus and pitta bread in the kitchen, if I get hungry.’
Her words were more than a little angry and more than a little hurt. As if he had disappointed her. As if she had been expecting something more. Some radical change of heart, perhaps? But Theo knew that this was the only thing he could do, for how could he promise something he might not be able to deliver, and disappoint her all over again? No. He must behave honourably and the best way to achieve that would be to sever his ties with her. For she was beautiful and kind, and he was damaged.
The scent of the jasmine which filled the air was beguiling his senses. He wanted to stay here. To whisper his fingertips over the silk tangle of her hair and then to bend his lips to hers. He wanted to stroke the soft satin of her skin and lose himself in it. But even as desire began to ripple through his body, Theo’s hard-wired survival techniques kicked right back in. He needed to stay away from her and he should start the process immediately.
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he said tonelessly.
Mia stood there mutely and watched him go, glad he wasn’t witnessing the totally predictable tears which had sprung to the backs of her eyes.
Earlier, she’d thought she didn’t have the appetite for packing but she had been wrong because Theo’s cold words had tipped her right over the edge. She went upstairs and tugged out her battered old suitcase, careful to take only the clothes she had brought with her, staring balefully at the outfits and shoes which Theo had bought her. Let him keep his fancy clothes, she thought. She wasn’t going to need them any more.
Her restless night was also predictable and she didn’t see him in the morning either. But that was a deliberate move on her part. She waited until he had started his early morning swim before ringing for a taxi to take her to the airport, where she found a budget airline desk, because anything would be better than catchinghisplane. She might not be in megabucks Theo’s class, but she certainly had enough money to buy herself an economy ticket back to London.
Afraid of her hasty departure being discovered by her husband, she didn’t dare risk saying goodbye to Sofia and Dimitra, but she left them both an appreciative note of thanks. And although there were seven missed calls from him while she was waiting for her flight—before she finally took the courage to block his number—for Theo she left no note at all. Because what could she say?
I hate you.
