answer. Not immediately. The glass of red wine he was drinking with his meal remained cradled in his hand and his expression reflective and almost…yearning as he stared into the middle distance.
‘I would’ve liked to be there,’ he rasped. ‘Very much.’
The warm pool inside me grew hotter, turning into a jet of feeling spiralling high with emotions I needed to wrestle under control before they got out of hand.
But even as the warning hit hard I was opening my mouth, uttering words I shouldn’t. ‘One of the nurses filmed the birth…if you’d like to see it?’
What are you doing sharing your most precious moments with him?
He’s Andreos’s father.
Axios inhaled sharply, the glass discarded as he stared fiercely at me. ‘You have a video?’
I jerked out a nod. ‘Yes. Would you—?’
‘Yes.’ The word was bullet-sharp, and the cadence of his breathing altered as his gaze bored into me. ‘Yes. Very much,’ he repeated.
For the longest time we remained frozen, our gazes locked in a silent exchange I didn’t want to examine or define. Soon it morphed into something else. Something equally intimate. Twice as dangerous.
Perhaps it was in the molten depths of his eyes, or in the not so secret wish to relive what had happened upstairs ramping up that ever-present chemistry. Whatever it was, we’d brought it alive on that sofa and now it sat between us, a writhing wire ready to sizzle and electrify and burn at the smallest hint of weakening.
Forcing my brain back on track didn’t help. Hadn’t we been discussing childbirth? The product of what had happened in a bedroom the last time we were both present in one.
‘I’ll let you have the recording after lunch,’ I blurted, then picked up my water glass and drank simply to distract myself.
From the corner of my eye I watched him lounge back in his seat, although his body still held that coil of tension that never dissipated.
After a moment he picked up his glass and drained it. ‘Efkharisto,’ he murmured. ‘Now, on to other things. Arrangements are being made to equip you with a new wardrobe. My mother tells me the things you left behind are hopelessly out of date.’
I frowned, the change of subject from the soul-stirring miracle of Andreos’s birth to the mundanity of high fashion throwing me for a few seconds. ‘I don’t need a new wardrobe.’
‘Perhaps not—but might I suggest you let the stylists come anyway? Who knows? You might find something you like for our first engagement on Saturday,’ he replied.
The last tendrils of yearning had left his voice, to be replaced by the cadence I knew best. One of powerful mogul. Master of all he surveyed. Despite the pleasant heat of the sun a cool breeze whispered over my skin, bringing me harshly back to earth.
‘What’s happening on Saturday?’
‘It’s been four days since you returned. It’s time we presented you properly to the world. My mother has organised a party in your honour. She was unwell when we married last year, and couldn’t make it to the ceremony. She’s anxious to meet you. And, of course, she’s yet to meet her grandson. Call this a belated welcome, if you will, but several business acquaintances will be there, so it’s imperative that everything goes smoothly.’
‘Is it really necessary to parade me before your friends and family?’
‘I think it’s best to put the rumours to rest once and for all. Then we can concentrate on our son.’
While his attention to Andreos warmed my heart, the prospect of being paraded before his family and business didn’t. ‘And how do you propose we do that? Is there a storyline I need to follow, chapter and verse?’
He smiled as if the thought of playing out a role so publicly was water off his back. ‘Leave that to me,’ he stated cryptically. ‘All I require from you is to present a picture-perfect image of loving wife and mother. I trust I can count on you to do that?’
For the sake of uninterrupted bonding with my son I would go to hell and back. ‘Yes.’
Perhaps my agreement was too quick. Perhaps the depth of feeling behind it was too revealing. Whatever, his gaze grew contemplative, stayed fixed on me.
And when he walked away, moments after the meal was done, I got the distinct feeling there were more bumps and curves on this peculiar road I’d taken than I’d initially realised.
A PRE-PARTY FAMILY MIXER.
A harmless-sounding statement until you were confronted by the full might of the formidable Xenakis clan.
The gathering had been deceptive. Over the course of two hours they’d trickled in—some by car, others by boat. And Axios’s formidable-looking brother Neo, looking a little distracted and a lot harassed, had come by sleek helicopter, with the iconic Xenakis Aeronautics logo emblazoned on its side.
Inexorably the trickle became a stream, and then a torrent. By four p.m. the largest salon in the villa, the surrounding terrace and the perfectly manicured lawn were overflowing with aunts, uncles, cousins and distant offshoots—some from as far afield as Australia and New Zealand.
Fascinatingly, despite the low buzz of tension surrounding their interactions, there were no overt signs of dissent.
Perhaps because I was their main focus.
I didn’t want to admit it, but the six-hour makeover session I’d endured earlier in the day boosted my confidence now, as impeccably dressed men and couture-clad women approached the place where I stood next to Axios, with a wide-eyed Andreos nestled in my arms.
My hair had been brought back to shoulder-length, layered and trimmed into loose stylish waves that gleamed with new vitality. And the rails upon rails of new clothes hanging in the closets of my vast dressing room, complete with matching accessories and priceless jewellery, were the pièce de résistance.
After months of wearing flats and tie-dye sundresses, and ponytailing my hair, the transformation took a little getting used to. While the teardrop diamond necklace glittering just as bright as the pristine white linen shift dress and tan platform shoes were making me feel intensely aware of the kind of circles I’d married into.
The most striking of the women within those intimidating circles was Electra Xenakis—Axios’s mother.
Her hair was a distinctive grey, which had been used to enhance her beauty rather than been dyed away, and it framed an angular face, highlighting superb cheekbones and the striking grey eyes she’d passed on to her sons. Tall and slender, with a ramrod-straight posture, she was formidable—until she gave a rare smile. Then warmth radiated from her every pore, and the icy grey palazzo pants and matching top she wore were suddenly not so severe.
On meeting Andreos she dissolved into hearty tears. And that unfettered display of love for her
