from my lips.
‘It’s not too late, Papa. Whatever this is… Perhaps if you told me why, we can find a way—’
‘I have already found a way, child.’
‘Don’t call me a child—I’m twenty-four years old!’
That pulse of rebellion, which I’d never quite been able to curb, eagerly fanned by Yiayia when she was alive, slipped its leash. She’d never got on well with my father, and in a way standing up to him now, despite the potential fallout for my mother, felt like honouring her memory.
His eyes narrowed. ‘If you wanted to help then you should’ve taken that business degree at university, instead of the useless arts degree you’re saddled with.’
‘I told you—I’m not interested in a corporate career.’
Nor was I interested in being constantly reminded that I wasn’t the son he’d yearned for. The one he’d hoped would help him save Petras Industries, the family company which now teetered on the brink of bankruptcy.
‘Ne—and just like your mother you let me down. Once again it has fallen to me to find a way. And I have. So now you will smile and do your duty by this family. You will say your vows and marry Xenakis.’
I bit my lip at this reminder of yet another bone of contention between us. I’d fought hard for the right to leave the island to pursue my arts degree, only returning because of my mother. The small art gallery I worked at part-time on Nicrete was a way of keeping my sanity, even as I mourned my wasted degree.
‘After that, what then?’
He shrugged. ‘After that you will belong to him. But remember that regardless of the new name you’re taking on you’re still a Petras. If you do anything to bring the family into disrepute you will bear the consequences.’
My heart lurched, my fists balling in pain and frustration—because I knew exactly what my father meant.
The consequences being my father’s ability to manipulate my mother’s guilt and ensure maximum suffering. His constant threats to toss her out with only the clothes on her back, to abandon her to her fate the way she’d briefly abandoned her family. But while my mother had deserted her child and marriage in the name of a doomed love, my father was operating from a place of pure revenge. To him, his wife had humiliated and betrayed him, and he was determined to repay her by keeping her prisoner. Ensuring that at every waking moment she was reminded of her fall from grace and his power over her.
The reason that I’d been roped in as a means to that end was my love for my mother.
Eight years ago, when he’d returned home with my absentee mother after the doctors in Athens had called and informed him that she’d been in a crash, and that the man she’d run away with was dead, he’d laid out new family rules. My mother would stay married to him. She would become a dutiful wife and mother, doing everything in her power to not bring another speck of disgrace to the family. In return he would ensure her medical needs were met, and that she would be given the finest treatment to adjust to her new wheelchair-bound life.
For my part, I would act the devoted daughter…or my mother would suffer.
The horses whinnying as they came to a stop at the steps leading to the church doors dragged me to the present, pushing my heartache aside and replacing it with apprehension.
The last of the guests were entering while organ music piped portentously in the air. In less than an hour I would be married to a man I’d never exchanged a single word with. A man who had somehow fallen in league with my father for reasons I still didn’t know.
I glanced at my father, desperate to ask why. His stony profile warned me not to push my luck. Like my heartache, I smothered my rebellion.
My father stepped out of the carriage and held out his hand. Mine shook, and again I was glad for the veil’s cover to hide my tear-prickled eyes.
A small part of me was grateful that my father didn’t seem in a hurry to march me down the aisle because he was basking in the limelight that momentarily banished the shadow of scandal and humiliation he’d lived under for the past eight years. For once people weren’t talking about his wife’s infidelity. Or the fact that the woman who’d deserted him had returned in a wheelchair. Or that he’d taken her back just so he could keep her firmly under his thumb in retribution.
Today he was simply the man who’d seemingly bagged one of the most eligible bachelors in the world for his daughter—not the once illustrious but now downtrodden businessman who’d lost the Petras fortune his father had left him.
The doors to the church yawned open, ready to receive their unwilling sacrifice. My footsteps faltered and my father sent me a sharp look. Unable to meet his eyes without setting off the spark of mutiny attempting to rekindle itself inside me, I kept my gaze straight.
I needed to do this for my mother.
I spotted her in the front row, her head held high despite her fate, and it lent me the strength to put one foot in front of the other. The slight weight of my grandmother’s envelope in my pocket helped me ignore the rabid curiosity and speculative whispers of three hundred strangers.
Unfortunately there was only one place left to look. At the towering figure of the man waiting in perfect stillness facing the altar.
He didn’t twitch nor fidget. Didn’t display any outward signs of being a nervous groom.
His broad back and wide shoulders seemed to go on for ever, and his proud head and unyielding stance announced his power and authority. He didn’t speak to the equally tall, commanding figure next to him, as most grooms did with their best man. In fact both men stood as if to military attention, their stance unwavering.
My gaze flicked away from Axios Xenakis, my breath stalling in my throat the closer I approached. Even without seeing his face I sensed a formidable aura—one that forced me again to wonder why he was doing this. What did he have to gain with this alliance?
He could have any woman he wanted. So why me?
And why had several butterflies suddenly taken flight within my belly?
Wild instinct urged me to fan my rebellion to life. Fight or flight. Pick one and deal with the consequences later.
But even as the thoughts formed they were discarded.
I had no choice. None whatsoever.
But maybe this man I was marrying would be a little more malleable than my father. Maybe—
He turned. And the feeble little hope died a horrible death.
Eyes the colour of polished gunmetal bored into me as if they were with fierce, merciless hooks. They probed beneath the veil with such force that for a moment I imagined I was naked—that he could see my every weakness and flaw, see to the heart of my deepest desire for freedom.
His lips were pressed into a formidable line, his whole demeanour austere. Axios Xenakis could have been in a boardroom, preparing to strike a deal to make himself another billion euros, not poised before an altar, about to commit himself to a wife he’d never met.
I catalogued his breathtaking features.
