everything in her wanting to go comfort this man. She sensed a grief and even a darkness in him that she hadn’t expected, and it called to a similar emotion in her that she’d long suppressed.
‘Angelos...’ she tried, hesitantly, because they did not remotely have the kind of relationship that would allow her to offer comfort, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to give it anyway. Reaching out to this man, actually connecting with him, would be dangerous for both of them.
And yet she stayed, even lifted her hand as she had before, fingers trembling, straining... Her fingertips brushed his shoulder, and she felt his muscles quiver and jerk in response, or perhaps she was the one who moved, a jolt running through her body that surprised her with its impossible force. She’d barely touched him.
‘Go,’ Angelos said, his voice low and insistent, his head bowed, and dropping her hand, her whole body reacting to that tiny touch, Talia went.
* * *
Angelos stayed in his study working until the small hours of the morning. Better to work and try to blot out all the damning accusations Talia had hurled at him. The pleas to spend time with his daughter, when that was the one thing he couldn’t do.
For a second, staring blankly at the page of notes he’d been making on his new client, Angelos remembered what it had been like to be close to Sofia. To hold the warm baby weight of her in his arms, tuck her head against his shoulder and rest his chin on top of her silky hair. He remembered how she’d always tugged on his ears, giving a great big baby’s belly laugh. How Xanthe had watched them, smiling that secret smile, love shining in her eyes...
With a curse he shoved the pad of paper away, driving his hands through his hair, his nails raking his scalp, as if he could push the memories right out of his head. As if he could change the past, the night that had claimed Xanthe’s life and scarred Sofia for ever. The night that had been his fault.
He glanced at the ouzo in the drinks cabinet, and then turned away.
The house was quiet as he headed upstairs, the night breeze cool. He paused outside Talia’s room, wondering how she’d taken his rebuttals. He’d been harsh, he knew, but she’d been so damnably determined. She’d been trying to make him see, and the trouble was, he saw all too clearly. He saw that when he was near his daughter he made her uncomfortable, reminded her of all they’d lost. Sofia might need a father, but she needed a better one than him.
And yet Talia didn’t know that, didn’t realise how unworthy he was. She’d tried to comfort him, and for a second, his eyes clenched shut, Angelos remembered the feel of her fingers on his shoulder, barely the brush of a hand, and yet it had made him feel as if his skin had been scraped raw, every nerve exposed to stinging air. Not a pleasant feeling, and yet it had made him feel so alive. For a second he’d craved even more; the kind of connection to another human being that he hadn’t had in seven years. It would have felt like the ripping of a bandage from a wound, the sudden exposure to light and air and life, painful and necessary and good.
And not for him.
Banishing all thoughts of Talia, he moved past her room to Sofia’s, slipping inside silently as he did every night he was on Kallos, while his daughter slept.
Sofia lay on her side, her knees tucked up as they always were. As Angelos came closer, his throat constricted as he saw the dried traces of tears on his daughter’s cheek. She’d been crying...because of him? Because of what he had or hadn’t done? He glanced down and saw the last letter he’d written her on the floor, having slipped from her fingers as she’d fallen asleep.
Guilt lashed him, a scourge whose sting he accepted as his due. Sofia’s sadness was his fault. He knew that. He’d always known that. He just didn’t know how he could make it better.
‘S’agapo manaria mou,’ he said softly, and then, as he always did, he slipped silently from the room before she could wake.
* * *
Talia woke the next morning determined to give Sofia the day she should have had with her father, if he’d only been willing. She asked Maria to pack a picnic, and, a few games to play on the beach and plenty of sun cream.
As soon as Sofia had finished her lessons, she announced her intentions.
‘A picnic?’ Sofia’s face lit up as she smiled shyly. Talia had noticed how quiet and downhearted she’d seemed since Angelos’s arrival yesterday afternoon, and she was glad to see the girl brightening now. ‘Just...just the two of us?’ She glanced inadvertently towards her father’s study, the door firmly closed.
‘Yes,’ Talia said, injecting as much cheer as she could into her voice. ‘Won’t it be fun? I’ve been wanting to explore the other side of the island. We can swim on the other beach.’ Sofia frowned in confusion, and with exaggerated movements Talia mimed what she meant. She deserved an Academy Award for her acting talents, she thought wryly as Sofia nodded in understanding.
Talia slathered them both in sun cream, and cramming the wide straw hat she’d borrowed from Maria on her head, she headed outside with Sofia.
The sky was cloudless blue, the sun already high and hot above, and the other side of the island beckoned enticingly. Kallos wasn’t very big, a few square miles at most, but Talia hadn’t ventured much beyond the landscaped gardens and beach right in front of the villa.
Now, despite the disappointment caused by Angelos’s absence, she found she was looking forward to seeing a little more of the island. The sense of adventure that had been dormant for so long rose up once more, so she walked with a spring in her step as they left the bright tangle of the villa’s gardens for the stony hill above the house.
They’d just crested the hill and Talia was gazing in interest at the rock-strewn valley below when Sofia suddenly exclaimed in Greek.
Afraid she’d seen a snake or something dangerous, Talia whirled around. Sofia was pointing back towards the villa.
‘Papa,’ she exclaimed.
Talia held up her hand to shade her eyes from the sun, and her heart felt as if it had leapt into her throat when she saw Angelos coming up the hill they’d just climbed with long, purposeful strides.
‘Papa,’ she agreed cautiously, and she glanced down at Sofia to see a look of apprehension coming over her face as Angelos drew nearer. He was dressed as casually as she’d ever seen him, in shorts that emphasised his powerful thighs and calves and a T-shirt that clung to the well-defined muscles of his chest. He was also, Talia saw as her heart sunk from her throat to her toes, scowling ferociously.
TALIA AND SOFIA watched Angelos climb up the hill, his stride easy and powerful, the scowl on his face deepening with every step. Sofia slid her hand into Talia’s and hid slightly behind her.
Talia lifted her chin, determined to brazen out whatever Angelos had in mind. What on earth could he be angry about? Taking his daughter on a picnic?
‘Well.’ He stood in front of them, his hands on his hips, the scowl still on his face. ‘I’m here.’
‘So you are,’ Talia agreed warily. ‘Why?’
His gaze snapped to hers, his eyes widening in
