style="font-size:15px;"> ‘But your aunt and I convinced everyone you were completely overwrought. That the wedding had come too soon after the loss of your grandfather.’ He spread his hands. ‘I took the blame for wanting an early wedding, but your family understood and were very sympathetic.’
Emma opened her mouth then closed it again, feeling pressure build inside like steam in a kettle.
This was unbelievable!
‘You made it sound like I had a breakdown? And they believed you?’
He shrugged, the movement emphasising the powerful outline of his shoulders and chest. ‘What else could they believe? Your suitcase was gone, with your purse and passport.’ His eyes narrowed to glowing slits that belied his relaxed pose. As if he were even now calculating how she’d managed to get away. Did he suspect Steph of helping? Had he bullied her into confessing? Steph hadn’t mentioned it, but then she wouldn’t.
‘Once your aunt got that nonsensical message from you, of course she wondered.’
Emma shot to her feet. ‘It wasn’t nonsensical. I explained I needed time alone to think things through.’
Christo merely lifted those sleek black eyebrows and leaned back. ‘Exactly. What sane woman would do that when she had a caring family and a brand-new husband to share her problems with?’
‘Except you were the problem!’ Emma heard her voice rise on a querulous note and swung away, pacing across to the window.
The view across the terrace to the private cove and bright sea did nothing to calm her fury. No one, not even her papou at his most obstinate, had got under Emma’s skin the way this man had. Had she ever been so furious, her thoughts skittering so wildly?
How straightforward her world had been, how easy to be calm, before Christo Karides had slithered into her life.
Emma’s heart hammered high in her chest at his gall, implying she was an emotional wreck who’d had a breakdown.
With a huge effort she pushed that aside. ‘You said you’d worried I’d been abducted. But you knew I’d taken my luggage.’
Another nonchalant shrug. ‘That wasn’t clear at first. Your friend Steph didn’t seem quite sure. And, even if you had left of your own free will, you could still have got into trouble. You’re not used to being by yourself.’
Emma blinked. Christo made her sound like a child. Clearly he had no concept of the fact that she’d run Papou’s house and some of his local investments for years. She’d chosen to live there for Papou’s sake, not because she lacked independence.
Pride demanded she set the record straight.
She swung round and met that complacent, slate-blue stare, feeling the instant buzz of reaction as their gazes clashed. Immediately she changed her mind. Why explain to a man who’d soon be out of her life?
The notion eased the tightness cramping her chest and shoulders.
‘We’re wasting time. What’s done is done.’ It was time they moved on.
‘I agree.’ Yet the way Christo surveyed her, like a cat poised outside a mouse hole, warned her the next step wouldn’t be so simple.
It was on the tip of her tongue to demand an apology but the way he sprawled there, ankles crossed nonchalantly, arms spread across the upholstery as he surveyed her, Emma knew she had no hope of getting satisfaction on that front.
The only satisfaction she’d get from this man was knowing she’d never have to see or hear from him again.
‘It’s in both our interests to end this quickly,’ she began. ‘Would an annulment be faster, do you know?’
‘You think I’m an expert on unconsummated marriages?’ For the first time Emma saw more than a flicker of annoyance in Christo’s preternaturally still expression. Did he think she impugned his manhood by mentioning an annulment? She wouldn’t be surprised. ‘But I can tell you it would be a mistake.’
‘How so?’ Maybe annulments weren’t simple after all.
‘Because I refuse to consider it. Can you imagine the press furore if it became public?’ He shook his head with grim disapproval.
‘Frankly, I don’t care. All I want is to be shot of you.’
His eyes narrowed to steely slits and his stare turned laser-sharp, scraping her throat and face. Emma crossed her arms and refused to look away.
‘You’ve led a sheltered life. You have no idea how disruptive media attention can be till you’ve lived in the public eye.’
He was right. Emma had seen the articles about his business prowess, defying the odds when Greece’s economy had faltered and his global investments had continued to return so spectacularly. And more, about his private life, all those assignations with beautiful women.
She shrugged one tense shoulder, her lips twisting in distaste. ‘I’ll cope, if it means ending this marriage quickly.’
‘You really think you’d be able to deal with paparazzi camped at your door? Following you wherever you go? Digging up dirt—’
‘There’s no dirt to dig up!’ At least not about her. Who knew what secrets Christo guarded?
‘They’d invent something. The press are good at that.’ He paused. ‘Unless you have the power to keep them in check. As I have.’
Emma shuddered at the picture he painted of her hounded by photographers, of scurrilous stories in the tabloids, of friends and family pestered for interviews.
‘If not an annulment, then a divorce.’
Christo spread his hands in mock sympathy. ‘You’d still be hounded relentlessly.’
Emma lifted her chin. ‘Maybe I’ll sell my story to them instead. Have you thought of that? I could make big bucks and then they’d leave me alone.’
For a second Emma thought he’d surge to his feet. She read the quickened pulse throbbing at his temple and the severe line of his mouth and knew Christo Karides wasn’t used to such defiance.
Did people always do as he demanded? It was time someone broke the trend. Satisfaction filled Emma at the thought of being the one to disrupt his plans. She wasn’t a pawn to be played to suit his schemes.
‘Good try, Emma, but you won’t do it.’
‘You think you know me so well?’ She sucked in a rough breath, trying to control the wobble in her voice. It didn’t matter that fury, not hurt, made it unsteady. She hated the idea of seeming weak before this man. ‘You have no idea who I really am. You never did.’
For what seemed an age, her surveyed her. ‘I know you’re a private person. You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.’ He paused and she wondered, choking down hurt, whether he realised he was rubbing salt on her wounds.
For she had worn her heart on her sleeve. She’d been gullible, believing the unbelievable—that
