Alex?
She thought of his face when he’d seen the scar. He’d looked… numb.
At least she had something she needed to focus on other than Alex’s reaction. Michales was drooping. The little boy had been wide-eyed since their arrival, crowing in delight at the sea, soaking it in with all the delight at his small person’s disposal. Now he was rubbing his eyes, snuggling against her and beginning to whimper.
He needed to be fed and put to bed. She needed to find the kitchen. She should have checked she had what she needed before she’d gone for a swim, she thought ruefully. She needed to dress fast, but if she put him down he was going to wail.
There was a knock on the door. It swung open—and there was Alex.
He’d moved faster than she had. Showered and dressed, he looked slick and handsome and casually in control of his world.
He was carrying one of Michales’s bottles. Filled.
How did he know what was needed?
‘I watched the nursery staff feed him a few times before you took him away,’ he told her before she asked. ‘I know he’s a man who doesn’t like to be kept from his meals. We knew your formula and… ’
‘We?’
‘Me and my hundred or so staff,’ he said and smiled, and she was suddenly far too aware of being dressed in only a towel, which was none too secure.
She was none too secure.
‘Why don’t you dress while I feed him?’ he said and held out his hands to take his son, and that made her feel even more insecure.
‘He’ll need it warmed.’
‘It’s already warmed.’
‘By your hundred or so staff?’
‘Only me here,’ he said apologetically. ‘A housekeeper comes here every morning, and a gardener when I’m away. When I’m here the gardener doesn’t come. That’s it.’
‘So you live here all by yourself?’
‘I do,’ he said gravely, then sat on the bed, settled Michales on his knee and offered him his bottle. Michales took it as if he hadn’t seen food for days.
‘Greedy,’ Alex said and chuckled, and Lily felt her insides do that somersaulting thing again and thought she really had to get a grip.
Her towel slipped a bit and she got a grip. Fast.
‘I’ll get dressed,’ she said and grabbed a bunch of clothes and headed for the bathroom.
But she kept the door open. Just a little. There was so much she wanted to know. And it might buy her time. Maybe it could even deflect questions from the scar.
Asking questions could be seen as a pre-emptive strike. Yeah, right, as if that would succeed. But there was little else she could think of to do.
‘How long have you had this place?’ she called.
‘My father had it built when he married my mother.’
‘He planted the garden?’
‘He and my mother did the basics. My father died when I was five and my mother was forced to leave. My mother and I rebuilt the garden when she came back.’ His voice softened. ‘She was passionate about gardening. Like you are about boats.’
She’d been steering the conversation to him. There was no way she’d let him deflect the conversation straight back.
‘Your mother died when you were… seventeen?’
‘Almost seventeen. She was sick for a long time before that.’
‘You told me you were raised in the royal nursery.’
‘I was,’ he said, latent anger suddenly in his voice. ‘My uncle hated my father and when I was born that hatred turned… vindictive. Giorgos holds… held… the titles to the entire island. When my father died he banished my mother from the island. Because I was heir to the throne, he demanded I stay.’
‘He loved you?’
‘He hated me. But if I was to be his heir, he’d control me.’
‘Oh, Alex.’
‘Yeah, it was tough,’ he said. ‘The law supported him, and my mother’s pleas were ignored. My pleas were ignored.’
‘But… you got her back?’
‘I did,’ he said and she heard a note of grim satisfaction enter his voice. ‘Finally. By the time I was fifteen… well, even by fifteen I’d learned things Giorgos didn’t want me to know. I was making his life uncomfortable, and he no longer wanted me at the castle. So finally my mother was allowed to return and he allocated an allowance for us to live on. We came back here to live, for all the time she had left.’
There was an untold story here, she knew. A fifteen-year-old standing up to a King. But instinctively she knew he wouldn’t tell her more.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
‘There’s no need.’
She was still in the bathroom. She had her clothes on now. Jeans, T-shirt.
There was no reason for standing in the bathroom any longer.
She walked out, cautious. Michales had finished his bottle. Her son was looking up at Alex, sleepy but expectant. Alex was looking at Lily, expectant.
The resemblance was unnerving. She was unnerved.
She smiled. It was impossible not to smile at these two.
Her men.
The thought was weird.
‘Tell me about your illness,’ Alex said softly and her smile died, just like that.
‘You don’t need to know.’
‘I do.’ His gaze met hers. Calm. Firm. Unyielding.
The time for dissembling was past.
Okay, then. There was, indeed, no practical reason for her to dissemble—apart from increasing her vulnerability—and she felt so vulnerable anyway she might as well toss in a bit more to the mix.
‘I had a brain tumour,’ she said, so quickly, so softly that she wasn’t sure he’d hear. But the flash of horror in his eyes told her he had.
‘A brain tumour… ’
‘Benign.’ The last thing she wanted from this man was sympathy, but sympathy was in his eyes, right from the start, wanted or not. There was also horror.
When the doctors had told her the diagnosis she’d gone to the Diamond Isles to talk to Mia.
