sliced through him upon impact.
‘Hello, Theo.’
* * *
He didn’t recognise her.
Jo didn’t know what she’d expected. A hundred scenarios had played out in her mind over the past twenty hours. Not one of those scenarios had involved him not remembering her.
It was like rubbing salt in an open, festering wound.
Something flickered in his dark eyes, and then she caught the flare of recognition.
‘Jo?’
As he spoke her name, the question strongly inflected in a rich, accented voice that sounded just as she imagined a creamy chocolate mousse would sound if it could talk, his long fingers wrapped around hers.
She nodded and bit into her bottom lip, which had gone decidedly wobbly. Her whole body suddenly felt very wobbly, as if her bones had turned into overcooked noodles.
His hand felt so warm.
It shouldn’t feel warm. It should feel as cold as his lying heart.
And she shouldn’t feel an overwhelming urge to burst into tears.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Straightening her spine, Jo tugged her hand out of his warm hold and resisted the impulse to wipe it on her skirt, to rid herself of a touch she had once yearned for.
‘It’s been a long time,’ she said, deliberately keeping her tone cool, trying to turn her lips upwards into the semblance of a smile.
But how could you smile when your one and only lover, the man you’d spent five years searching for, the father of your child, didn’t remember your face?
How could you force a smile when you’d spent five years searching for a lie?
Dimitris, the man who’d collected her from the airport and introduced himself as His Highness’s private secretary, was watching their interaction with interest.
‘Do you two know each other?’
‘Despinis Brookes is an old acquaintance of mine,’ said Theo—or Theseus—or whatever his name was. ‘We met when I was on my sabbatical.’
Oh, was that what he’d been doing on Illya? He’d been on a sabbatical?
And she was an acquaintance?
She supposed it was better than being described as one of his one-night stands.
And at least he hadn’t had the temerity to call her an old friend.
‘I saw a picture of you on the internet last night when I was researching your island,’ she said, injecting brightness into her tone, giving no hint that she’d even thought of him during the intervening years. ‘I thought it looked like you.’
She might not have much pride left after spending the last four years as a single mother, but she still had enough to be wounded and not to want to show it, especially as they had an audience. One thing motherhood had taught her was resilience. In fact it had taught her a lot of things, all of which had made her infinitely stronger than she’d been before.
Theseus appraised her openly, his dark brown eyes sweeping over her body. ‘You look different to how I remember you.’
She knew she was physically memorable—it had been the bane of her childhood. Red hair and a weight problem had made her an easy target for bullies. Having Toby had been the kick she’d needed to shift the weight and keep it off. She would never be a stick-thin model but she’d grown to accept her curves.
She might be a few stone lighter, and her hair a few inches longer, but there was nothing else different about her.
‘Your hair’s shorter than I remember,’ she said in return.
Five years ago Theseus’s hair—so dark it appeared black—had been long, skimming his shoulders. Now it was short at the back, with the front sweeping across his forehead. On Illya she’d only ever seen him in shorts and the occasional T-shirt. Half the time he hadn’t bothered with footwear. Now he wore a blue suit that looked as if it had cost more than her annual food bill, and shoes that shone so brightly he could probably see his reflection in them.
‘You’re looking good, though,’ she added, nodding her head to add extra sincerity to her words.
What a shame that it was the truth.
Theo—or Theseus—or His Highness—wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever met, but there was something about him that captured the eye and kept you looking. A magnetism. He had a nose too bumpy to be considered ideal, deep-set dark brown eyes, a wide mouth that smiled easily and a strong jawline. This combined with his olive colouring, his height—which had to be a good foot over her own five foot four inches—and the wiry athleticism of his physique, gave the immediate impression of an unreconstructed ‘man’s man’.
Her awareness of him had been instant, from the second he’d stepped into Marin’s Bar on Illya with a crowd of Scandinavian travellers hanging onto his every word. She’d taken one look at him and her heart had flipped over.
It had been a mad infatuation. Totally crazy. Irrational. All the things she’d reached the age of twenty-one without having once experienced had hit her with the force of a tsunami.
But now she was five years older, five years wiser, and she had a child to protect. Any infatuation had long gone.
Or so she’d thought.
But when he’d strode through the door of the stateroom the effect had been the same; as if the past five years had been erased.
‘Different to all those years ago,’ Theseus agreed, looking at his watch. ‘I appreciate you’ve had a long day, but time is against us to get the biography complete. Let’s take a walk to your apartment so you can freshen up and settle in. We can talk en route.’
He set off with Dimitris at his side.
Staring at his retreating back, it took Jo a few beats before she pulled herself together and scrambled after them.
Dull thuds pounded in her brain, bruising it, as the magnitude of her situation hit her.
For all these years she’d sworn to herself that she would find Toby’s father and tell Theo about their son. She’d had no expectations of what would happen afterwards, but had known that at the very least she owed it to Toby to find him. She’d also thought she owed it to Theo to tell him he had a child.
But Theo didn’t exist.
Whoever this man was, he was not the Theo Patakis she had once fallen in love with.
Theseus wasn’t the father of her son; he was a stranger dressed in his skin.
‘VISITORS
