limousine to the powerfully built men in identical dark suits who had accompanied him onto the plane and were now seated at the other end of the cabin, studiously examining their phone screens.
She glanced over to where George and Aristo were playing with a sturdy wooden garage. It had been a gift from Aristo, supposedly to help occupy George during the long flight to Greece, but she had sensed that, more importantly for Aristo, it was an opportunity to connect with his son.
Her throat tightened. He could give George anything he wanted and, although she knew her son was happy and contented with his life, he was just as susceptible to the excitement of new toys or a promised trip on a speedboat as any other child. What would happen as he grew up? What if George chose to live with his glamorous, prosperous father?
One day he would have to choose because, whatever Aristo might think, she had no intention of marrying him again—ever.
Beneath the magazine, her hands balled into fists. Don’t go there, she told herself, letting her long dark hair fall in front of her face. But it was too late. Like a dog proudly retrieving a stick for its owner, her brain had revealed the real reason why the haste and impulsiveness of this holiday had got under her skin.
She and Aristo had first got together after a particularly demanding week for her, and a charity dinner that she’d thought would never end. Aristo had been a guest at one of the tables.
Aged twenty-two, she’d had boyfriends, but never fallen in love, and she certainly hadn’t been intending to fall in love that night. Even now she still wasn’t quite sure how it had happened. Just that there had been something about the tilt of his head and the intensity of his gaze that had jolted her.
She’d picked him out to be her ‘assistant’, correctly identifying the card he’d chosen and then pickpocketing his watch.
Of course he’d had to come to the bar to retrieve it, and then he’d stayed, and when the bar staff had started to clear up around them she had leaned forward and kissed him.
He’d kissed her back, and she’d taken his hand and led him upstairs to her room. They’d only just made it.
That first time had been fast, abandoned and fully clothed. The second time too. When finally they’d managed to undress, and were lying naked and spent in one another’s arms, she had already been half in love with him.
To her surprise, they’d carried on seeing one another—meeting in hotels across America whenever his frequent trips abroad and her show schedule had permitted them to do so. And then, less than two months after they’d met, he’d surprised her in Las Vegas and said the words that had changed the course of her life.
‘You can’t keep on living out of a suitcase and I can’t wait any longer—for you to be my wife.’
Given the example set by her parents, marriage had been the last thing on her mind, and yet she hadn’t hesitated.
Her chest tightened. And look how that had turned out.
* * *
Two hours later George had finally succumbed to the excitement of the day, and lay sleeping across two seats, his car clutched tightly in his hand. Gently, she reached over and smoothed his dark hair away from his forehead, her heart contracting painfully.
He was so beautiful, so perfect, even given a mother’s bias, and she loved him completely and with an intensity that made her feel both superhuman and yet horribly defenceless.
More importantly, he would be out for the count for at least an hour, so now was her chance to send Elliot the text she had promised him and have a little freshen up at the same time. In the small but luxurious bathroom, she splashed some water onto her face, retied her thick, dark hair and then, walking back to the jet’s bedroom, she tapped out a short but reassuring message to Elliot and sent it before she could change her mind.
Whatever she wrote, she knew he was still going to worry, but all he needed to know right now was that she had everything under control. But as she sat down on the chair beside the bed, she felt a sliver of panic slip down her spine, and the cheery bravado of her text seemed suddenly a little premature, for standing in the doorway, two cups of coffee in his hands, was Aristo.
Her body tensed, her heart thudding against her ribs like a wrecking ball as he held them up by way of explanation.
‘I thought you might like a coffee as we had such an early start.’ His dark eyes rested on her face. ‘You always used to hate getting up early.’ There was a short, suspended silence.
Teddie felt her insides tighten and a prickling heat began to spread over her suddenly over-sensitised skin as she remembered exactly what it had felt like to wake in Aristo’s arms.
Tuning out the memory of his hard golden body on hers, she lifted her chin. ‘Now I have a three-year-old son,’ she said coolly. Her breath fluttered in her chest as he put one of the cups on the cabinet beside her bed.
‘How long does he normally sleep?’
‘An hour and a half—maybe two today. He was so excited last night he couldn’t settle.’
His mouth curved upwards into a slow, sweet smile that made it impossible for her to look away.
‘I would have been just the same at his age. Will it mess up his routine?’
She shrugged. ‘A little. He didn’t eat much breakfast, so he’s probably going to be really hungry.’
‘We can have lunch when he wakes up.’
She felt a cool shiver shoot down her spine as Aristo dropped down into the bed opposite her. Clearing her throat, she nodded. ‘That’s a good idea.’
He hesitated. ‘I don’t know what he likes—I thought pasta, maybe, or pizza.’
He sounded conciliatory, disarmingly unsure, and she felt some of her tension ebb. Maybe this was going to work—and she wanted it to, for George’s sake at least.
Nodding, she gave him a stiff smile. ‘Pasta or pizza will be fine. Although he’s actually not fussy at all.’
She hesitated. Aristo had never been good at small talk or casual conversation—the silence between one of her questions and his answer had once stretched to twenty-three long drawn-out seconds—and the only times he’d ever unbent and seemed relaxed enough to chat had been during those long-distance phone calls late at night. But now, glancing up at his dark eyes, she saw that he was watching her without any hint of impatience.
‘If he sees me eat something then he seems to think it’s all right for him to eat too.’
‘Smart boy,’ Aristo said softly, and his eyes gleamed. ‘Must take after his mother.’
It was the corniest of compliments, the sort of remark that didn’t really warrant a response, but despite that she felt her cheeks grow warm beneath his dark, unblinking gaze.
‘So,’ he said softly into the taut silence, ‘George seems to be getting used to me.’
‘He likes you.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘But I’m sure that will change when he gets to know you better.’
He
