in a book. ‘Well, not any more.’ She shuddered as ice frosted her spine. ‘Imagine if we hadn’t heard...’
‘But we did.’ Steph squeezed her shoulder again. ‘The question is, what are you going to do about it?’
The question jolted her out of self-pity.
Emma looked in the mirror, taking in the ashen-faced waif dressed in wedding lace. Suddenly, in a burst of glorious heat, anger swamped her. Scorching, fiery anger that ran along her veins, licking warmth back into her cold flesh and burning away the vulnerability she’d felt at Christo’s casual contempt. The flush of it rose from her belly to her breasts and up to her cheeks as she swung round to face her friend.
‘Walk away, of course. Christo can find another sensible woman to care for his child and please him.’
Silly that, of all the assumptions he’d made about her and the games he’d played, what rankled most was that he’d recognised her longing for physical pleasure. For him.
A shudder ran through her at the thought of how she’d looked forward to pleasing him and having him reciprocate with those big, supple hands and that hard, masculine body.
Now the idea of him touching her made her feel sick.
Especially as the reason he’d abstained from sex clearly hadn’t been out of respect for her and for her dying grandfather. It had been because sex with the dowdy mouse of the family hadn’t appealed to him. If Christo had been engaged to the beautiful Maia, there’d have been no holding back. They’d have been scorching the sheets well before the wedding.
A curl of flame branded deep inside Emma’s feminine core. In the place where, one day, a man she loved and who loved her back would possess her. She’d thought she’d found him in Christo Karides. Now all she felt was loathing for him and disappointment at herself for believing his lies.
‘I’m so relieved.’ Steph’s words tugged her into the present. ‘I was afraid you might think of staying with him and hoping he’d eventually fall in love with you.’
Emma shook her head, the old lace swishing around her shoulders. Papou had been proud that she’d wear the same veil his bride had worn to her wedding. This marriage had meant so much to him. But it was a sham. Christo hadn’t only made a fool of her but of her grandfather too. She’d never forgive him that.
‘I might be the quiet one in the family but I’m not a doormat. As Christo Karides is about to find out.’ She met her friend’s eyes in the mirror. ‘Will you help me?’
‘You have to ask?’ Steph rolled her eyes. ‘What do you have in mind?’
Emma hesitated, realising she had nothing in mind. But only for a second.
‘Can you go up to my room and grab my passport and bag? And my suitcase?’ The case she’d packed for her honeymoon. The thought was a jab to her heart. She sucked in a fortifying breath. ‘You’ll have to come down the back stairs.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’ll book a flight out of here. If I can borrow your car and leave it at the airport—’
‘And leave Christo Karides to face the music when his bride disappears? I love it.’ Steph’s grin almost hid the fury glittering in her eyes. ‘But I’ve got a better idea. Forget the airport. That’s the first place he’ll look. With his resources, he’ll be on your trail within hours. Head to my place and wait for a call.’ She reached into her purse and pulled out her key ring, pressing it into Emma’s hand. ‘I’ll get you out of Melbourne but so he can’t trace your movements. I’m not the best travel agent in the city for nothing. It’s going to be a real pleasure watching him stew when he can’t find you.’
For the first time since overhearing Christo’s conversation, Emma smiled. It didn’t matter that her cheeks felt so taut they might crack, or that the pain in her heart was as deep as ever. What mattered was that she had a way out and a true friend.
Suddenly she didn’t feel so appallingly alone and vulnerable.
‘Thank you, Steph. I can’t tell you what it means to have your help.’ Emma blinked against the self-pitying tears prickling the back of her eyes.
She’d cried when she’d lost Papou. She refused to shed tears over a man who wasn’t fit to speak her grandfather’s name. A schemer who’d played upon the old man’s love and fear for his granddaughter’s future.
‘But you’ll have to be careful not to give me away.’ Emma frowned at her friend. ‘One look at your face and Christo will know you’re hiding something. He may be a louse but he’s smart.’
Silly how speaking of him like that sent a fillip of pleasure through her. It was a tiny thing compared with the wrong he’d done her, but it was a start.
Steph shook her head and put on the butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth expression that had fooled their teachers for years. ‘Don’t worry. He won’t suspect a thing. I’ll tell him you need a short rest. He’ll accept that. He knows this has been a whirlwind, plus you’re missing your grandfather.’
Steph’s words sent a shaft of longing through Emma for the old man who’d been bossy and difficult but always loving beneath his gruff exterior. She blinked, refusing to give in to grief now.
‘Great. You go upstairs while I get this veil off.’ There was no time to get out of the dress, but she couldn’t make her escape in trailing lace. ‘I’ll hide it in the cupboard here, if you can collect it later and look after it for me?’
‘Of course. I know it’s precious.’ Steph put her hand on Emma’s arm, squeezing gently. ‘Just one more thing. Where are you travelling to?’
Emma turned to the mirror and started searching for the multitude of pins that secured the veil. ‘The only place that’s still home.’ Her aunt and uncle, Maia’s parents, had inherited this house and Papou’s Australian assets. She’d got the commercial property in Athens that had then been signed over to her husband to manage. She’d have to do something about that, she realised. Plus, she’d inherited her grandparents’ old villa in Greece. The one where she’d gone each year on holiday with her parents till they’d died. ‘I’m going to Corfu.’
It was the perfect bolthole. She’d never mentioned it to Christo and, anyway, he would never look for her on his home turf of Greece.
She could take her time there, deciding what she planned to do. And how she’d end this farce of a marriage.
EMMA STEPPED THROUGH the wrought-iron gates and felt the past wash over her. She hadn’t been to Corfu for years, not since she was fifteen, when her grandmother had grown too frail for long-distance travel.
Seven years, yet it felt more like seven days as she took in the shaded avenue ahead curling towards the villa just out of sight. Ancient olive trees, their bodies twisted but their boughs healthy with new growth, drifted down the slope to the sea like a silvery green blanket. Nearby glossy citrus leaves clustered around creamy buds in the orchard.
Emma inhaled the rich
