She missed the intimacy of their suite on Santorini, missed the time when they’d been able to focus only on each other. She wondered if he’d suggest going again, but he was buried under work and the next time she flew to one of his hotels she did it alone.
Of course ‘alone’ never really was alone, because if he couldn’t be with her himself then Stefan made sure Takis was with her. Her protection was something he wouldn’t delegate to anyone else and she was touched by the evidence of how much he cared for her. It was there in everything. From the way he held her, confided small details of his life growing up, and from the way he made love to her.
But he never said he loved her and had made it clear he didn’t want her to say it either.
Two weeks after they’d arrived back from Santorini they were both due to attend a charity ball and she dressed carefully, excited at the prospect of spending a whole evening with him even if it was in the company of other people.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said cheerfully, taking his arm as they walked to the car.
‘I’ve been hideously busy.’
‘I know. I’ve been worried about you.’ She saw him frown briefly as he slid into the car after her.
‘Why would you be worried?’
‘Because you work too hard,’ she said softly. ‘Because I care about you.’
‘You don’t have to worry about me.’
‘Why not? Presumably you worry about me or you wouldn’t arrange for someone to be with me all the time—and not just someone: Takis. It’s all part of caring.’
His eyes were fixed straight ahead, his profile rigid and inflexible. ‘I put you in danger. It’s up to me to make sure you don’t suffer for that.’
‘That’s all it is? Guilt?’ Suddenly it upset her that he couldn’t at least admit to caring just a little bit. ‘You care about me, Stefan, I know you do.’
‘We’ve arrived.’ His tone cool, he unsnapped his seat belt and opened the door even though the car had barely come to a halt.
Exasperated, Selene started to speak, but he was already out of the car and standing on the red carpet waiting for her while the paparazzi crowded together to take photographs.
More photographs, she thought dully. More photographs of another fake life. Another evening where she had to pretend that what was on the surface reflected reality. Another evening of lies and never saying what she really felt. Fortunately this was her particular area of expertise, so she smiled dutifully, held his hand, posed for photographers, ate a reasonable quantity of her meal, listened attentively to speeches and did everything she was expected to do—just as she had for her father.
And all the time she felt numb inside.
‘Do you want to dance?’ Stefan rose to his feet and frowned when she didn’t respond. ‘Selene?’
She rose automatically. ‘Yes, of course.’
His eyes narrowed on her face but she ignored him and walked onto the dance floor, then stopped dead. ‘Actually, no.’
‘No?’ He drew her into his arms but she stayed rigid.
‘I can’t do this.’
‘I thought you’d enjoy it, but if you don’t want to dance you just have to say so.’
‘Not the dancing. All of it.’ She lifted her eyes to his. ‘I can’t be fake any more. I won’t live a false life. I’ve done it for as long as I can remember and it stops now. This is who I am. This is what I feel. I’m not going to hide any more.’
His expression was guarded. ‘Hide what?’
‘The way I feel about you.’ The look in his eyes should have silenced her instantly but she was beyond being silenced. ‘I tiptoed round a man for twenty-two years of my life, Stefan, watching every word I said, trying not to upset him. I won’t live like that again. I want to be able to express how I feel without worrying that I’m upsetting the person I’m with.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Are you suggesting I’d hurt you?’
His interpretation shocked her. ‘No, of course not. But the fact that you don’t want me to tell you how I feel is making me miserable.’
‘You’re miserable?’