Xandros’s voice was warm as it sounded behind her. Rosalie turned.
‘Seen everything?’ he asked.
For a second his eyes rested on her with an expression she could not quite make out. Then it was gone. He was speaking again.
‘I’ve been going through the post—mostly invitations! But we’ll ignore them all until we’re safely married. Then,’ he said, and his eyes washed over her, ‘I’ll start showing you off. I’m looking forward to it!’
Rosalie felt herself colouring, confusion filling her again. Was it just that he wanted her to look her best for his friends and acquaintances? To show the world—and convince her father—how real their marriage was? He could afford no hint that it would be over and done with before the year was out, leaving Xandros with what he wanted—the merger with her father—and herself with a hefty divorce payout?
Is that all our marriage is going to be about?
She turned away, feeling that strange tug of emotion coming again, and stepped back into the wide corridor, then into the triple-aspect reception room, her feet taking her towards the view of the Parthenon on the Acropolis. She paused to gaze out over it, still feeling that strange tug of emotion.
Hands closed lightly over her shoulders and she felt Xandros behind her, his breath warm on her neck. Her own breath caught, feeling him so close, catching the spiced scent of his aftershave... She wanted to lean back into him, feel his arms go around her waist to embrace her, but she was too unsure to move.
‘It’s a good sight, isn’t it?’ he murmured softly.
She gave a slow nod, conscious not of the ancient monument but only of his hands upon her. For a moment—just a moment—she felt his touch tighten, as if he would turn her to him. As if he would take her into his arms...
Then, instead, he merely grazed the top of her head with the lightest and most fraternal of kisses, his hands dropping away.
‘I’ll run you back to your hotel,’ he said.
There was nothing in his voice but his usual easy-going manner.
With a flickering smile of acquiescence Rosalie let him usher her out of his apartment, outwardly serene. But inside, she knew, she was conscious of a sense of disappointment. Of a creeping melancholy.
She had no business feeling that way. No right at all.
But she did, all the same.
* * *
Xandros was visiting his mother. He didn’t want to, but he owed her that at least. He’d had to make a difficult phone call to her before he’d flown to London, telling her as carefully as he could that Ariadne had pulled out of their engagement.
‘But why?’ his mother had cried, dismayed. ‘I thought it was all agreed!’
‘So did I,’ he’d said. ‘But there it is. I have to respect her decision.’
He knew his mother was upset. She had wanted him to marry Ariadne, the daughter of her childhood friend—to marry her and achieve the merger her husband had urged his son to make as a sure way to increase the Lakaris fortunes he had worked so hard to rescue. She had wanted him to marry and give her grandchildren, to cheer her widowhood and to continue the ancient line to which he had been born, of which he was now the sole representative since the untimely death of his father three years ago.
And if Ariadne had been the perfect bride for him in his mother’s eyes, Xandros knew with foreboding that she would deplore his sudden decision to marry Ariadne’s illegitimate English half-sister instead.
Which was why he had to visit her in person—to explain the precise reasons for his precipitate action.
As he had expected, she did deplore it—and vocally.
‘Xandros, who is this girl? Nobody! You can’t possibly be thinking that she can be a substitute for Ariadne!’
‘That is precisely what I don’t think!’ he answered. He took a breath and looked into his mother’s eyes, which held a troubled expression. ‘She understands my reasons and agrees it will only be a temporary arrangement. And...’ he took another breath ‘...this won’t just be for my benefit. I want to do this for her,’ he said feelingly. ‘She’s had a wretched life. Coustakis never acknowledged her existence. He condemned both her and her mother to lifelong poverty. She deserves better!’
His mother looked at him, her expression still troubled. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked slowly. ‘Are you sure that you know what you’re doing, Xandros?’
He looked at her straight. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And it is very, very simple, I promise you.’
She looked as if she was going to say something more, but he forestalled her. He did not want their conversation moving on to any other aspect of just why he was going through with this marriage—that it was precisely because it was going to be temporary that it appealed to him, and that as soon as he was free of it, his desire for Rosalie slaked, he would resume the carefree, unattached bachelor lifestyle his mother considered a waste of his time.
He changed the subject away from marrying Rosalie and the reasons he was doing so.