Their wedding night...
* * *
Rosalie glanced at her reflection in the long mirror on the wall in her bedroom. Her brushed cotton dress fell in soft butter-yellow folds to her ankles from a high waistline. The slight bodice was ruched over her breasts, skimming her shoulders. She’d draped a creamy embroidered shawl around her, held her hair back with a narrow headband. Her make-up was minimal—some mascara and lip gloss—and her fragrance was a light floral scent, not the heavier perfume she had indulged in in Athens.
She frowned uncertainly. Though she wasn’t in the least glitzed up, as she had been in Athens, should she have dressed up at all? Would Xandros think she was trying to send a message he did not wish to hear, as he had made so clear last night?
Well, her behaviour towards him must show him otherwise, that was all. She had managed it so far—that walk up to the clifftop had gone okay, and all she had to do was keep that going. Be interested in what he said, be cheerful and friendly and easy-going.
And not look at him too often...
She made her way outside to the beach, to find Xandros already there, relaxing back in a canvas chair, long legs outstretched. The sun was low on the horizon, bathing the scene in rich red gold.
‘Come and sit down.’ He got to his feet. ‘The sunset show is about to begin.’
There was an ice bucket on a table, and in it an open bottle of champagne. Rosalie took her seat and Xandros resumed his, pouring a flute for each of them.
She took hers from him, conscious of the slight brush of his fingers as she did so. Now, in profile against the lowering sun, she saw his eyes resting on her. Saw the warm glow on her.
‘To our marriage,’ he said, and lifted his glass to tilt it against hers. ‘May it bring everything to us that we want.’
It was something she could drink to, and did, but even as she did so she was conscious of the tug of that strange melancholy again.
But what if I want more from it than you do?
It was a dangerous thought, and a useless thought, for she knew perfectly well why they had married and what it would give them. A great deal.
But not each other.
That was not what their marriage was about and she must remember it. Remember it with piercing purpose now, as she took a sip of the beautifully beading liquid, felt its bouquet shimmer in her mouth.
For a moment—just a moment—their eyes met over the flutes and she felt something shimmer deep inside her along with the champagne’s bouquet...
She turned her head away, lest her eyes reveal it. Gazed out over the water, shading from azure to gold as the sun lowered. Neither talked, as if by mutual consent, just watched quietly, the only sound that of the wavelets lapping onto the pebbles.
Moment by moment the sun pooled into the waiting Aegean.
And was gone.
Xandros pushed back his chair, getting to his feet. ‘I can smell the fruits of Maria’s labours. It would not do to be late for them!’
They strolled back to the villa, Xandros taking the champagne with him, and made their way round to the gable end of the house, beyond their bedrooms. There was a pretty little stone-flagged terrace, girded by a low wall on which sat pots of red and white geraniums. A vine-covered pergola arched over it, threaded with fairy-lights which also wound around the wooden supports of the pergola.
A table was set with a white linen tablecloth, a centrepiece of fragrant white flowers and a huge candle in a glass holder which gave a soft glow to the whole scene. Rosalie’s face broke into a rapturous smile. It was all so enchantingly beautiful.
She exclaimed and said as much, and Xandros smiled, ushering her to the table, refilling their champagne flutes.
Then Maria was bustling out to the terrace, emerging from somewhere at the back of the villa where, Rosalie presumed, the kitchen was situated.
‘Welcome! Welcome!’ She beamed. Then, ‘Eat, eat!’ she instructed, depositing upon the table a vast platter groaning with food.
Mounds of delicious-smelling slices of slow-cooked lamb were layered over fragrant rice and roasted potatoes, lapped with green beans and fried tomatoes... There was enough to feed way more than just themselves.
‘I did warn you,’ Xandros said, catching Rosalie’s eye, his mouth tugging in a smile.
‘Where are the dozen other dinner guests?’ she responded humorously.
He laughed, and began to serve up.