“You’re joking, aren’t you? I may have worn your ring and chosen to bear your name, but you were a far cry from a husband.”
“Why, because I didn’t fit into some mold you’d pre-cast in your mind?”
“Because you never saw me as a wife, not in any meaningful sense. You only wanted a biddable bed partner and someone to trot out when a photo op was needed.” She whipped her head back to the window and saw the ground rising up fast. Too fast. “Nick, I demand you instruct your pilot to turn this plane around and take me home—”
It was too late. The plane touched down with scarcely a bump and rolled toward the end of the short runway.
Nick’s triumphant smile was the last straw. Her fingers flew to release the seatbelt.
“If you won’t do it, I’ll tell him myself.” She tried to get out of her seat, but with effortless ease, Nick’s hand clamped down on her arm.
His touch immobilized her, along with the steel in his voice. “No, you will not.” The American accent acquired from his mother and thickened by several years spent in the U.S. was now missing as his Greek autocracy flared to life. “My pilots take instruction from no one but me. Besides, do you have any idea how many flights they’ve flown in the past forty-eight hours? Are you hell-bent on adding to their fatigue by making unreasonable demands?”
“Of course not—”
“Then sit down and keep your seatbelt on until the plane has come to a complete stop.” The last sentence was recited in a mock sing-song voice used by flight attendants the world over and was no doubt meant to amuse, but it fell far short of the mark.
“Let me go,” she said calmly, hating him for the position he’d placed her in.
His gaze rested on her for several heartbeats, then he released her.
“You’re angry with me, but I’m doing this with your best interest in mind.”
She laughed, a mirthless sound that scraped her throat. “God, you haven’t changed. As long as I end up doing exactly what you want, everything you say is in my best interest, isn’t it, Nick? I don’t know whether to be angry or sad about that.”
His lids swept down to shield his eyes. When he lifted them, his expression was carefully neutral. “Take your time to explore your feelings. And let me know when you decide which emotion you feel. Welcome home, yineka mou.”
She was well and truly trapped. Because, damn him, Nick was right. Unless he gave specific instructions to the contrary, there was no way she could get off the island. The nearest landfall, another island similar to this one, was also owned by the Andreakos family, more specifically, Alex. And after his brusque caution not to get into any more trouble, she didn’t imagine he’d help her leave.
Nick had smoothed the way for her travel through the Greek Embassy in Morocco, but without him or her passport—which was still in Mwana’s possession—she wouldn’t be able to board a flight back to England.
And as for the family she’d so proudly trotted out a minute ago, the moment her parents found out she was with Nick, they’d ignore any pleas from her to get her out of here.
After all, weren’t they one of the reasons she’d left England in the first place? To get away from the constant pressure to “sort out this silliness with Nick”?
She’d refused to tell anyone but her best friend, Liz, why she’d walked out on Nick, and she wasn’t about to admit to the whole world why her marriage had ended after six short months. She had her pride, if nothing else.
The aching memory held her rigid in her seat, until the plane’s brakes jarred her from her thoughts.
Ignoring the hand Nick held out to her, she released her belt and stood up. She cursed the weakness in her body and pain in her bandaged feet as she moved with slow stiffness to the door.
But when she started to descend the stairs, Nick appeared at her side, and without pausing a beat, swung her into his arms, his movements sure as he navigated the short steps onto the tarmac.
She gritted her teeth as her senses zinged to life. “Put me down. I’m perfectly capable of walking.” She pushed at his chest, trying to ignore her body’s leap of pleasure at his proximity.
“You may be, but I don’t want to be here all day. It’s been a long flight and you need to rest. And I need a stiff drink and a shower, in that order. So oblige me, would you?” His long strides ate up the short distance from the plane to the electric-powered golf cart parked nearby. Once there, he placed her on the seat and slid in beside her before accelerating toward the villa half a mile away.
The sharp retort on her lips evaporated as the beauty of her surroundings washed over her.
Althea was a five-kilometer-long, lush green paradise dropped into the middle of the Aegean Sea, with nothing for miles but the jeweled brilliance of the warm turquoise-colored water. Located due east of the Cycladic group of islands, it enjoyed almost year-round sunshine.
The four weeks she’d spent here after their wedding had been the happiest of her life, and she bit her lip in sharp remembrance as the Byzantine-themed villa came into full view.
Whitewashed and red-roofed, the two-story building sat resplendent on a small hill in the late afternoon sun. Bordered on either side by cypress and eucalyptus trees, the villa enjoyed a constant soft breeze, which lessened the sometimes harsh impact of the Greek sun. The view from the front was spectacular, offering up panoramic scenes of landscaped gardens in the foreground and a private cove and white sands of the beach beyond. She knew the vista from the sea view deck at the back of the home was equally breathtaking, having spent many a morning breakfasting there during their honeymoon.
Nick had barely stopped the golf cart outside the solid oak doors when they flew open. A plump old woman stood on the threshold, her wrinkled face creased into a beaming smile.
Belle couldn’t help but smile in return. “Demetra, how are you?” She could be polite, even if she didn’t want to be here.