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‘You had a right to be angry, Anatole—knowing I’d hidden from    you how weak my claim to Georgy was compared to yours.’ Her voice was the    same—dull, self-accusing.

He stared at her. ‘You think I am angry at you for that?’

‘Just as I was angry,’ she countered. ‘Angry that you said we    would marry but you never meant it. That document was proof of that!’

His expression changed. ‘I would never,’ he bit out, his eyes flashing darkly, ‘have signed such a    document of my own free will! But,’ he said, ‘I signed it in the end because I    didn’t think it mattered. Not in the long term. I didn’t have time to argue with    my grandfather. I didn’t have time to debate the issue—question why he was    insisting on that condition. I had to focus on what was going on in    Thessaloniki! Afterwards I would sort it out! I’d have had to postpone the    wedding anyway—because of the strike threatening—and if you’d given me a chance,    Lyn, when I got back I would have explained what my grandfather had made me do,    why I agreed to it! I would have explained everything to you.’ He took a razoring breath. ‘If you’d trusted me    enough not to run away back to England...’ His face worked. ‘If you’d only    trusted me, Lyn.’

‘Trust me—I need you to trust        me...’

The words he had said so often to her. And he was saying them    again!

Emotion speared within her—emotion she could not name. Dared    not name.

‘Trusted me as I need you to trust me now.’

His voice came through the teeming confusion in her head.

‘As I trust you, Lyn—as I trust    you.’

He stepped towards her and she could only gaze at him—gaze into    his face, his eyes, which seemed to be pouring into hers.

He levered himself down beside her, hunkering on his haunches.    ‘You have proved to me that I can have trust in you now, in the most absolute    way possible! There is no greater proof possible! None!’

He reached a hand forward. But not to her. To Georgy, who was    contentedly sucking at his fingers now, clearly getting sleepy. Anatole stroked    his head and cupped his cheek, smoothed his hand down his back. His face    softened. Then his gaze went back to Lyn. Clear and unflinching.

‘I trust you, Lyn—absolutely and unconditionally. I trust you    to do the one thing that shines from you, that has shone from you like a beacon    of purest light from the very first!’ His expression changed. ‘Your love for    Georgy, Lyn. That is what I trust—and it is why I    trust you. Why I will always trust you!’

There was a wealth of emotion in his voice, pouring from his    eyes, from his whole being. She felt herself sway with the force of it.

‘What does it matter, Lyn, whether Lindy was your sister—?’ he    began.

But she cut across him, her voice a cry. Anguished and    trembling with emotion. ‘She was! She was my sister! My sister in everything! I loved her as just as much! And when she died a piece    of me died as well. But she gave me—’ her voice broke ‘—she gave me her son, for    me to look after, to love the way I’d loved her. And that’s why...that’s why...’    She couldn’t go on. But she had to—she had to.    ‘That’s why I have to give him to you now, Anatole— because it’s for him.’

Now it was Anatole who cut across her. ‘And that is why I know how much you love him! Because you are willing to give him up!’ His voice    changed, grew husky. ‘And there is only one kind of love that does that,    Lyn—only one kind.’ He looked at her. ‘A mother’s love.’ He took a shaking    breath and swallowed. ‘You are Georgy’s mother!        You! And it doesn’t matter a single iota whether    your blood runs in his veins! Your sister knew that—knew that when she entrusted    Georgy to you! She knew you loved her and she knew you would love Georgy all his    life, Lyn—all his life! With the love he needs to    have—a mother’s love...your love!’

He reached forward again, and now he was taking her hands with    his, so warm and so strong, and he was placing her hands around Georgy’s sturdy    little body, pressing them around him, his own covering hers.

‘And I love him too, Lyn,’ he said. ‘I love him with the love    that Marcos was not able to love him with. I will always love him—all his life.’    He paused and took another ragged breath. ‘Just as I love you, Lyn.’

There was a sudden stillness. An absolute stillness. An    immobility of all the world. All the universe.

She could not move. Could not move a muscle.

But she could feel Anatole lifting her hands—lifting them away    from Georgy, who slumped his slumberous body back against her, his eyelids    closing. Anatole lifted her hands to his lips, kissing first one and then the    other. The softest, sweetest kisses...

‘How could you think I didn’t?’ he whispered. His voice was    cracking—cracking and husky. ‘How could you possibly think I didn’t love you?    How did you think I could hold you in my arms night after night, be with you, at    your side day after day, and not come to love you as I do?’

Her eyes clung to his. Was this true? Oh, was this true? These    words he was telling her? Those sweet kisses he had blessed her hands with? Was    it true? Her heart swelled with hope—with yearning that it might be so—that she    was really hearing him say those wonderful words she had so longed to hear and    had thought could never be said by him.

But she was hearing them—hearing    him say them—and feeling the blissful brush of his lips on hers, the glowing    warmth of his gaze, his fingers winding into hers...

He was speaking still, saying what was bliss for her to hear.    ‘And I know—I know—you love me too! I can see it    now—in your face, your eyes, your tears, Lyn, which are pouring down your face.    You love Georgy and you love me—and I love Georgy and I love you. And that’s all    we need, my darling, darling Lyn—all that we will ever need!’

He reached with his mouth for hers and found it, kissed it,    tasting the salt of her tears.

‘All we’ll ever need,’ he said again, drawing away. He looked    at her. ‘You must never, never doubt me again. Never! To think that you thought so ill of me that you fled back    here—that you felt you had to give up Georgy to me. To think that is like a    sword in my side!’ He kissed her again—fiercely, possessingly. ‘We are family, Lyn! Family. You    and me and Georgy—and we always will be! Always!’

She swallowed, fighting back the longing to believe everything    he was telling her. ‘Our plan was to marry and then divorce,’ she said. Her    voice sounded wonky to her, the words coming out weirdly. It must be because    there wasn’t any room for them, she thought. There was only room for the tidal    wave of emotion coursing through her—filling her being.

‘That,’ he answered her roundly, ‘was the stupidest plan in the    universe! What we are going to do is just marry. And stay married! For ever!’

‘That document you signed...’

‘Timon will tear it up—or I will do it for him!’ He gave a    ragged laugh. ‘Timon will only have to take one look at us to know his fears are    groundless—pointless.’ His expression changed, and so did his voice, becoming    sombre, worried. ‘Can you forgive him, Lyn? For lying to you and saying that I    never intended to marry you so that he could drive you away? It was fear that    made him do what he did. I can see that now. The fear of losing Georgy.’

Her eyes shadowed. She knew what fear was. Knew it in her    bones—knew the fear of losing Georgy...knew just what that fear could make one    do...

She took a breath, looked at Anatole straight. ‘I lied to you    because I was so frightened I might lose Georgy,’ she said, swallowing. ‘I    understand why Timon lied to me for the same reason.’


Tags: Julia James Billionaire Romance