There was a tense silence. ‘You don’t have to talk about this,’ he breathed and she turned then and allowed herself to look at him. For the last time.
‘I do have to talk about it. It’s important that you understand who I am.’
His dark brows met in a sharp frown. ‘This isn’t about who you are.’
‘Yes, it is. It’s what shaped me. It’s what made me who I am.’
And having to reveal herself to this man was the lowest point of her life. Hot tears of humiliation stung her eyes and for a moment she wondered whether she had what it took to carry on. And then she remembered how they’d reached this point. He thought he had feelings for her. But he didn’t know who she really was, did he?
She blinked rapidly. ‘When I was ten, my mother met a very rich man. He introduced her to another rich man, and pretty soon her entire clientele had changed. We went up in the world. I suppose you could call it a promotion. I was sent to a very elite boarding school, with my fees paid by one of her regulars.’
‘The girls at the boarding school—’
‘Did they know what my mother did? Oh, yes—’ She gave a humourless laugh. ‘Several of them had fathers who were my mother’s clients—although I don’t think any of them actually realised that.’
He rubbed his fingers over his forehead and muttered something in Greek. ‘Now I understand why your schooldays were difficult.’
‘Those girls stripped away what little confidence I had—’ She swallowed. ‘And I let them, because I suppose deep down I hated myself as much as they hated me. I was the daughter of a prostitute. Hardly something to boast about, was it? That’s why I travelled. I always hoped I could leave it behind, but it never worked that way because it’s part of who I am.’ And it always would be.
‘Do you still see your mother?’
Chantal shook her head. ‘She was never interested in me. She only put me in that school because one of her clients thought she wasn’t paying me enough attention. Anyway, I left at sixteen—’ She gave a tiny shrug. ‘I had no wish to stay there any longer than I had to.’
‘Did the school do nothing about the fact you were bullied?’
‘The school was horrified by the effect that having me as a pupil had on their reputation. They were delighted when I decided to leave.’
He was silent for a moment, his powerful body still. ‘And that’s why you’re so determined never to take money from a man. Now I understand why you keep thrusting money at me.’
‘I promised myself that I would never let a man keep me.’ She looked at him, hanging onto her composure with difficulty. ‘So now you understand. Will you explain to your father? And tell him why? I’d hate him to think less of me.’ The tears were building, and this time she knew she wasn’t going to be able to hold them back. In order to prove to him that their relationship would never work she’d lifted her protective shield and allowed him to see who she really was.
‘Chantal—’
‘Thanks, Angelos.’ Choked by humiliation, she couldn’t bear to hear what he had to say and so reached down and picked up her bag. ‘You may be filthy rich and arrogant, but you never once made me feel small or insignificant. You’re a pretty decent guy, really, but I promise not to ruin your reputation by telling anyone.’ Without giving him time to reply, she opened the car door and stepped into the crazy Athens traffic.
Her vision was so severely blurred by tears that she narrowly missed being run over twice as she darted across the road. Horns blared, drivers shouted abuse in Greek,
but she just kept running, banking on the fact that he wouldn’t be able to follow her quickly.
She reached the other side and lost herself in a maze of side streets and then, finally, she stopped running and leaned against a wall.
She could hear shouts and the crashing of plates and cutlery from a nearby kitchen, a man yelling abuse from an apartment high up above her and the constant noise of traffic. And nearby she heard the sound of someone crying: muffled, heart-wrenching sobs, so pitiful and desolate that a few people paused and glanced with concern.
Only when she saw that they were looking at her did she realise that she was the one who was crying. And she sank to the ground and gave way to the emotion that had been building inside her.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS the last half-hour of her shift.
Chantal placed the drinks on the table and took out her notepad. ‘Are you ready to order?’
‘Can we have five minutes?’ The group of American tourists were still huddled over the menu, arguing about the translation.
Chantal smiled at them and glanced around the café, checking that no one else was trying to attract her attention. Unable to help herself, her eyes slid to the road—but there was no sports car, no Greek billionaire—no one.
She tried to lift her flagging spirits.
What had she expected?