She looked towards Max, perhaps double-checking he was still asleep.
He moved the subject off himself. ‘Zach is more...carefree. We’re twins, yes, but we’re very different. If either of us was going to accidentally get a woman pregnant, I would have put money on it being him.’
Annabelle tilted her head to one side, considering that, but whatever response she was about to offer, it wasn’t to be. Her attention was caught by something behind him, and her lips parted, so he turned to see his house from her perspective. The size of it was impressive but it was more than that. The car paused at enormous gates that swung open on their approach, then it swept up a long drive, past ancient trees with huge canopies that provided much-needed shade on summer days.
‘This is it, then,’ she said, but quietly, more to herself than him. He wanted to wipe the worry from her face, to give her courage, so before he could second-guess the wisdom of his intentions he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was only meant to be brief, just a boost of strength, a distraction, but the second their lips connected he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. His body moved closer, pressing hers back against the car, kissing her until her hands lifted and tangled in the collar of his shirt and she made that sweet little moan of hers. He swallowed it deep inside himself, thinking how addictive her noises were, how much he liked hearing her make them, how she was unlike any woman he’d ever known.
And she was—because Annabelle was now his wife. Mrs Papandreo.
The door to the limousine opened. He fought a wave of frustration at the interruption. What had he been hoping for? To have his way with her here in the back seat of the car? Their son was asleep only a short distance away. Where the hell had his self-control gone?
‘What was that for?’ Her eyes were enormous, her lower lip full and dark from the pressure of his kiss.
‘To distract you,’ he said. ‘Did it work?’
She shifted, casting a glance towards the house then turned back to face him. ‘For about three seconds.’
And, despite the fact he was the one who’d called a halt to the physical side of their relationship, he found himself saying, ‘I might have to be more inventive, then.’
Her intake of breath was audible. He smiled, loving how easily he could arouse her, tease her—but that wasn’t a one-way street. When he stepped out of the limousine behind Annabelle, he was conscious of how badly he wanted her.
‘Max is exhausted,’ she observed, the nervousness back in her voice.
‘There’s been a lot going on recently.’
‘Yes. And he was so excited to be on the plane, he barely slept.’
He’d noticed that. Max’s curiosity had been insatiable. He’d wanted to understand everything he could about planes—the atmosphere, engines, jet fuel, air traffic control. Dimitrios had answered all the questions he himself would have had as a boy, but he knew there’d be still more to follow from Max.
‘He’s very intelligent,’ Dimitrios murmured.
‘Yes. There was some talk of putting him up a year, but I decided to hold him where he is for now.’
Dimitrios straightened, midway to reaching into the car. ‘Why?’
‘You don’t agree with my decision?’
‘That’s not what I said. I’m just curious. I would have thought most people would be thrilled by the possibility of that.’
‘Not me. I know he’s a smart kid. He’ll do great things as he gets older. But he has to develop socially too, and putting him up an academic year or two could be really hard for him to juggle. He’s happy—he was happy—with his peers. I thought I’d see how he was doing in a few years and then decide if it’s worth considering.’
Dimitrios reached into the car to unbuckle Max, lifting him easily and carrying him over one shoulder. ‘I’ll get Max into bed and then show you around.’
Her head was spinning so fast, it truly felt as though it might come off altogether. She’d seen the outside of his house and she’d seen his penthouse in Sydney so she’d known to expect grand. But this was a whole new level of grand. While the house was some kind of brilliant tribute to modernism, with the appearance of concrete cubes all stuck together to form different spaces—including several rooms that seemed to be both outdoor and indoor at the same time—it also boasted an incredible array of antiques, all Singaporean, ancient and fascinating.
She found herself wanting to ask question upon question about each one, but instead contented herself with admiring them from a distance—a sculpture here, a fountain there, a tapestry, a vase. The ceilings were high, the floors marble and tile, polished to a high sheen. In the background there was an army of servants, all wearing black uniforms, the women in white aprons, moving silently and almost unseen—except Annie did see them. She saw everything—with a mixed sense of awe and fascination.
It was hot, too—far hotter than in Sydney—though inside was blessedly air-conditioned. She looked around the room he’d brought her to. It was technically their bedroom, but it was so much more. At least four times the size of her apartment, it boasted a bed carved from wood, large and ornate, and a sofa that was covered in velvet, a beautiful shade of apple-green. The floors were timber with a large brightly coloured rug, and wooden French doors opened out on to a balcony. Curtains billowed from it.
Fascinated, Annie moved in that direction, aware of Dimitrios’s eyes following her progress, and then his body walking behind hers. The steamy heat hit her like a wall when she emerged, but she breathed in deeply, the air inexplicably tropical. Her hands curved around the railing as she took in the new, unfamiliar skyline. Lights shone brightly in one direction, including the Marina Bay towers she’d seen on television. In the other, it was sheer darkness.
‘The bay,’ he explained, pointing from behind her, so his arm brushed hers. ‘In the morning, you’ll see it for yourself. It’s beautiful.’
She shifted her face a little, looking up at him. It was a mistake. He was closer than she’d realised and in moving she’d brought her lips within reach of his cheek. The compulsion to press forward and kiss him was overpowering.
Our marriage won’t be based on love, but it can still be good.
Everything about this whirlwind was like a fairy story, except for that. Annie and Dimitrios knew what no one looking in from the outside could see. It was all fake. The vows they’d spoken to one another, promising to love and honour, were a lie. A lie born out of love—but love for Max, and even Lewis, not for each other.