“Not my style. Ordinarily.” He stood, closing the distance between them. “I don’t remember much about that night, but I remember how you made me feel. I remember that it was different with us, right from the start.”
Hope soared in her chest but she squashed it. It was a lie. It was all a lie. Because if he’d really thought she was different, and that they were special, why did he leave?
“It doesn’t matter.” She was impressed by how cold the words sounded. “Let’s just agree that … that …” she waved distractedly to the spot on the terrace they’d stood at when he’d kissed her. “That’s a mistake.”
*
“Well, this is a surprise.” Lady Trevalyen (she’d kept her title and half the fortune in the divorce) watched as her only child slid into the seat opposite. Pride rose inside of her chest. He was immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit with a crisp white shirt and a steel-grey tie. He was so handsome; just like her father. He might have been born into British aristocracy, but the blood in his veins was pure Athonides, as Greek and ancient as the blood in her own veins.
“Mother,” he nodded his greeting, reaching for the menu with his trademark impatience.
Elena concealed a smile. Her son was busy; there was always something calling his attention.
“Thank you for meeting me here. I know you don’t like to travel into the city.” He lifted a hand and called for a waiter’s attention. One appeared almost instantly.
“Hendricks. Mother?”
“Bellini,” she nodded crisply, then sat back and waited.
“Well, Theo? What have you brought me here for?”
His eyes lifted to hers and there was speculation in his gaze. “Out of curiosity, why do you think it’s anything specific?”
Her laugh was charged with certainty. “You have only ever asked me to lunch four times in your life. Once, to tell me your father was re-marrying. Another time to tell me you were taking over from him at the Company. Then, to tell me you and Marie were … having difficulties. And now. So? I’m braced for whatever news it is you have to deliver. Let’s get it over with.”
“It’s good news,” he assured her.
“Is it?”
They paused as the waiter re-appeared with their drinks. Once they were alone again, Theo laced his fingers together on top of the table, his gaze resting on his mother’s face. She’d spent a fortune on plastic surgery but it had been tastefully done. Just a little nip here and tuck there, maintaining an easy appearance of youth and vitality. She could have easily passed as his sister, rather than his mother.
“You’re going to be a grandmother.”
Her sharp intake of breath drew the attention of a nearby table and she instantly angled her body away, leaning closer to Theo and whispering when she spoke. “Marie’s pregnant?”
“Marie?” He blanched. “No, mother. My ex-wife is not pregnant. At least, not that I know of.”
Beneath her golden tan, Elena’s face was pale, her eyes enormous. “What? What are you talking about?”
“After we divorced, I met someone else,” he said simply. “She’s pregnant.”
“Someone else is pregnant. With your baby?”
He nodded. “Just past three months.”
“Three months.” Elena Trevalyen lifted her fingers to her lips, her imm
aculate nails like talons of blood against her mouth. “Who is she?”
“No one you know.”
“And does this no one have a name?”
“Imogen,” he said with a curt nod.
“Imogen.” A small flicker of approval briefly relaxed Elena’s features. It was a nice name. A cultured name. “And is she …”
“Yes?” He waited for her finish, even when he suspected what she was going to say.