She’d never looked to her family for affection again, nor did she seek it from anyone else. Being on her own was better, easier and infinitely safer.
The helicopter circled lower to the ground. The full moon shone on the coastline, showing the ocean as a shimmering expanse of black with a silver trail through its centre and, along the shore, set several miles apart, a handful of houses. The helicopter headed towards one that was boxy and modern, elegant lighting illuminating the sides in a warm glow that was somehow at odds with the stark white walls. A swimming pool was lit with turquoise lights, lending it the impression of a five-star resort. The helicopter came lower, confirming the fact that this was Ares’s house, landing squarely on the rooftop.
The helicopter had barely touched down before he had unbuckled his seatbelt and was standing, moving to the door at the side. Bea couldn’t take her eyes from him. He was completely absorbed, focused only on reaching home and finding out what had happened. She unbuckled her own seatbelt, the fierce throb of disappointment in her body not worthy of her in that moment. There were far greater things to worry about.
‘What happened?’ he demanded as he moved from the stairs and into the living room. He had to speak loudly to be heard above the infant’s screaming. Every two seconds the little baby paused to suck in a gulp of air, then made a bubbling sound as she pushed it out, wailing into the night. If he allowed himself to feel fear he knew it would overtake him, so he refused to admit the possibility that something could be physically wrong with Danica. Not on his watch.
‘She will not stop crying,’ Xanthia said in Greek.
Despite the fact he’d barely spoken to her since leaving Venice, Ares was ever conscious of Bea just behind him, and switched effortlessly to English. ‘What caused this?’
‘Nothing.’ Xanthia did the same, herself fluent in many languages, a prerequisite to the job as he required his housekeeper to oversee the management of his properties in various countries. ‘She had a bath and then refused her evening meal. When Cassandra attempted to put her to bed she began to wail, and nothing could calm her.’
‘Why?’ he asked with obvious disbelief. ‘Shouldn’t she be tired?’
Xanthia pursed her lips and looked at him as though he were an idiot and, to be fair, in that moment he felt like one. But shouldn’t this be easy? Weren’t babies supposed to just need food and sleep?
He ground his teeth together, the sense of inadequacy overwhelming. ‘For God’s sake, has she been like this the whole time?’
‘Yes,’ Xanthia confirmed, rocking the baby from side to side, which only caused Danica to scream more loudly.
‘You said she didn’t eat—’ the voice came from behind him ‘—could she be hungry?’
Xanthia’s green eyes turned to Bea, appraising her quickly. ‘She is only little. Dinner consists of some spoons of cereal and a bottle of milk.’
‘Nonetheless,’ Bea continued, moving towards the baby. Despite the screams, the gentle rustle of her skirts reached his ears, reminding him of the way they’d felt bunched in his hands. He formed a fist at his side, an act of determination, a refusal to be distracted by his body’s base impulses. Bea lifted a hand to the baby’s head, checking for a temperature.
‘She’s warm,’ Bea said gently. ‘But that’s probably because she’s so agitated.’ She held her hands out. ‘May I?’
Xanthia’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh, please. I have been holding her for hours. Please, yes, take her.’
‘Would you go and prepare her bottle?’ Bea prompted, taking the baby and barely flinching at the noise. Without lifting her attention from Danica’s face, she addressed him. ‘Ares, I think a cool facecloth might help to calm her. Would you get one?’
He stared at her, totally unprepared for this turn of events. He’d expected Bea to fade into the background at best, or, at worst, be something of an inconvenience if she’d continued to fight with him about coming to his home, but her cool manner and air of control knocked him sideways.
Even Danica seemed mildly less hysterical in Bea’s arms.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said belatedly, turning on his heel to fetch what she’d asked for. He noticed as he waited for the cloth to dampen sufficiently that he wasn’t wearing his tuxedo jacket. It was still wrapped around Bea’s shoulders. The thought tightened his body, making him far more aware of her as a woman than was appropriate, given the circumstances.
He entered the lounge at the same moment Xanthia did, and both stopped walking and simply stared at each other.
Danica was silent. Not quite, he amended. She was making lots of little breathy noises, rapid and urgent, as she calmed down from so much screaming. Her cheeks were mottled pink and tear-stained, her hair damp from crying, her nose sticky with snot, but she was no longer wailing.
As he approached, he heard Bea’s voice, soft and gentle, singing words in a language he didn’t know, like English but different. Almost elvish, reminding him of Middle-Earth.
‘Oh, my ears,’ Xanthia whispered, smiling broadly, her dark grey hair piled high on her head in a loose bun, frazzled after hours of trying to console a screaming child.
He held out the facecloth to Bea but she shook her head. ‘She’s cooler now that she’s stopped crying. Perhaps a tissue though?’
He nodded without moving, simply standing, awestruck at the sight of someone so completely comfortable with the child. Not since Danica had arrived at his house had he seen her actually seem halfway to peaceful.
Xanthia held the bottle out to Bea. She took it, returning to singing as she looked around. Her eyes momentarily met Ares’s and something passed between them, something fierce and intractable, a magnetic force that demanded acknowledgement. He ground his teeth together, jabbing one hand into his pocket.
‘The tissue,’ she reminded him with a pointed look and the hint of a smile, jolting him into action.
‘Right, the tissue,’ he repeated, still reluctant to leave the scene. He bypassed Xanthia, pausing beside her. ‘You should go to bed. Thank you for holding the fort tonight. I’m in your debt.’
‘Of course, Ares,’ she said with a shake of her head, switching back to Greek. ‘The poor little dove simply couldn’t be settled. Not until you showed up with the baby whisperer. This nanny shows much more promise than the other.’