The house was deserted, and she moved into the kitchen gratefully, slipping a decaf pod into the machine and grabbing a mug, waiting for the liquid to pool. But the cup was only half full when she heard the front door click closed and she knew, even without turning around, who it would be.
Slowly, she spun, features impassive but her skin was pale, and her stomach was in knots at the sight of Samir standing in the doorframe, simply staring at her, as though there was a question at the forefront of his mind that only she could answer.
Well, tough. Cora didn’t have an interest in answeringanythingfor Samir.
She grabbed her coffee with enough force to spill a drop on the bench and cupped the mug in her hand. There was only one door to the kitchen. She strode towards it without quite meeting his eyes.
“Excuse me,” she said, when he didn’t move. “I’d like to get past.”
He stayed where he was, a frown on his face that she saw out of the corner of her eye.
“Samir?” She muttered, her tone withering. “Let me out.”
“I wanted to see you.”
Her eyes dragged to his, then away again. Ambivalence flooded her. She needed to escape, almost as much as she needed to be here, with him. She hated her body’s treacherous response, the inertia that was holding her to the spot. “Why?”
She felt his frown.
“There’s no point ‘seeing me’, is there?” She rallied, grateful for her anger and hurt. “Nothing’s changed. I’m just some woman you slept with. Some woman you don’t even have the decency to personally call back anymore.”
He flinched and she was glad. Heshouldfeel ashamed at how low that was.
“A clean break seemed best.”
She ground her teeth together. “Fine. Then let’s have a clean break. Excuse me.”
He stared at her and her stomach dropped to the ground. He looked…it was an emotion she couldn’t fathom. Perhaps lost? She shook her head, refusing to care, and when he stepped aside, she stormed through the doorway, not giving him a backwards glance.
“These canapés are delicious,”Phoebe said, salivating over a small chicken burger.
“They were my idea,” Leonidas grinned. “I hate going to fancy events and getting served food the size of my thumb.”
“Yeah, you wanted ‘real food’,” Mila said with a roll of her eyes, as she took a bite of a burger.
Cora smiled politely, but couldn’t form words. Not with Samir now a part of their group, standing sandwiched between Anastasios and Nicholas, looking as though he utterly and completely belonged there. She blinked away as a waitress appeared, this time with a tray of slow cooked lamb in pita bread. It was something Cora would ordinarily have loved, but as the smell hit her, she felt a wave of nausea return. Her hand moved to her stomach on autopilot, the colour draining from her face.
“Pita bread?” The waitress asked. Nicholas took one and acid rose in Cora’s oesophagus. Uh oh.
“Ma’am?” The server smiled as she reached Cora, who shook her head. But not quickly enough. The waitress stayed just long enough for Cora to taste the hint of vomit in her mouth.
“Cora? Are you okay? You look like you’re about to vomit.” Trust her brother to so comfortably call a spade a spade.
“I’m fine,” she lied, then encompassed the group with a tight smile. “Excuse me a minute.”
“Gosh, she reminds me of what I was like when I was pregnant with the twins,” she heard Mila say as Cora quickly walked off, and she groaned at her new cousin in law’s perceptive remark. “Do you remember, Leo? I couldn’t go near red meat without being sick.”
Cora was too far away to hear any comment, but if she’d turned and cast a glance over her shoulder, she would have seen Samir staring at her retreating back, a look of shocked comprehension on his features.
PARTIII
11
“TELL ME IT’S NOT true.” Samir found her back in her favoured bolt hole—the kitchen of the farmhouse. Cora closed her eyes and didn’t turn to face him.
“It’s not true.”
“You’re not pregnant?”