Revelations of His Runaway Bride

by Kali Anthony

  She checked her watch. In a few short hours the party would begin—Christo’s crowning achievement, where she’d be expected to glitter and shine. Even now a shaky kind of heat trembled through her. But this wasn’t a hangover from the illness. It was something else altogether.

  She’d taken a week to recover fully from what the doctor had assured Christo was a virus, and not an infected tattoo. After three days of being confined to her sickbed she’d risen to find that on the surface everything had returned to normal. Anna fussed about her assiduously. Sergei returned to work, taciturn as ever. The sun still rose, the night still fell, she ate, she slept...but everything was different.

  It had changed as the fever racked her body. Christo’s voice had grounded her, soothing as the cool run of a mountain stream. Each time she’d woken in those days, he’d been there, eyes stormy green and intent, dark stubble shading his jaw.

  She suspected he hadn’t left her bedside throughout her brief incapacitation. His gentle touches to check her temperature, to reassure, had melted her bones and left her wanting. Now all she craved was the soft lilt of his voice and his masculine touch. Because somehow what she’d shared with him had changed everything.

  She walked into her dressing room, pulled out the gown she planned to wear that night and laid it on the bed. The slither of fear snaked through her veins. Christo had warned her that Tito and Demetri were coming. Here, to this home, where she’d finally found some measure of comfort and safety.

  This place...they’d taint it. She shivered. Why had Christo invited them when he knew what they’d done to her? He’d promised her there was good reason, just as he’d promised to protect her. If only she could find the means within herself to trust him...

  ‘Mrs Callas?’

  Thea looked up as Anna walked into the room, clutching an armful of boxes. ‘I thought I told you to call me Thea.’

  Anna smiled, bouncing on her toes. She seemed so happy—glowing. No more the shy woman Thea had first met. Obviously her relationship with Sergei was going well.

  Was that what love could do to a person? Since it wasn’t something she expected for herself, best not to muse on that.

  ‘These are from Mr Callas,’ Anna said in a breathless kind of way as she placed the packages on the bed.

  Thea plucked a card from under the outrageous silver bow on the largest box, opened the envelope and read Christo’s bold script.

  Wear these tonight.

  She glanced at her choice of dress for the evening, lying on the bed. A floor-length sheath. Black. Restrained and classical. Other women might compete to outdo each other. Not her.

  Though curiosity made her fingers itch. What had Christo bought? It wouldn’t hurt to look at what he’d chosen, would it?

  She picked up the smallest box, stroking over the soft blue velvet. Jewellery? She eased the lid open and her hand flew to her mouth as the exposed contents glittered under the lights. Earrings. A twinkling confection of rubies and diamonds.

  Thea lifted one and the chandelier fall of it trembled in her grasp. She couldn’t help it. Slipped them into her ears and turned to the mirror. The flash of gems dangled low.

  Anna gasped. ‘They’re beautiful. Like drops of blood and tears.’

  ‘Tears?’ Thea’s voice cracked as she said it.

  ‘Happy tears,’ Anna said. ‘Why wouldn’t a woman be happy with a gift like that?’

  Because it was too much.

  And yet there was more.

  Thea reached for the large box, tugging at the ends of the perfect bow holding it closed. Inside lay a garment of vivid red. She eased it from the folds of white tissue. Now it was her turn to gasp. A halter neck evening dress lined with satiny carmine silk lay inside. The whole of it was beaded, and it sparkled in a way that matched the earrings.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it...’ Anna whispered.

  But Thea had observed what Anna hadn’t. The back of the dress plunged. When it was on, it would leave her exposed.

  Heart pounding, she flung it onto the bed as if the fabric had burned her. How could Christo demand she wear this? Even with her hair long and free, as she’d planned, her tattoos would be on view.

  Heat flushed her cheeks. Did he intend to humiliate her?

  Anna’s voice intruded. ‘The last box, Mrs... Thea?’

  Strappy sandals to match the dress and earrings. Perfection in gold, adorned with red and clear jewels.

  ‘Aren’t you going to try them on?’ Anna asked.

  ‘I don’t know if I should...’

  ‘You must.’ Anna planted her hands on her hips. ‘What man doesn’t want to show off his beautiful wife?’

  Was that it? Surely not.

  She glanced back at the dress, discarded on the bed. Like nothing she’d ever owned. Brand-new. Couture. All hers. She fingered the exquisite fabric, soft, yet heavy in her hands.

  Anna grabbed the black dress from the bed and went to the walk-in wardrobe.

  Thea took a deep breath and began unbuttoning her blouse. She’d do this—then refuse the gift and return to her first choice.

  She stepped into the gown. The silk lining slipped cool and seductive against her skin. She sat on the bed and toed into the shoes before rising. Beaded lace fell heavy against her.

  Anna returned to the room, eyes wide. ‘You’re going to take everyone’s breath away.’

  Thea walked to the full-length mirror. Lace of blood-coloured perfection slid across her body. A dress meant to display a woman’s shape. It flared at the bottom, so when she walked the lower half swished, beads glittering with every footstep. She turned and cast an eye over her shoulder. The back plunged tantalisingly low, but not indecently, framing the birds which soared over her spine.

  Why had he chosen this? She couldn’t wear it. Even though the fabric sang against her skin.

  Thea walked back to her wardrobe with Anna trailing behind. She’d wear the dress she’d picked earlier. It wasn’t showy, like this one, which allowed all her private wounds to be displayed.

  ‘What beautiful tattoos,’ Anna said quietly. ‘So real...like they’re ready to fly away.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Thea flicked through the hangers, looking for her black gown. Where had Anna hidden it? ‘But I usually keep them covered. I can’t wear this dress.’

  ‘Why hide them?’ Anna looked bemused. ‘Mr Callas knows you have them, and he chose this dress for you—so he doesn’t care.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t. It’s perfect.’

  Christo’s voice behind them was as smooth and sleek against her skin as the silk lining of the dress.

  Anna excused herself and slid from the room.

  ‘You’re lurking again.’ Thea turned to face him. ‘You know my thoughts on that.’

  ‘That I’m untrustworthy?’ His hands clenched and released, his fingers flexing restlessly.

  Right now he most definitely did not look like a man who could be trusted. A shadow of stubble shaded his jaw. His hair looked as if he’d raked his hands through it one too many times. And all the while his hooded eyes devoured her in a dark, gleaming sweep from her neck to her feet and back again.

  His charcoal three-piece suit was the only thing giving him any air of respectability. The rest of him looked irretrievably disreputable. A liquid heat bloomed deep and low inside.

  ‘Yes. And I’m not wearing the dress.’

  ‘Don’t you like it?’

  She ran her hands down the exquisite fabric. Too many emotions were coursing through her. ‘No... Yes. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Then why are you afraid?’ The corners of his lips tipped in a knowing smile.

  ‘I’m not afraid. I just want to wear the dress I picked for myself.’

  He cocked his head to the side, looking at her as if she was some curious bejewelled butterfly. ‘Let me gu
ess. Plain? Black? One you can hide behind?’

  ‘Stop saying those things!’

  ‘Wear the gown I chose for you.’

  He pointed to the mirror behind her. She turned.

  ‘One that shows the magnificent woman you are.’

  As she looked at her reflection Christo closed in behind her, his warmth solid at her back. The scent of him was intoxicating. Crisp. Wild. Pure male.

  He reached out and placed his hands on the tops of her arms. She absorbed the quiet intimacy as his thumbs began to make slow circles. A shiver of pleasure at that beguiling touch began at the base of her neck and sparkled down her arms. There was a rightness in this picture. Something settling about them standing together like this.

  ‘Your father and Demetri...’

  He caught her reflected gaze, his hands continuing that gentle stroking. It was as if he was trying to delve into the soul of her.

  ‘I’m sorry they have to be here. It can’t be avoided.’

  Thea looked to the floor. At the glittering perfection of her dress. Her twinkling shoes. He didn’t need to see the vulnerability his decision had wrought in her.

  ‘You won’t tell me the reason?’ she asked.

  ‘I want more information before saying anything else.’ Christo hesitated. ‘You’ve been hurt enough by them. I won’t add to your pain. If there was any other way...’

  ‘You’ve said that before.’ She shrugged. ‘Yet here we are.’

  He bent down, whispered in her ear. The breath caressing her throat.

  ‘Courage, Thea.’

  His voice rushed over her, hot and thick, with the same jolt as her morning coffee. Then he released her and stepped back. She mourned the loss of his hands on her skin.

  ‘I’ll see you downstairs in an hour.’

  * * *

  Thea’s heart thundered as she walked down the curving staircase. She steadied herself on the balustrade. One moment she thought Christo understood her. The next...?

  ‘Courage, Thea.’

  What did he know of courage? Living his life of privilege. Not knowing fear. The dress didn’t frighten her. Mere scraps of fabric couldn’t hurt you. She knew where the real monsters hid—and tonight they’d be here, in this house.

  She took a few breaths to calm herself and walked towards the ballroom. As she rounded a huge potted palm there Christo stood, towering in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, greeting his guests. The superfine wool moulded to the slim taper of his waist. His hands in the pockets of his trousers pulled them tight over his backside.

  She stopped, hesitated, smoothed damp palms over the beaded fabric she wore. All the people terrified her. All this pretence. But she still had time; he hadn’t seen her. She should change.

  Instead she froze, her chest tightening. Where had all the air gone? Perspiration pricked the back of her neck as her hands curled into tight fists. She needed to walk backwards, walk somewhere, yet she couldn’t take another step.

  Thea knew the moment Christo realised she was there. His imposing shoulders straightened. His hands slid from his pockets and he turned.

  ‘Thea.’

  His low velvet voice penetrated the tension corseting her chest. He strode towards her, arm outstretched. She played the game. Placed her hand in his, felt it engulfed. He lifted it to his mouth, kissing the palm where seconds earlier her nails had bitten into her soft flesh. And in that act he stole her breath, caused a burn to heat her cheeks.

  He looked down at her, his gaze all-seeing. And for a moment she lost herself in the calm ocean of his eyes. Her breathing eased. Her pounding heart steadied. Christo did understand. He understood too well.

  ‘You look exquisite. I can see why red’s your favourite colour.’

  Her cheeks heated, no doubt flaming into the shade of her dress. ‘Thank you. But it’s too generous a gift.’

  ‘It’s nothing less than you deserve for all you’ve done. But sadly for now we must work. Perhaps later...?’

  He raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy smile. A flush of warmth stole over her, Christo’s invitation was clear. She could say yes and see what came of it.

  Memories of that drizzly day in New York flooded into her consciousness. His hard, aroused body. Those deep, drugging kisses. A heavy pulse beat between her legs...

  No, she had a part to play. That was all she could trust. Nothing more.

  ‘You work too hard,’ she said, focusing on what they had to do tonight.

  Christo surveyed the crowd, as if he was making sure everyone appeared satisfied. But Thea could see what others didn’t notice. The tightness around his eyes. The dull shadows underneath.

  ‘My father would be proud.’ He let out a slow breath, looked down at the floor. ‘“Fun, fun, fun. That’s all you want to have,” he’d say to me. Other boys at school had holidays with their families. Hector sent me to work picking olives. I was nine.’

  The thought of him being sent out to work so young was...shocking. She’d sometimes wondered about Christo as a small boy, what had made him the man he was. He always seemed so serious she wasn’t sure he knew how to have fun. Perhaps with good reason.

  She stared out at the throng of people. At least they seemed to be enjoying themselves as waiters threaded in and out with food and wine.

  She said, ‘That’s—’

  ‘Life. I learned long ago not to care.’

  Thea wasn’t so sure. His voice sounded flat and dead, as if he had to force himself not to dwell on it.

  ‘Your father must be sorry he can’t be here tonight,’ she said.

  Christo pinned her with his gaze, eyes hard and stormy. Time ticked for a few heartbeats, too much unsaid between them.

  ‘I’m sure he is.’

  ‘What about your mother?’ Where had she been when her son was sent away to pick olives as a little boy? ‘Surely she’ll want to celebrate your success?’

  ‘Ha! My mother?’ He tensed, a muscle at the side of his jaw ticking. ‘She’s never cared. Always claimed I was an impossible child. Why would she feign interest now? The woman’s as maternal as a cuckoo.’

  How could his mother say such a thing? But his words explained too much. At least she’d had one parent love her unconditionally, and Alexis too. Didn’t he have anyone?

  ‘Christo...’ Thea placed a hand on his arm, trying to offer some small comfort.

  He shrugged her away. Snagged two glasses of champagne from a waiter and handed one chilled flute to her with a brittle smile.

  ‘We should talk to some guests.’

  His words spoke only of obligation. She didn’t want to talk to the guests. She wanted to wrap her arms around the wounded boy she’d glimpsed in his tired eyes. The one driven by his father, abandoned by his mother. But he’d reject her sympathy, she was sure.

  So instead she followed Christo into the crowd, the crush surrounding them. He patted people on the back, made small talk, smiled. But the smile didn’t meet his eyes.

  Thea smiled too, playing her part. No one commented on her tattoos, as she’d feared. A heady rush thrummed through her. She’d never hide them again. They weren’t wounds. They spoke instead of her strength and survival.

  As they turned to talk with yet another person who wanted a piece of her husband she saw them. In a corner. Talking to someone she didn’t know. Her father and Demetri.

  A tight knot of nausea gripped her belly. She stiffened.

  Christo glanced in the direction she was looking. Then he frowned, turning to face her. She peered around him, unable to take her eyes from the two men.

  Like a predator watching its prey, Demetri’s cold stare met hers. Her heart raced, preparing for flight. She’d lived in a kind of peace without them in the same house. But even another continent was too close.

  She wrapped her arms round her wais
t.

  ‘I won’t let them near you,’ Christo said.

  He slid his hand to the dip in her back and rested it there. The touch steadied her heart. His solid presence calmed the tightness in her stomach.

  He looked over his shoulder, then back to her. ‘Forget them. I have a small surprise for you.’

  His voice was soft and low, as if soothing a terrified animal. He kept his body between her and the men of her family.

  Thea realised he was shielding her from their gaze. She believed Christo now. As long as she was with him he’d protect her from Tito and Demetri. She shook off the sticky tendrils of fear. Those men would only win if she let them.

  ‘My dress and jewels weren’t enough of a surprise?’

  His features darkened into that glorious brooding which made her heart skip a beat. With one hand he swept her hair back over her shoulder and toyed with an earring. When had his touching her become normal?

  Thea allowed herself to melt into it, heat pooling in her belly. For a small while her world was reduced to Christo’s gentle caress, encouraging the pretence that this could be something different. And for a brief, bright moment she wished it was real.

  He shrugged. ‘They’re trinkets.’

  She shook herself out of the dream, her stomach twisting, wondering how often he bestowed ‘trinkets’ upon other women.

  What on earth was happening to her? She’d no right to these thoughts. Theirs was a convenient arrangement, and most women in this situation would be overjoyed by expensive gifts. She should learn to become one of them.

  Thea gave him what she hoped was a gracious smile. ‘How long are you going to keep me wondering?’

  ‘Not long. I’ve invited Elena tonight.’

  Her heart leapt with real joy. She hadn’t spoken to her friend since her marriage—apart from a brief text from Elena saying her father was angry. Thea had a terrible feeling it had something to do with Elena’s efforts to help her.

  ‘Is she here yet?’

  ‘Soon. But first come and meet the American ambassador and his wife. I think you’ll like them.’

  He swept her through the room, introducing her to more guests, never leaving her side. His hand was always at her back, its gentle pressure reassuring. His fingers stroked her body with the sway of her hips.