Greek Tycoon, Wayward Wife

by Sabrina Philips

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ Georgios’s words cut through her errant thoughts and the room fell silent. ‘Good evening, and thank you for your patience.’ He craned his neck to look at the clock on the right-hand side of the wall behind him, which read just before ten p.m. ‘The turnout at the polls this year has been unprecedented, but I can now confirm that all votes have been collected, counted, and verified.’ He raised the sealed envelope in his hand. ‘People of Metameikos. Your results are in.’

  It felt as if the whole room simultaneously stopped breathing and blinking; all energy was focussed on the sound of the envelope being slowly torn open, on the sight of Georgios carefully extracting the slip of paper that held the answer to everyone’s future.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Taking sixty-four per cent of the vote…ladies and gentleman, you have elected a new leader: Orion Delikaris.’

  The room erupted in a cheer; Stephanos gave a whoop so loud it was only surpassed by a woman’s delighted high-pitched squeal from the back of the room. Libby instantly recognised it as belonging to Eurycleia.

  But before the round of applause had reached its natural conclusion there was another loud noise that sounded a lot like a blow being struck. As Libby turned her head, she realised to her astonishment that it had been a blow being struck. Spyros had placed his fist through one of the ornate panels of the eighteenth-century wall.

  He swore obscenely, muttered something she couldn’t fully discern about a lower class mutiny, then pushed his way through the crowd of smirks and frowns, belatedly followed by his wife, who reluctantly shuffled after him.

  But Libby only spared them a single glance, because her eyes were fixed on Rion. She liked to think that if she hadn’t already known, then at that moment she would have guessed his motivation for running in this election was noble. Because he didn’t lord it over Spyros, even though he had every right to do so. His chest wasn’t puffed out; he was not self-righteous in his success and newly won power.

  No, he looked…supremely humble. Victorious, yes, but as if his victory transcended personal success and belonged to everyone in the room. And, whilst she had seen the tension in every sinew of his body ease slightly as Georgios had read out his name, she also saw a man who was aware that he might have been handed the crown, but it was what he did from this moment onwards which would determine whether he deserved to wear it.

  The way all politicians ought to look, Libby philosophised, thinking how unfortunate it was that they rarely did. Yet it made her even prouder to be standing there beside him.

  ‘Congratulations,’ she whispered, squeezing his hand. ‘The people of Metameikos made the right choice.’

  For a second Rion felt such an acute sense of fulfilment at her words that it even surpassed the moment Georgios had read out his name. But then he remembered. All she meant was that the other candidate had been a corrupt pig, and in the absence of anyone else the people of the old town had been best off choosing one of their own. Abruptly he let go of her hand.

  ‘I would like to invite the new leader of Metameikos to the podium, please.’ Georgios beamed, gesturing for Rion to step forward as the disturbance died down. ‘A man who—’ he looked at the empty space Spyros had left behind ‘—I’m in no doubt whatsoever is the best man for the job.’

  Libby felt the uneasiness she’d experienced last night rise again as Rion dropped her hand without a backward glance. But as she watched him make his way to the microphone she gave herself a stern talking-to. He was about to deliver the most important speech of his life, and all she could worry about was that he hadn’t squeezed her hand and smiled at her in return? Good God! She should be ashamed of herself. If they were going to build a successful marriage out of the flotsam and jetsam of their old one, then she really ought to start practising what she preached: move forward and show him some support.

  Her thoughts bore a striking resemblance to the theme of Rion’s modest, inspiring and perfectly polished address. He spoke openly about the hard work that lay ahead, without dwelling on what had happened in the past, and shared his vision for the change that was possible, if everyone was willing, for a brighter and more equal future.

  As his words turned into actions in the weeks that followed, Libby could well believe he’d been talking about more than just politics. Because after that night things within their marriage undoubtedly changed too. She understood the demands on his time, and why both his work and his political career meant so much to him. In return, to her delight, he began to invite her to accompany him in his duties—to the laying of the first brick for the new hospital, to the occasional meeting with his team. He even asked her to speak at one of them about how she felt the new set of guidelines aimed at restricting planning permission for luxury holiday homes would impact on the tourist industry.

  And, though she had expected it to take time for him to fully understand how much having her own life meant to her, he purposely arranged a trip to Delikaris headquarters on the same day that she needed to return to Athens to make some arrangements for the first tour she was due to lead there at the end of the month. He didn’t even bat an eyelid when she made a note on the calendar of the dates when she’d be away.

  What was more, they made love—often.

  Yet, to her distress, even though it seemed that he finally understood the importance of her having her own life, sharing his, the niggling uneasiness remained. In fact, though she’d tried to dismiss it as an old insecurity which would gradually work its way out, like a splinter coming to the body’s surface, which only seemed to be getting deeper, causing her to lose more and more sleep.

  So much so that one morning, four weeks after the election, Libby sat on the swing seat in front of the fig tree staring back at the house before the sun had even finished rising, and it was Saturday. At least during the week she could pretend to herself that she’d got up early to e-mail Kate before she opened the office for business. But today she had no such excuse.

  The truth was that even though the timing finally felt right for them, she still wasn’t happy. Because although they made love frequently it had never once been like it was that afternoon. Oh, he had pleasured her body in countless ways, but it always seemed to be about her enjoyment, never his. And when she tried to turn the tables—if she sidled down beside him, kissed the hollow by his hipbone and moved to take him in her mouth—he would encourage her away, only reaching what felt like nothing more than a perfunctory climax once she was satisfied.

  Maybe it was a superficial reason to be discontent, especially as he’d never complained, but Libby had a horrible feeling that it masked something deeper. What if that day in the hallway, when their lovemaking had been so incredible, hadn’t been evidence that her defiance had aroused him, but the end of the challenge of seducing her into staying—the age-old thrill of the chase? Then there wouldn’t have been anything left to excite him the second she’d agreed to stay with him, would there? Just as there hadn’t been after their wedding.

  And that kind of excitement was never going to last in any marriage unless desire was kept stoked by love.

  Libby swallowed down the lump in her throat. Yes, she’d pinned her hopes on that after he’d opened up to her in the walled garden, been convinced it could blossom if only they shared what was in their hearts, but since then they hadn’t once talked properly about their relationship. To be perfectly frank, he was more closed off than ever.

  Or at least that was how she saw it. But had she bothered to make him understand that and find out how he saw it? No. Libby flexed the soles of her flip-flops, annoyed that she still didn’t seem to have learned not to jump to conclusions without consulting him.

  Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She knew she needed to talk to him, she was just afraid. Because what if he turned round and told her she had it spot-on? She couldn’t bear it—not now. But the thought of repeating the mistakes of the past was worse. She took a deep breath and stood up.

  He was in the kitchen when s
he came in through the back door. The sight of him wearing nothing but some pale lightweight trousers made her stomach contract.

  ‘Up early again?’ he asked, studying her for signs of nausea. She did look pale. ‘Sit down.’ He pulled out one of the stools from beneath the breakfast bar. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Umm…yes, thanks.’ She wasn’t in the least bit thirsty, but it occurred to her that having something to occupy her hands might be a good idea. As he turned to remove a mug from one of the cupboards on the opposite wall, she was grateful that it also gave her the chance to begin without his eyes boring into her. ‘Rion, there’s something I need to talk to you about.’

  Rion stared into the open cupboard. It had happened, then. He’d guessed as much from all the early mornings. His heart began to swell with joy, but he forced himself to restrain it. Because, despite his best efforts to make her forget the pedigree he was lacking over the course of the last month, it was obvious from the look she’d worn as she’d walked in the back door that he hadn’t succeeded. It was the same look that she’d worn intermittently ever since that night, and he knew this was anything but a joy to her.

  ‘I can guess,’ he said grimly, turning back round to face her.

  ‘You can?’ Libby blinked up at him, her heart starting to pound.

  ‘It doesn’t exactly require a detective, Libby.’ He finished pouring the mug of coffee and slid it across the breakfast bar towards her.

  So she hadn’t imagined it. There was a gaping hole in their marriage. She knotted her hands around the mug and raised it to her lips, glad to have the opportunity to at least partially obscure her face for what was coming next.

  ‘Then I need you to tell me how you feel about it.’ Tell me there’s a chance there might not be a gaping hole for ever.

  ‘I don’t think my feelings are the issue, do you?

  Libby frowned. ‘Of course they are.’

  Rion shook his head. No, he knew what this was. She wanted him to come out and say that he wasn’t a hundred per cent happy about it to stop her feeling guilty because that was how she felt. She was out of luck.

  ‘I wanted a child five years ago, Libby. I still do.’

  ‘What?’ Libby choked on her coffee.

  He did a double-take, suddenly aware that perhaps they’d been talking at cross purposes. ‘You did want to talk to me about the fact that you’re pregnant, didn’t you?’

  ‘That I’m…?’ She looked at him, aghast, her mind struggling to process what he was saying. ‘No, that it isn’t… I’m not— Why would you think that?’

  His swollen heart shrank and his voice became droll. ‘It is a frequent outcome when two people have a lot of unprotected sex. Even two people as different as you and I.’

  The objects of the room began to blur before her eyes. ‘But we haven’t been having unprotected sex. I told you, I’m—’

  Horror coursed through Libby’s veins. That night at the mayoral residence, when she’d said using a condom wasn’t necessary, she hadn’t actually spelt out why, had she? But surely he couldn’t possibly have assumed that without discussion, when their relationship was still so fragile, she’d meant—?

  ‘You’re what?’ he said impatiently.

  Yes, she realised suddenly, he could have. Her head began to whirl. He’d spent the last month making love to her as though it was nothing but a functional exercise because that was precisely what it had been. He’d been trying to get her pregnant. And, much as she longed to believe that the reason he wanted that was because he loved her, the look on his face told her it categorically was not. For when had he ever promised any such thing? Never. He’d invited her here to play the role of his wife, and then he’d asked her to stay on. She realised now it was just an extension of their original agreement. Yes, maybe she had convinced him that an independent wife was better than a bland, clichéd one—yes, all his motives were honourable—but at the end of the day what mattered most was his electorate and showing them he was the ultimate family man in the most deliberate way there was.

  ‘I’m on the pill,’ she said wretchedly. ‘I thought you realised when I said—’

  ‘Of course,’ Rion bit out, humiliation washing over him. ‘How foolish of me. It should have been obvious that you’d do everything in your power to protect yourself from having my child.’

  Libby shook her head. ‘I was on the pill anyway. I have been for five years.’

  His nostrils flared in disgust. The way she’d expected them to that night, when she’d naïvely taken his lack of reaction as a sign that their marriage was on the mend. She should have realised he hadn’t understood what she was saying at all.

  ‘For convenience,’ she added. ‘Never for contraception.’

  Never? Rion’s head shot up. Her eyes met his unhesitantly. Was she saying…? Yes, he realised, she was. Part of him felt infinitely triumphant, yet the other part of him only grew angrier.

  ‘So you’ve always known that no other man could bring you the pleasure that I do?’ He slammed the jug of hot coffee down on the breakfast bar. ‘Doesn’t that tell you that Mother Nature never intended you to give a damn about class?’

  Libby frowned. ‘Class?’

  Rion exploded at her ingenuous expression. ‘For God’s sake, Libby! Isn’t it about time you stopped pretending? Maybe the thought that you share the same prejudice as your father does make you ashamed, but I already know it’s why you walked away. I know it’s why you fought this for so long, and I know it’s why the idea of having my child disgusts you.’

  Libby’s eyes frantically searched his face. She was hoping she’d misunderstood him. But for the first time in weeks his expression was one of openness and honesty. The kind of expression she’d longed to see but which she’d now do anything to make disappear.

  Her mind traced back over the past—how obsessed he’d always been with bettering their situation in Athens, how reluctant he’d always been to discuss his past with her—had it really been because he believed she didn’t think he was good enough?

  It had been, hadn’t it?

  Libby’s whole body began to shake. She was horrified that he’d spent all those years thinking she was wired that way, that it had never occurred to her that that was what was going on in his head, that he’d never told her. That in leaving she must have doubled the insecurities he’d battled with for so long.

  ‘I’ve never thought that way, Rion. Not the day we met, not the day we married, not ever.’

  He looked thoroughly unconvinced. But then she supposed he’d spent most of his life hearing people tell him he was worth nothing, hadn’t he? The Spyros family, her father… Well, the latter at least she might be able to go some way to putting right.

  ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘if I did share my father’s perspective I would have come back years ago.’

  His head shot up a second time.

  ‘When my father heard about the success of Delikaris Experiences he tracked me down and called me up, wanting a reconciliation with both of us.’ Libby’s voice turned sour, but she kept her eyes focussed on his face, not forgetting her purpose in relaying the story. ‘When I informed him that we were separated, he promised that if I returned to you he would welcome us back with open arms and make you the heir to Ashworth Motors. When I refused, he swore he’d never speak to me again as long as he lived.’

  Rion stared at her in disbelief. Thomas Ashworth had wanted her to stay married to him? Had come to consider him a worthy son-in-law regardless of his background because of what he’d achieved? Not long ago that would have felt like the ultimate accomplishment. Now her father’s good opinion just felt like an insult. As hollow as defeating Spyros had felt.

  Because, no matter how long he’d spent telling himself otherwise, the only person whose good opinion he really cared about was Libby’s. He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, guilt forming a lump in his throat. Could it really be possible, then, that he’d had it all along? That he’d been wrong about everything?

>   ‘Are you telling me that…you have no objections to having my child?’

  Libby looked up at him desperately, feeling the tears prick behind her eyes. If he’d told her that he loved her, that he wanted her to be the mother of his child, nothing would have made her happier. But he hadn’t—because he didn’t.

  ‘I couldn’t bring a child into this world unless he or she would be guaranteed two parents who want to be married to one another for the right reasons.’

  Libby watched as Rion closed his eyes. When he opened them again they looked completely changed, as if he’d finally faced that whatever he’d once felt for her had withered away. It had returned briefly, when their relationship had been fresh and exciting again, but now it was gone.

  ‘And that’s never going to be us, is it?’ he murmured.

  Libby felt her heart shrivel and die inside her chest. She’d come inside to talk to him about the gaping hole in their marriage, to find out whether there was any chance he could ever truly love her. She hadn’t asked that question but she had the answer, and it was as clear as the result of a landslide election.

  ‘No,’ she whispered brokenly, ‘it’s not.’

  And that was why she had to leave.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE muffled slide of a suitcase from beneath a bed, followed by the opening and closing of wardrobe doors, seemed to Rion to be the most depressing sound on earth. He strode to one side of the living room and then back again, afflicted for the first time in his life by an inability to keep still. He wanted to go up there and kiss her until she agreed to stay. But he understood now that that would be as cruel as locking a bird in a cage.

  His eyes skimmed the table where she’d been working yesterday, its surface scattered with brochures and scribbled notes. How had he not realised that earlier? If not five years ago, then at least that night at Georgios’s, when he’d seen for himself that she needed freedom like other people needed air. But he’d been so blinded by his own inferiority complex that it hadn’t occurred to him that when she’d argued that the sensible thing to do was get divorced it had been because she didn’t want to be married full-stop.