“Well, I’m not hungry,” she corrected a little breathily, “and discussing anything with you is an exercise in ‘How to Waste your Breath 101’.”
He lifted a brow, unused to this acerbic side of her. “Sit.”
“Or what?” She simpered. “You’ll find a way to make me?”
“Sit.” His eyes bore into hers; she felt childish and unreasonable. But the petulance was running riot through her.
“What did you want to talk about?”
A waitress appeared at their table, and evidently not sensing the tone, smiled brightly and began to recite the specials.
Elle listened politely, reserving her rude vitriol specifically for the man who’d broken her heart.
“Just a drink, thanks,” she relented finally, taking the seat opposite him but only with the very edge of her bottom.
“Champagne,” he said towards the waitress, before turning back to Elle with narrowed eyes. “When did he get the chair.” It was a statement, not a question, and it knocked her momentarily off-balance as it had been designed to.
“You can ask him that,” she said sharply.
“I’m asking you.”
“You want a relationship with him? Then talk to him.”
He compressed his lips in frustration. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable with me asking him those sorts of questions.”
Compassion punctured her heart. “Ask him gently,” she said with a shrug. “And if he doesn’t want to talk about it, then back off.” Her champagne arrived and she sipped it quickly. “I know it doesn’t come easily to you, but do your best to act like a decent guy and you’ll be fine.”
“Theos,” he snapped, shaking his head. “What’s got into you?”
She had another taste of the champagne. It was excellent, of course. “I’m free.” Her eyes were enormous in her beautiful face. And she really was spectacularly beautiful. His whole body tightened as he felt the force of their attraction zipping through him.
“Free?” He cradled his own drink thoughtfully. “Free from what?”
She smiled, but it was touched by sadness. “From everything. You can’t threaten me with anything now. You can’t hurt me. I’m free.”
He hated what she’d done, but her words were like acid being poured down his back. The accusation made his whole body twist painfully.
“I don’t want to threaten you.”
“No. You don’t want anything to do with me. And I don’t want anything to do with you. But for Filip’s sake we’ll be civil, and see each other as little as possible.”
NO, he was screaming in his head. He didn’t want the picture she was painting. “Fine by me,” he agreed nonchalantly. “Except for one little sticking point.”
“Oh?” She held the champagne in her hand but didn’t drink any more.
“I think you and I will find it impossible to stay out of bed. I think the sooner we face up to that the better.”
She stood jerkily and slid her drink across the table. “You’re wrong.” She leaned forward, not even noticing that her singlet gaped and gave him a glimpse of her cleavage. “I don’t want a thing from you, least of all sex.”
She turned and stalked out of the restaurant feeling like she was about to have a panic attack.
How the hell was she going to do this?
* * *
“It was four years ago.” Filip kept his eyes focussed on the television as he spoke but Christos was staring at his half-brother’s profile.
“Four years? Around the time your mom …”
Filip angled his face towards Christos. “Ellie never mentioned?”
“No.” He shook his head, careful to keep any emotion from his features.
“I was in the car. The night mom died.”
Christos was very still; carefully watchful. “I didn’t know.”
“She was drunk as a skunk. But that was mom. She made me sit up front so I could read the traffic signs.”
Still Christos kept his expression bland, knowing instinctively that his disapproval might risk silencing his brother’s speech.
“She died. As soon as we hit the tree.”
“And you?” Christos prompted after a heavy, sorrowful beat.
“Trapped beneath the engine.” His eyes were enormous as they faced Christos. “It was hours before they cut me loose.”
Christos’s gut clenched. “You must have been terrified.”
“I don’t know how I felt.” He shook his head. “I think I just switched myself off. Sounds crazy, I know.”
“So you were paralysed?”
“From the waist down,” Filip nodded.
“Nothing could be done?”
“No. I severed my spinal cord. I’m lucky to be alive.”
Christos smothered the curse that had hovered on his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“You must have gathered how protective Ellie is of me.” His smile was a mirror-image of Christos’s. “She feels guilty.”
“Guilty? Why?”
“Oh, for no good reason. She’s full of ‘what-ifs’. What if she’d been home and I’d stayed with her instead of going with mom. What if she’d been driving instead? What if, what if, what if. But it wasn’t her fault.”
“No, of course it wasn’t,” Christos agreed, not wanting to soften in his attitude towards Elle but simultaneously being almost overcome by a desire to wash away that remorse and worry. “I wish I had known. I wish I could have done something.”
“No one could do anything.”
“But if I had… perhaps more suitable living quarters,” he said with a grimace as he looked around the room.
“Your father knew.” Filip’s fingers gripped the wheelchair as he turned to face the television.
Christos took three deep breaths. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.” Had Elle lied about this? Had she lied to make Filip hate his father?
“No. I was here when Elle get back from Greece.”
Christos frowned, too many questions arising from the statement.
“The first time. After mom died. Elle got back late at night and I’d been waiting up. I heard her talking with Hannah.” His smile was faint. “I was eleven. I loved nothing more than sitting up listening to my sister and her friend. She’d told him about the accident and he said that he wished I’d been killed.”
Christos stood up unevenly. He strode to the window and stared down at the street beyond. The statement, if true, was deeply, horrifyingly wrong. “I can’t believe he said that,” Christos said finally. “Perhaps your sister misunderstood.”
“Ellie’s sharp as a tac and it’s hardly a difficult sentence to remember.”
“Then she made it up. She said it to upset you.”
“No,” Filip shook his head. “She was telling Hannah in confidence; she didn’t want me to know. To this day, she has no clue I overheard. And she definitely never said anything like that to me. She was devastated. Your father wouldn’t even contribute towards the cost of my wheels.”
Christos’s breath was paining him. “That simply cannot be true.”
Filip’s own temper was rising. “Why would I lie?”
“I don’t think you’re lying. I think she is.”
Filip stared at Christos. “You’ve read her wrong. She’s not like that.”
Christos was dumbfounded. “Our father died a very rich man.”
“I know.” Filip stared numbly ahead.
“He gave millions to charities. He was on the board of the special Olympics.”
“I know that too,” Filip couldn’t face his half-brother. “So look around and maybe you can see why I’m reluctant to think of him as ‘my’ father.”
Christos needed more information than Filip had. He needed to know the facts of what had happened. Something didn’t add up though. The man he had adored and admired wouldn’t have been capable of such callous disregard.
“And don’t say anything to Elle. Whenever anyone insults me she acts as though she’s got to fix it. She can’t fix t
his. And she’ll just lose her mind trying.”
Elle pushed through the door at that moment; the tension in the apartment was palpable. She hadn’t seen Christos in two nights, since she’d stormed away from him in the restaurant. “Christos.” She frowned. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” Or she would have stayed out longer. The meaning hung in the air as though she’d spoken it.
“He was asking about the accident,” Filip said, turning back to the television.
“Oh, right.” She shouldered the door shut, carrying the heavy bags into the kitchen. Christos met her halfway and relieved her of the burden, shaking his head when he saw the way her fingers had been ring-barked by the plastic handles.
“You shouldn’t be living like this.”
She slanted a droll look in his direction. “This is how most of the world lives. Actually, it’s better than most of the world lives.” She began to lift groceries onto the bench. “You do realise you’re in the One Percent, don’t you?”
“You say that like it’s an accusation.”
“Just a fact.” She pushed a packet of ham into the fridge. “You shouldn’t sneer at people like us just because we don’t have helicopters and mansions.”
“I don’t.” He grabbed her hand and lifted it between them. Slowly, he began to stroke her sore, red flesh. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”
She frowned as she stared at the red and purple bruising on her fingers. “There are worse ways to be hurt.” She stepped away from him as though his touch was dosed in napalm.
“Christos? Can you stay for dinner?” Filip’s voice travelled into the kitchen easily.
Elle fluttered her eyes in silent rejection of the idea. “No,” she mouthed at him but his smile showed he had no intention of listening to her.
“I’d love to.”
Elle glared at him with undisguised anger. “I thought we agreed to stay out of each other’s way.”
He took a step towards her, pressing her against the kitchen bench. Her heart was pounding at his proximity. “I agreed we were likely to end up back in bed together,” he corrected. “And I think we should place a wager on how long it takes.”
He dropped his lips to the side of her mouth and teased her by barely touching her. Every nerve ending in her body was screaming at her to angle her head so that they could kiss properly. To push up onto the bench and wrap her legs around him, to pull him close to her.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she kept her expression neutral, tinged with bored impatience. “Hell would freeze over first,” she said finally, amazed at how steady the words sounded.
He lifted away to stare down at her, and he too was surprised by how little she was affected by his proximity. His whole body was fire and flame, as it always was when she was near.
“Don’t touch me.” She lifted her face to his and now he saw not just impatience but fear too.
She was afraid of him.
It was a dagger to his heart.
“Elle.” He swallowed. What the hell could he say?
“You can’t take it back.” As if she knew he was trying to form a sentence, to ask a question, she shook her head frantically. “The things you said … the way you felt. I’ll never forget that.”
And the words sledged against him as though they were there in the room, a living force of cruelty and hatred.
I wish I’d never met you, but at least I have the satisfaction of knowing you meant nothing to me.
“I’m making pasta,” she said coldly. “If Filip wants you to stay, that’s fine. But at least be useful and set the table.”
He stifled a grunt of frustration and reached for the cutlery. Only she moved that way at the same time and they bumped into each other. She stepped backwards instantly.
Christos’s mind was spinning. He thought about the accusations Filip had levelled at his father and tried to think of a way to ask Elle about it. But how could he do that without betraying his brother’s confidence?
“Did my dad know about Filip’s accident?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “I went to Greece to tell him. Shortly after mom … after it happened.”
Good. She’d given him enough information so that he could question her without revealing what Filip knew. “I thought my father came to you here.”
“He did. After kicking me out of his home. Much like you did actually.”
“Not exactly like I did,” he said with a frown. “And I can’t understand why he would have turned you away.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Why?”
She reached for a packet of pasta angrily. “Because he didn’t want your mother to find out. Same as you. He said … he was …” she swallowed the horrible words Filip Senior had issued. “He said he didn’t want to be involved. I left. That was the end of it.”
Christos shook his head. Either she’d lied to Hannah then, or she was lying to him now. And if it was the latter, why? Surely the only answer was out of concern for Christos and a desire to save him from thinking badly of his father? That didn’t tally with the image he had of her as a woman who would sell scandalous stories to newspapers. “You must have been very upset.”
“Upset?” She laughed scornfully. “I didn’t have the luxury of being upset. I was worried about how I’d get food on the table. How I’d pay his school fees. How I’d buy his …” she swallowed. “How I’d care for him in every way.” She closed her eyes and lowered her voice to a soft whisper. “You wonder why I didn’t just fly to Greece and ask you for your help? I tried that once before and it blew up in my face. I couldn’t risk you reacting the same way he did.”
“So what? You decided to seduce me and then blackmail me?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Lower your voice,” she warned, flicking her eyes towards the living room. She needn’t have worried; Filip was engrossed in the game show that had come on. Her whisper was angry. “My mother, brother and I have all been screwed again and again by your father. I’m not someone who would ever think of blackmail as a first option. It’s crazy and amoral and wrong in every way! But how could I risk that you would refuse to help me? Having met your father, I had no faith your conscience would guide you any differently than his did him.”
He pushed the insult aside. “And so you abandoned your own conscience?”
She nodded. “At least so far as you were concerned. My only thought was for Filip.”
“And when you sold our sordid family secrets to the press? Were you thinking of Filip then, agape mou?” He clung to the wrongdoing with all his might. His anger was otherwise eroding which left him in a very precarious position.
“Yes,” she nodded, spinning away from him and tipping the pasta in the saucepan.
“And my mother?”
Elle’s hand stilled. “Was she very upset?”
“Yes.”
She blinked her eyes shut. “I’m sorry for her.”
“I wish you hadn’t felt compelled to break the news as you did. It was selfish and careless and patently unforgivable.” Danger lurked on the edges of her mind. “But the first crime was my father’s.”
She put a lid on the pasta and carefully avoided moving in his direction. “Dinner won’t take long,” she said without looking at him.
“Let me help.”
“I’m fine.”
He moved closer towards her. “All those nights eating takeaway and I had no idea you could cook.”
Her smile was wry. “I’m not cooking. I’m boiling.”
He leaned nonchalantly against the counter. “Have you lived in this flat long?”
She arched a brow thoughtfully, reaching for some onions. She diced them effortlessly, keeping her concentration focussed on the task at hand. “Since my mom died.”
“Are you happy here?”
“Ecstatic.” She flashed him a look of impatience. “Is that how it’s to be between us? You’re going to act as though we’re polite acquaintances?”
“I don’t know
,” he sighed wearily. “I’m making it up as I go along.”
“When do you plan to take him to Athens?”
“To take both of you,” he murmured, wishing he could reach out and brush her hair away from her face to see her properly.
She nodded. “I’ll have to schedule my visit around work.” Her eyes were guarded when they lifted to his face. “I already missed too much.”
He pushed down on his impatience. “The sooner the better. I’m having some modifications made in preparation but they should be finished any day.”
“What modifications?” She asked, genuinely curious.
“An elevator, for one.”
“An … elevator?” She knew the anger was a futile emotion but it was strong in her blood as she contemplated what such an exercise would cost. And for a temporary visit! She had scrimped and saved to be able to afford the bare necessities. It was a cruel joke.
“You might remember there are quite a number of stairs in my home.”
She nodded. She remembered everything about his home. Vividly.
“Something really bothers me about your apartment,” he said after a moment’s heavy silence.
“Then it’s just as well I live here, and not you.”
He forced a tight smile in acknowledgement. “Where’s the piano?”
“What piano?” She frowned, turning to face him in a genuine response to the cryptic remark.
“You must have one.”
“Must I?” She laughed. “Oh, you’re right. It’s upstairs, in the saloon.”
He shook his head, moving closer to her. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” He was fascinated by the colour that stole into her cheeks. “No piano? For someone like you?”
“I don’t need one. I don’t have space.”
“No.” He peered through the doorway, grimacing as he reminded himself of the physically constrained environment.
She added garlic to the pan and then some white wine and cream, stirring all the time. “That smells delicious.”
“It’s Filip’s favourite,” she murmured, tearing some parsley leaves into the mix.
“He has good taste.”
Dinner was a far more pleasurable experience than Elle had anticipated. At least, it wasn’t as awful as she’d feared it might be. Filip and Christos discovered that they had some genuine common ground, including a sense of humour and a love of horror films.
Pairs VIII Page 26
