‘Tamsyn—’
‘Shut up!’ she declared as the tears now began to stream down her cheeks and the words came choking out. ‘You know my mother had us fostered because we got in the way of her latest love interest? I know. Shocking, isn’t it? And after she died Hannah came into possession of her paperwork, including a letter addressed to me which contained the bombshell discovery that Jonny Trafford was my father. But Hannah didn’t tell me that. At least, not straight away.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why not?’
‘She was trying to protect me, just like she’d always done.’ Tamsyn stabbed at her wet cheeks with a balled-up fist. ‘She thought I’d been through enough hurt and wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to endure any more. So she went to see him.’ Her voice tailed off but his face was intent as he leaned forward.
‘Tell me, Tamsyn.’
She shook her head as she looked at him, knowing this was it. The words tasted sour as she began to speak them but she forced herself to keep looking at the man she had married, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much disgust he showed when he heard the truth. ‘He was a full-blown junkie by then, of course. She said she’d never seen anyone look so pathetic, in his huge mansion with all those great big mirrors and shaggy rugs, and the dusty platinum discs on the walls. But when she told him about me, she said she thought she saw a light in his eyes. He told her straight off he was going to go into rehab, like his manager had been nagging at him to do for years, and he did. And that was when she told me about him.’
‘Well, that was good, wasn’t it?’ Xan questioned.
Tamsyn shrugged. ‘Yeah, I suppose so. He wasn’t allowed any contact with the outside world for six weeks, not until he was properly clean, but he was allowed to write letters. He wrote to me and said he was looking forward to seeing me and I can remember how excited I felt. I had no real memories of my mother, but here was the chance to connect with my roots at last. I know it sounds stupid but I wanted to see if I had the same nose, or eyes, or if we walked in a similar way. I wanted to feel connected.’
‘It doesn’t sound stupid.’ There was a pause and his eyes were very steady as he looked at her. ‘What happened?’
‘We arranged to meet in a famous London hotel, for tea, but...’ She swallowed, then shook her head and it took a couple of moments before she could compose herself enough to continue. ‘He couldn’t face it—or maybe the lure of heroin was stronger than the thought of meeting his daughter for the first time. I sat in that fancy hotel for ages with barely enough money to pay the inflated price of the pot of tea I’d had to order. I remember getting lots of pitying looks—probably because of the way I was dressed. Or maybe people thought I’d been stood up. Which I had, I g-guess.’ She swallowed again, but now the tears were like hot rivers coursing down her cheeks and the pain in her heart was fierce and intense as she relived a scenario she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for years. ‘When I came out it was dark and the evening news bulletins were flashing up on TV screens in a nearby department store—and the lead story was that Jonny Trafford had been found dead in a hotel room with a needle hanging out of his arm.’
‘Tamsyn—’
‘No!’ she interrupted, her voice trembling as she fished a tissue out of the back of her jeans and loudly blew her nose. ‘Don’t say all the things you think you’re supposed to say. Because words won’t change anything, Xan. I know it was terrible but I’ve come to terms with the fact that neither my father nor my mother wanted me, and that’s why I’m so screwed up. Whichever way you look at it, I’m not the right type of wife for you. My unsuitability runs deeper than you thought and it’s far better we split now, rather than later. So just go, will you? Go now and leave me in peace.’
He shook his head. ‘But I don’t want to go.’
‘When will you get it into your thick skull that I don’t care what you want?’ she flared back. ‘I’m telling you my wishes and since this is my home, for now at least, you will have to listen to them!’
But Xan didn’t move. There was silence for a moment as he glanced over his shoulder to survey the bleak view outside the window and then looked back at her, the woman he had married. He saw the way her lips quivered with belligerence and pride and shame. Her cheeks were wet and streaky and fiery strands of hair were matted with tears. Her expression was defiant but wary as she returned his gaze—like a dog which had spent its life being kicked but had just enough spirit left to fight back. And that was Tamsyn all right. He admired her spirit and always had done.
He hadn’t been expecting yet another layer to her tragic life story. He hadn’t realised just how deeply she’d been damaged. He’d imagined coming here today and after some token resistance, the two of them having some pretty urgent sex up against the wall, since that bed looked way too small to accommodate two people. Unwilling to let her go just yet, he’d planned to take her back to Greece, thinking that a few months more of his feisty spouse would be enough to get her out of his system.
But now he recognised that he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t pick her up and put her down, using her like his own sexy little toy. To do that would be to dishonour and disrespect her—and damage her further. Didn’t she deserve every bit of his respect after what she’d been through? His heart clenched, knowing that if he wanted this to work—he was going to have to give more than he’d ever given before. He was going to have to have the courage to open up and confront his feelings—just as she had done with him.
‘You know that with you, it’s like it’s never been for me before,’ he said softly.
Her emerald eyes clouded with suspicion. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about you. How different it is with you. It’s been different from the start, Tamsyn—in every way. You’re fresh and feisty and original—and more fun than any other woman I’ve ever known. And we’re alike. I see that now. We both grew up rejected by our mothers. We didn’t know how to express love because nobody had ever shown us how.’ He sucked in a deep and unsteady breath. ‘The thing is that I think we could be good together. Not for three months, or a year—but for ever.’
‘For ever?’ she echoed, as if this was a concept beyond her comprehension.
He nodded. ‘It won’t always be easy and it won’t always be fun. There’ll be bad times as well as good, because my married friends tell me that’s what life is like. But I think we can be strong for each other and supportive of each other, if the will is there.’
He saw the brief hope which flared in her face before it was banished by that determined little expression of mutiny once more. ‘No. It won’t work. It can’t work,’ she husked. ‘It’ll all end in tears, I know it will. So do yourself a favour, Xan—and get away from me.’
‘Sorry.’ He shook his head again. ‘No I can’t do that. You aren’t going to sabotage this, Tamsyn—no matter how hard you try. And even if you continue to glare at me and send me away—I’ll just keep coming back until you give me the answer that both of us really want. Which is that you will be my wife for real.’
She chewed on her bottom lip as her eyes swam with green tears and it took a full minute before she could form the words. ‘You...you really mean it?’ she whispered.
He slammed his palm against the left side of his sternum. ‘From the bottom of my heart.’
At this she started crying again but this time the tears were different and her mouth was trying to smile instead of wobbling with pain and Xan pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a tenderness he hadn’t known he possessed. For a long while they just stood there, locked in each other’s arms as their mouths connected in kiss after kiss, and not long after that, Xan made the discovery that the bed was plenty big enough for what he had in mind.
Efficiently, he stripped off all their clothes and it wasn’t until he had filled her with his seed and heard her choke out her own cry of fulfilment, that he
finally felt as if he was exactly where he needed to be in the world. That everything he’d ever wanted was right here, right now. They lay there, quiet and contented and Xan was stroking Tamsyn’s tumbled curls when he tilted her chin to look at him.
‘One thing interests me,’ he said.
Dreamily, she looked up into his face. ‘Mmm?’
‘Why didn’t you make a claim on Jonny’s estate, which presumably you didn’t? You could have been a very wealthy woman.’
Tamsyn shook her head. Even Hannah had told her she should try to get something from Jonny Trafford’s property portfolio and his back catalogue of songs,, but Tamsyn hadn’t wanted to know. ‘It all just seemed too sordid,’ she said slowly. ‘I knew there would be publicity and DNA tests and inevitable opposition to my claim and I couldn’t...’
‘You couldn’t face them?’
‘That’s right. It wasn’t worth it. All the money in the world wouldn’t have tempted me to put myself through an ordeal like that.’
He flinched. ‘Yet you were willing to marry me for a price.’
She met the question in his eyes and shrugged. ‘To be honest, it wasn’t for me. I was worried about my sister.’
‘Hannah?’ He looked at her in bemusement. ‘Who’s married to one of the wealthiest men on the planet?’
She nodded. ‘At the time I wasn’t sure if her marriage to the Sheikh was going to last and realised I needed funds to help her if she needed to get away from him. That’s why I did it.’
He pulled her closer and his eyes were darkly blue. ‘Oh, I love you, Tamsyn Constantinides. I love you because you’re strong and brave and loyal. You are the bright fire in my life, my love—and the world would be a very dark and cold place without you.’
Tamsyn swallowed, knowing that there was one thing more which needed to be addressed. ‘It doesn’t matter what my reasons were, Xan,’ she said quietly. ‘I still married you for money, didn’t I? All your life you’ve been pursued by women who know how wealthy you are and maybe at heart, you think we’re all gold-diggers. I can’t blame you for that, Xan. If I were you, I might even think the same!’
He traced his finger thoughtfully over the trembling outline of her mouth. ‘Okay. Let’s sort this out once and for all. Will you answer me just one question, Tamsyn, with all the honesty you have already demonstrated today?’
She hooded her eyes suspiciously. ‘Just one?’
‘Just one.’ He looked her straight in the eyes. ‘If I didn’t have a cent in the world, would you be lying with me now, like this?’
It wasn’t a fair question because there could be no equivocation about her answer and more stupid tears sprang to Tamsyn’s eyes as she nodded. ‘Of course I would,’ she whispered. ‘Because I love you for you, Xan—you and only you. All the other stuff simply doesn’t matter.’
His face was serious as he kissed away her tears and only when her cheeks were dry did he turn his attention to her mouth. And the kiss which followed was like no other. It wasn’t about sex, or ownership or possession. It was seeking and tender. It spoke of compassion and true intimacy. It spoke of the powerful trust which existed between them now. It spoke of sanctuary and a golden future.
And for the first time in her life, Tamsyn felt safe.
EPILOGUE
‘IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL,’ breathed Tamsyn as the sun sank slowly into the sea, turning the surrounding water into contrasting shades of deep purple and gold.
‘I know,’ said Xan softly. ‘Utterly beautiful.’
Tamsyn looked up to find her husband’s gaze fixed not on the magnificent spectacle taking place over the Aegean but on her. ‘Xan,’ she said, in mock-reprimand. ‘I was talking about the view.’
‘So was I. But in my mind there’s no contest. The sunset on this island is always magnificent—but its blaze is nothing compared to the colour of your hair, agape mou.’
Tamsyn gave a shiver of delight as his silken words washed over her. ‘If only I’d realised I was marrying a poet.’
‘There were a lot of things we didn’t know about each other back then.’
Their eyes met. ‘But we do now,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
He walked over to where she stood, on the strip of land not far from the beach. Behind her was the small stone house where their son lay sleeping and in front of her was the endless potential of the night ahead. This was their fourth day on Prassakri, where the bones of Xan’s ancestors lay. They’d spent lazy hours walking and talking and teaching their son how to swim. They’d built sandcastles and eaten picnics as they explored the stunning island, where little had changed over the centuries.
But it had been a rollercoaster three years since their wedding.
After initially refusing to sell Xan the island, Sofia’s father had eventually agreed on a deal. A deal prompted by the discovery that his daughter was in love with one of his farm labourers, and had been for years—and they needed an injection of cash to start up on their own. Sofia had met Tamsyn and Xan for lunch in Athens and told them everything.
‘I knew Papa would never allow me to marry Georgiou because he was so poor,’ she’d explained, looking down at her plain gold wedding band with an expression of delight. ‘Which was why my long-term engagement to Xan worked so well. It’s why I was so happy to go along with it. As a kind of smokescreen, I guess.’
Xan had smiled and so had Tamsyn, glad that no hearts had been broken during the fictitious understanding.
The reconciliation with Xan’s father had happened slowly—bolstered by the knowledge that his ancestral island was back under the ownership of the Constantinides family. But the real rapprochement had come after the birth of Tamsyn and Xan’s child. Andreas had unexpectedly turned up on the doorstep with a jar of honey—which apparently was a Greek tradition—his eyes filling with tears as he had gazed down at his newborn grandson. These days he came to their house on the Peloponnese peninsula often, enjoying the kind of warm family life he’d never really experienced before.
Tamsyn glanced up at the sky. The sun had almost disappeared and in the darkening indigo sky was the first faint sprinkle of stars.
‘I think it’s time for us to go to bed, agape mou,’ observed Xan throatily. ‘Don’t you?’
Leaning back against his broad chest, Tamsyn nodded. ‘Mmm,’ she agreed. ‘Let’s.’
It was still early but they liked to retire early for they enjoyed nothing better than the endless discovery of each other’s bodies. The ancient stone steps absorbed the sound of their footsteps as they went upstairs and peeped in on their toddler son who lay contentedly sleeping and sucking his thumb.
‘He’s worn out,’ said Xan approvingly.
‘Are you surprised?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘He seems a bit young to start playing tennis.’
‘That’s not what his godfather says.’
‘No.’ There was a pause while Tamsyn considered the very real chance that her son’s godfather would one day be president of the United States of America. She looked down and smiled as she studied the unruly black curls which looked so dark against the sheet. Andreas Alexandros Iohannis. She’d known that another tradition was to call the first born son after his paternal grandfather, but it had been Xan who had suggested including the Greek version of John among his names. At first Tamsyn hadn’t known how she felt about that, until a sudden rush of emotion had reminded her that nobody could deny their roots, even if those roots had been allowed to wither, and die. Nobody knew that Jonny Trafford was her father, but echoes of him would live on in her child. She hoped that Andreas inherited some of his undoubted talent, and prayed that they could nurture him with enough love to defeat his demons.
She drew in a deep breath as she stared up at Xan, her heart suddenly beating very fast. ‘We won’t make the mistakes our own parents did,’ she said unsteadily.
‘No,’ he
agreed, his watchful gaze understanding. ‘We’ll make our own. But we’ll try to limit them.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed as he pulled her into his arms.
‘And we’ll be honest enough to say if we think either of us is stepping out of line.’ He tilted her chin to look directly into her eyes. ‘Because we love each other and we’re completely honest with each other, Tamsyn—and nothing is ever going to change that. Do you understand?’
Clamping her lips together, she nodded. ‘Oh, Xan,’ she said eventually, as she touched her fingertips to the roughened shadow at his jaw. ‘I must have done something very good in a previous life, to have ended up with you.’
His eyes glinted as he led her from the nursery. ‘I like the thought of you being good,’ he murmured, as he began to undo the sarong which was knotted around her hips. ‘But I like the thought of you being bad much better.’
‘Do you really?’ she said, tugging eagerly at the zip of his jeans. ‘Then I’d better do as my husband desires.’
And she could hear nothing but his growl of contentment as she climbed on top of him in the silver moonlight, and day gave way to night.
* * * * *
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