Forgiven but Not Forgotten?

by Abby Green

  Siena watched the woman tense and a wary expression came into her kind hazel eyes. Clearly she understood the significance of this meeting. She held out a hand, though, and Siena forced herself to shake it, feeling sick. She only noticed then the other woman’s very pregnant belly, and something sharp and poignant lanced her at the realisation that she might have a nephew or niece already.

  Rocco looked at Andreas and said with deceptive lightness, ‘I presume from your expression that Siena hasn’t told you about our familial connection? Or about when I confronted our father and he knocked me to the ground as if I was nothing more than a dog in the street?’

  ‘Rocco…’

  Siena heard his wife speak reprovingly, but his face remained ice-cold.

  Siena found herself appealing to the other woman instinctively, saying, ‘I was only twelve. Things really weren’t as they seemed.’

  The compassion in his wife’s eyes was too much for Siena. She pulled free of Andreas, whose expression she did not want to see, and all but ran from the room. The emotion blooming inside her was too much. Here was incontrovertible proof that she and Serena were on their own. She’d known very well that she couldn’t go to their brother, but it was another thing to see it for certain, no matter how kind his wife looked.

  She’d always harboured a secret fantasy that one day she might go to Rocco and explain about their lives. That truly they weren’t all that different in the end…they had a common nemesis: their father.

  Her throat burned as she tried to suppress the emotion, expecting Andreas’s presence at any moment. He wouldn’t stand for her running out like that. Not when she had a duty to fulfil by his side. Perhaps he’d be so disgusted by what he’d just learned that he’d be happy to see the back of her?

  She heard his voice, cold behind her in the quiet part of the lobby she’d escaped to.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me Rocco DeMarco was your half-brother?’

  Siena didn’t turn around, struggling to compose herself. ‘It wasn’t relevant.’

  Andreas snorted indelicately. ‘Not relevant? He’s one of the most powerful financiers in the world.’

  Siena turned then and looked up at Andreas, steeling herself for his expression. It was exactly as she’d feared: a mixture of disgust and confusion. Siena retreated into attack to hide her raw emotions. She shrugged minutely. ‘As you can see he hates my guts, and my sister’s. Why should I bother myself with my father’s bastard son—born to a common prostitute?’

  Siena’s insides were lacerated at her words. It was the opposite of what she believed. After that day when he’d confronted their father Siena had used to dream of him returning in the dead of night to take her and Serena away with him. But there was no way she would reveal that to Andreas.

  ‘Why, indeed?’ Andreas said now, and looked at her strangely. And then he started walking away, towards the entrance.

  Siena faltered for a moment and went after him, having to hurry to keep up. When it was clear he was asking for his car, she asked a little breathlessly, ‘Don’t you want to go back inside?’

  Andreas glanced at her and said curtly, ‘Rocco DeMarco and his wife are friends of mine. I won’t have them feeling the need to leave just because you’re with me. I told them we’d leave.’

  Pain, sharp and intense, gripped Siena as the car pulled up beside them and the valet jumped out, handing Andreas the keys. Solicitous as ever, even when he despised her, he saw Siena into the car and walked around the bonnet. Siena had the bleakest sense of foreboding that this was it. And after a silent journey back to the apartment Andreas confirmed it.

  Barely looking at her, he was in the act of removing his jacket and taking off his cufflinks when he said, ‘I’ll arrange for a security guard to take you to the jewellers in the morning. There you’ll be able to get your money.’

  Siena stood stock-still. The stark finality of his words seemed to drop somewhere between them and shatter on the floor.

  Faintly, pathetically, she said, ‘But…there’s two days left.’

  Andreas speared her with a cold look. ‘Five days is enough for me.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t dock you any payment.’

  His words seem to bounce off her. She was numb. Just like that he’d lifted her up and now he was dropping her from a height. And yet…what else had she expected?

  Siena felt sick when she had to admit that on some very deep and secret level she’d imagined that Andreas might not despise her so utterly—but when had they ever had a chance to go beyond that?

  He’d stonewalled any attempts she’d made to talk about personal things, or even non-personal things, and yet this evening she could remember a betraying flare of hope at seeing him so possessive when another man flirted with her.

  But that had been purely male posturing. No doubt he’d be quite happy to see her in anyone else’s arms when he was done with her. Which was now, Siena realised a little dazedly.

  She hated herself for not feeling more relieved, and she felt humiliated. Because she had to acknowledge that, despite telling herself she was with Andreas for this week purely to help her sister, she knew it was a lie. She would have wanted Andreas no matter what. For herself. Because he’d always been her dark fantasy. He would only ever have wanted her in revenge, so she’d had to have him like this or not at all.

  Using Serena had been a buffer—a device for fooling herself that she was somehow in control…

  Siena felt cold inside. The only good thing that could come out of this now was the help she could give her sister. She would take this man’s largesse and damn herself in his eyes for ever. She’d do it with a willing heart because she had no right ever to have imagined anything else.

  Siena forced herself to move, to say something. ‘Goodnight, then.’ It couldn’t be more apparent that Andreas would not touch her now if his life depended on it.

  She was walking away when she heard him say, ‘It’s goodbye, Siena. I’ll be gone in the morning. I leave for New York to work.’

  Siena turned and a wave of emotion surged upwards. She couldn’t stop the words tumbling out in spite of her best intentions to stay cool. ‘I am sorry, Andreas. Really sorry for what happened…it wasn’t my intention…’

  And then, before she could say anything more, she fled.

  Andreas looked at the empty space Siena had left behind, along with the most fragile scent, and wanted to storm after her, to whirl her around and demand to know what she’d meant by ‘it wasn’t my intention’. He wanted to put her over his shoulder and take her to his bed one more time.

  But it would not be enough, he realised. It would never be enough. His body burned with need. Even after that distasteful scene with her half-brother and the knowledge of what he’d been through.

  Andreas had had no idea of their connection. But as Rocco had spoken he’d felt the man’s pain and had all too well been able to imagine the scenario—the two precious blue-eyed heiresses stepping over their prone brother.

  It had brought back all of his own anger and rage, far too easily forgotten in the heat of passion or when Siena looked at him with those huge blue eyes. He too had suffered at those hands.

  Until she’d reminded him that a week was almost up he had forgotten. And that had sent shockwaves through his system—along with a knee-jerk impulse to negate it, to tell her he’d let her go when he was ready.

  But he’d caught himself in time. He’d forgotten and she’d remembered, because she was counting each day and evaluating how much she’d take from him.

  She’d made him jealous. He thought of the red haze of rage that had settled over his vision on seeing his friend Rafaele Falcone flirt with Siena. And how she’d smiled at him so guilelessly, as she’d once smiled at him… That was when the scales had finally fallen from Andreas’s eyes, and he’d realised how in danger he was of becoming a slave to his desire for this woman—how, far from being exorcised, she was gaining a stronger hold over him.

  Andreas
castigated himself. He should never have looked for her. It had been a huge mistake. Tomorrow she would be gone and he would move on.

  A month later, London

  Andreas stepped into his apartment, bone-weary. He’d extended his trip to New York, not liking to investigate why he’d wanted to avoid coming back to London too soon. Silence descended around him, telling him he was alone. He ignored the hollow sensation and put down his bag.

  He walked into the main salon and a vision hit him right between the eyes of Siena as she’d turned to face him that last evening in her black dress. So perfect. So beautiful. Andreas cursed and quickly walked out again.

  He went to the kitchen, but that only brought him back to the moment when he’d heard Mrs Bright clucking and explaining to Siena about the oven. Or how Siena had looked sitting in jeans and a T-shirt, eating a croissant with her fingers.

  Telling himself he was being ridiculous, he went to her room and opened the door, almost steeling himself for her scent. It lingered only faintly, but it was enough to have heat building low in his pelvis. He cursed her ghostly presence again. He was about to walk out when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye and walked towards the dressing area.

  He couldn’t be certain, but it looked as if every single piece of clothing he’d bought her was still there, neatly hung up or folded away. The long pink chiffon gown. The black dress she’d worn that first night, which had ended up on the floor of the foyer as he’d taken her up against the front door with all the finesse of a rutting bull… Andreas flushed.

  The clothes would have been worth a fortune, if she had felt inclined to sell them, but they were here. Something very alien gripped Andreas and he strode out and into his study. Already he could see the safe door open and all of the jewellery gone.

  He didn’t like his momentary suspicion that perhaps she’d left the jewellery too. Some last second attack of conscience, because… Why? he mocked himself. Because she’d come to feel something for you?

  Andreas pushed aside the rogue thought, not liking how it made him break out in a cold sweat. He sat down and picked up his phone. He had to know for sure.

  ‘Yes, Mr Xenakis. She came that morning, as you’d arranged, and handed back every item of jewellery. We exchanged it all for a very fair price. She was a pleasant young lady.’

  Andreas did not want to get into a conversation about how Siena DePiero could turn on the charm when it suited her, and he was about to put the phone down when the man on the other end said, ‘Actually…there was one item she wanted to keep. Ah… Let me see…’

  He was clearly looking at some list, and Andreas bit down on his impatience. He really didn’t want to hear about which emerald bracelet Siena had—

  ‘Ah, yes. Here it is.’

  The man interrupted his train of thought.

  ‘She wanted to keep the gold birdcage necklace by Angel Parnassus, and she was very insistent that she pay for it out of her own money. Everything else was cashed.’

  Andreas muttered his thanks and put the phone down. As soon as Siena had singled out that understated necklace it had made him nervous, and he didn’t like to be reminded of that now—of that elusive sensation that he’d missed something.

  With a curse, Andreas stood up and went to his room to change for the reception of a wedding that he was invited to that evening in one of his London hotels.

  His brief interlude with Siena DePiero was over, and he didn’t really care why she had wanted to hang onto some relatively inexpensive piece of gold. Nor did he want to dwell on the fact that she was out there, somewhere in the city, living off his money and undoubtedly seducing the next billionaire stupid enough to fall under her spell.

  A sudden vivid image of her with Rafaele Falcone made Andreas feel as if something had just punched him in the gut, and he had to breathe deeply to ease the sensation.

  Curse her to hell. He was done with her for good, and soon the bad taste left in his mouth would fade. If she was with Rafaele Falcone he was welcome to her.

  * * *

  Siena turned away from another group of wedding guests who had barely looked at her as they’d helped themselves to some of the hors d’oeuvres she was offering from a silver tray. She welcomed the anonymity. She’d had this job for two weeks now, and she knew how lucky she was to have found another job so easily.

  Every penny that had come from the sale of the jewellery from Andreas had gone straight to cover Serena’s fees. She’d spent an emotional afternoon with her sister, assuring her that she would be okay, and in that moment Siena had had no regrets about what she had done.

  It was when she lay in bed at night, in a similarly dingy apartment to her last one, or took the bone-rattling bus journey to work every day that she felt acute regret for deceiving Andreas all over again. She’d never forget the way he’d looked at her that last evening, or the painful reunion with her brother. Something she hadn’t yet divulged to Serena.

  Siena was making a beeline towards another group of guests in their finery when one of the men turned slightly to speak to a man at his side. Siena stopped in her tracks just feet away. Her belly plummeted. It couldn’t be. The universe couldn’t be so cruel.

  But apparently the universe could be that cruel. Andreas Xenakis glanced momentarily in her direction and Siena saw the shock of recognition cross his features.

  She immediately turned on the spot and walked quickly away, assuring herself a little hysterically that he wouldn’t have recognised her. He would thhink he was mistaken because he would have assumed she’d be on a yacht, sunning herself in the Mediterranean, spending the money she’d received.

  But even as she thought that she knew it was too good to be true. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder and she was whirled around so fast that the tray flew out of her hands, landing upside down on the plush and very expensive carpet nearby.

  Siena immediately jerked free and bent down to pick up the tray and limit the damage, terrified her stern boss might have seen. Andreas bent down too, and Siena hissed at him, hating the way her heart was threatening to jump free of her chest, ‘Please just leave me alone. I can’t afford to lose this job.’

  ‘And why,’ he asked with deceptive mildness, ‘would that be, when only weeks ago you cashed in a small fortune? No one could have run through it that quickly.’

  Siena finished putting the last of the ruined canapés on the tray and lifted it up again. She looked at Andreas and hated how shaky she felt. ‘Just pretend you haven’t seen me. Please. If I’d had any idea you’d be a guest here…’

  ‘Mr Xenakis, is everything all right?’

  ‘No, it’s not all right,’ Andreas snapped at Siena’s boss, who blanched.

  Siena went hot with embarrassment. People were looking at them now, interested in whatever it was that had taken Andreas Xenakis’s attention. The sense of déjà-vu as Siena remembered how she’d first seen him again was not welcome.

  Andreas took the tray out of Siena’s hand and before she knew what was happening handed it to her boss, taking her hand. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to do without her. She’s resigning from her job.’

  Siena gasped, ‘No, I’m not! How dare you?’ But her words were lost as Andreas all but dragged her through the throng of merry wedding guests. She tried to free herself but Andreas’s grip was too tight.

  He stopped suddenly and she almost careened into his back—only to hear him say to the tall dashing groom and his stunning bride, ‘So sorry…something has come up. I wish you all the best.’

  And then he was moving again.

  Her face puce with mortification, Siena was forced to follow. When they were finally in the clear, in a relatively empty corridor, Siena broke free and stopped in her tracks. She was shaking with adrenalin and shock.

  ‘How dare you just lose me my job like that?’

  Andreas rounded on her, eyes blazing. Siena couldn’t fail to react to his sheer masculine magnificence. His jaw was slightly stubbled and an insidiou
s image slipped into her mind of him waking in bed with some new lover who had distracted him enough to persuade him back into bed. Something she’d never done. She’d never woken in his arms.

  ‘Lose you your job?’ he practically shouted. ‘Why the hell are you working as a waitress again when you walked away with a small fortune in your pocket just a month ago?’

  Siena opened her mouth and shut it again. What could she say? That she liked back-breaking work and being on her feet for eight hours solid at a stretch? Of course she didn’t.

  She just needed Andreas gone so that she could get on with trying to forget about him and all the tangled emotions he was responsible for. She folded her arms. ‘It’s none of your business.’

  Andreas folded his arms too, as immovable as a large, intimidating statue. Siena knew with a flicker of trepidation that she’d never make him budge.

  ‘You owe me an explanation, Siena.’

  Siena shook her head, panic surging. ‘No, I don’t owe you anything.’

  Andreas looked stern. ‘Oh, yes, you do—and especially after this stunt.’

  He reached for her hand again and started leading her down the corridor, away from the high society wedding. A sense of inevitability washed through Siena. She knew she hadn’t a hope of resisting Andreas when he was like this.

  To her dismay she realised that they were in one of his hotels when he went to the reception desk and she heard him demand the key for the Presidential Suite. Then they were in the lift and ascending to the top floor. He still had hold of her hand, and Siena didn’t like the way her body was already reacting to his touch—her blood pooling hotly in her belly and fizzing through her veins.

  When Andreas opened the door to an opulent-looking suite he led her in and only let her go when they were safely inside. Siena walked into the reception room. The lights of the Houses of Parliament shone from across the river in the gathering dusk.

  She felt self-conscious in her uniform, which consisted of a black knee-length skirt, a white shirt and black bow-tie. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, face scrubbed free of make-up, and the only jewellery she wore was the gold birdcage necklace she’d kept. It seemed to burn into her skin like a brand now, even though she’d actually used the last of her own money to pay for it.