by Jane Porter
Glancing past him to the car, the sleek black Jaguar with tinted windows, she wondered how many cars he had scattered all over the world.
“You’re…here,” she said foolishly, her mind so strangely blank that nothing came to her—nothing but shock and fear. He couldn’t know. He didn’t know. She’d only found out today herself.
“Yes, I am.” His head tipped and he looked at her directly, but still without recognition. She felt her heart turn over with sympathy for him. He hadn’t gone through with the surgery. He must have had second thoughts. And while she didn’t blame him—it was a very new, very dangerous procedure—it just reaffirmed all over again her determination to keep the pregnancy a secret…at least for now.
“How did you know I lived here?”
“I had your address,” he said blandly.
“Oh. I see.” But she didn’t see. Her home address was on nothing—although she supposed if a man like Kristian Koumantaros wanted to know where she lived it wouldn’t take much effort on his part to find out. He had money, and connections. People would tell him things, particularly private detectives—not that he’d do that…
Or would he?
Frowning, bewildered, she stared up at him, still trying to figure out what he was doing here in Windsor—on her doorstep, no less.
From the kitchen, her kettle began to whistle.
His head lifted, his black brows pulling.
“The kettle,” she said, by way of explanation. “I was just making tea. I should turn it off.” And without waiting for him to answer she went to the kitchen and unplugged the kettle, only to turn around and discover Kristian right there behind her, making her small, old-fashioned kitchen, with its porcelain farm sink and simple farmhouse table, look tired and primitive.
“Oh,” she said, taking a nervous step back. “You’re here.”
The corner of his mouth twisted. “I appear to be everywhere today.”
“Yes.” She pressed her skirt smooth, her hands uncomfortably damp. How had he made his way into the kitchen so quickly? It was almost as if he knew his way already—or as if he could actually see…
Could he?
Her pulse quickened, her nerves strung so tight she felt disturbingly close to falling apart. It had been such an overwhelming day as it was. First her certainty about the baby, and now Kristian in her house.
“Have you been in England long?” she asked softly, trying to figure out just what was going on.
“I’ve spent part of the last month here.”
A month in England. Her heart jumped a little, and she had to exhale slowly to try to calm herself. “I didn’t know.”
One of his black eyebrows lifted, but he said nothing else. At least some things hadn’t changed, she thought. He was still as uncommunicative as ever. But that didn’t mean she had to play his game.
“The surgery—it was scheduled for today, wasn’t it?” she asked awkwardly.
“Why?”
“I read it in the paper…actually, it was on the train home. You were supposed to have the treatment done today in London.”
“Really?”
She felt increasingly puzzled. “It’s what the paper said,” she repeated defensively.
“I see.” He smiled benignly. And the conversation staggered to a stop there.
Uncertainly, she turned to pour her tea.
Good manners required her to ask if he’d like a cup, but the last thing she wanted to do was prolong this miserable visit.
She wrestled with her conscience. Good manners won. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, voice stilted.
White teeth flashed in a mocking smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Hands shaking, she retrieved another cup and saucer from the cupboard before filling his cup.
He couldn’t see…could he?
He couldn’t possibly see…
But something inside her, that same peculiar sixth sense from earlier, made her suspicious.
“Toast?” Her voice quavered. She hated that. She hated that suddenly everything felt so wildly out of control.
“No, thank you.”
Glancing at him, she put the bread away, too nervous now to eat.
“You’re not going to eat?” he asked mildly.
“No.”
“You’re not hungry?”
Her stomach did another uncomfortable freefall. How did he know she wasn’t going to eat?
“The surgery,” she said. “You didn’t have it today.”
“No.” He paused for the briefest moment. “I had it a month ago.”
Her legs nearly went from beneath her. Elizabeth put a hand out to the kitchen table to support herself. “A month ago?” she whispered, her gaze riveted to his face.
“Mmmm.”
He wasn’t helping at all, was he? She swallowed around the huge lump filling her throat. “Can you, can you…see?”
“Imperfectly.”
Imperfectly, she repeated silently, growing increasingly light-headed. “Tell me…tell me…how much do you see?”
“It’s not all dark anymore. One eye is more or less just shadows and dark shapes, but with the other eye I get a bit more. While I’ll probably never be able to drive or pilot my own plane again, I can see you.”
“And what do you see…now?” Her voice was faint to her own ears.
“You.”
Her heart was beating so hard she was afraid she’d faint.
“The colors aren’t what they were,” he added. “Everything’s faded, so the world’s rather gray and white, but I know you’re standing near a table. You’re touching the table with one hand. Your other hand is on your stomach.”
He was right. He was exactly right. And her hand was on her stomach because she felt like throwing up. “Kristian.”
He just looked at her, really looked at her, and she didn’t know whether to smile for him or burst into tears. He could see. Imperfectly, as he’d said, but something was better than nothing. Something meant he’d live independently more easily. He’d also have more power in his life again, as well as control.
Control.
And suddenly she realized that if he could see her, he’d eventually see the changes in her body. He’d know she was pregnant…
Her insides churned.
“Is that why you’re here tonight?” she asked. “To tell me your good news?”
“And to celebrate your good news.”
She swayed on her feet. “My good news?”
“You do have good news, don’t you?” he persisted.
Elizabeth stared at Kristian where he stood, just inside the kitchen doorway. Protectively she rubbed her stomach, over her not yet existent bump, trying to stay calm. “I…I don’t think so.”
“I suppose it depends on how you look at it,” he answered. His mouth slanted, black lashes lowering to conceal the startling blue of his eyes. “We knew each other only two weeks and two days, and that was two months and two weeks ago. Those two weeks were mostly good. But there was a disappointment or two, wasn’t there?”
She couldn’t tear her eyes off him. He looked strong and dynamic, and his tone was commanding. “A couple,” she echoed nervously.
“One of the greatest offenses is that we flew to Kithira for dinner and we never ate. We were in my favorite restaurant and we never enjoyed an actual meal.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s your greatest disappointment?”
“If you’d ever eaten there, you’d understand. It’s truly great food. Greek food as it’s meant to be.”
She blinked, her fingers balling into knuckled fists. “You’re here to tell me I missed out on a great meal?”
“It was supposed to be a special evening.”
He infuriated her. Absolutely infuriated her. Pressing her fists to her ribs, she shook inwardly with rage. Here she was, exhausted from work, stressed and sick from her pregnancy, worried about his sight, deeply concerned about the future, and all he could
think of was a missed meal?
“Why don’t you have your pilot take you back to Kithira and you can have your delicious dinner?” she snapped.
“But that wouldn’t help you. You still wouldn’t know what a delicious meal you’d missed.” He gestured behind him, to the compact living room. “So I’ve brought that meal to you.”
“What?”
“I won’t have you flying in your state, and I’m worrying about the baby.”
“What baby?” she choked, her veins filling with a flood of ice water.
“Our baby,” he answered simply, turning away and heading for the living room, which had been transformed while they were in the kitchen.
The owner of the Kithirian restaurant, along with the waiter who had served them that night, had set up a table, chairs, covering the table in a crisp white cloth and table settings for two. The lights had been turned down and candles flickered on the table, and on the side table next to her small antique sofa, and somewhere, she didn’t know where, music played.
They’d turned her living room into a Greek taverna and Elizabeth stood rooted to the spot, unable to take it all in. “What’s going on?”
Kristian shrugged. “We’re going to have that dinner tonight. Now.” He moved to take one of the chairs, and pulled it out for her. “A Greek baby needs Greek food.”
“Kristian—”
“It’s true.” His voice dropped, and his expression hardened. “You’re having our baby.”
“My baby.”
“Our baby,” he corrected firmly. “And it is our baby.” His blue gaze held hers. “Isn’t it?”
With candles flickering on the crisp white cloth, soft Greek music in the background, and darkly handsome Kristian here before her, Elizabeth felt tears start to her eyes. Two months without a word from him. Two months without apology, remorse, forgiveness. Two months of painful silence and now this—this power-play in her living room.
“I know you haven’t been feeling well,” he continued quietly. “I know because I’ve been in London, watching over you.”
Weakly she sat down—not at the table, but on one of her living room chairs. “You think I’m a gold-digger.”
“A gold-digger? Grace Stile? A woman as wealthy as Athina Onassis Roussel?”
Elizabeth clasped her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to talk about Grace Stile.”
“I do.” He dropped into a chair opposite her. “And I want to talk about Nico and Cosima and all these other sordid characters appearing in our own little Greek play.”
The waiter and the restaurant owner had disappeared into the kitchen. They must have begun warming or preparing food, as the smell coming from the back of the house made her stomach growl.
“I know Nico put you through hell in your marriage,” Kristian continued. “I know the divorce was even worse. He drove you out of Greece and the media hounded you for years after. I don’t blame you for changing your name, for moving to England and trying to become someone else.”
She held her breath, knowing there was a but coming. She could hear it in his voice, see it in the set of his shoulders.
“But,” he added, “I minded very much not being able to see you. Much more not being able to see—and assess—the situation that night at the Kithira castle for myself.”
She linked her fingers to hide the fact they were trembling. “That evening was a nightmare. I just want to forget it. Forget them. Forget Grace, too.”
“I can’t forget Grace.” His head lifted and his gaze searched her face. “Because she’s beautiful. And she’s you.”
The lump in her throat burned, swelled, making everything inside her hurt worse. “I’m not beautiful.”
“You were beautiful as a New York debutante, and you’re even more beautiful now. And it has nothing to do with your name, or the Stile fortune. Nothing to do with your marriage or your divorce or the work you do as an administrator. It’s you. Grace Elizabeth.”
“You don’t know me,” she whispered, trying to silence him.
“But I do. Because for two weeks I lived with you and worked with you and dined with you, and you changed me. You saved me—”
“No.”
“Elizabeth, I didn’t want to live after the accident. I didn’t want to feel so much loss and pain. But you somehow gave me a window of light, and hope. You made me believe that things could be different. Better.”
“I wasn’t that good, or nice.”
“No, you weren’t nice. But you were strong. Tough. And you wouldn’t baby me. You wouldn’t allow me to give up. And I needed that. I needed you.” He paused. “I still do.”
Her eyes closed. Hot tears stung her eyelids.
He reached over, skimmed her cheeks with his fingers. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “Please don’t cry.”
She shook her head, then turned her cheek into his palm, biting her lip to keep the tears from falling. “If you needed me, why did you let me go?”
“Because I didn’t feel worthy of you. Didn’t feel like a man who deserved you.”
“Kristian—”
“I realized that night that if I’d been able to see, I would have been in control at the castle in Kithira. I could have read the situation, understood what was happening. Instead I stood there in the dark—literally, figuratively—and it enraged me. I felt trapped. Helpless. My blindness was creating ignorance. Fear.”
“You’ve never been scared of anything,” she protested softly.
“Since the accident I’ve been afraid of everything. I’ve been haunted by nightmares, my sleep disturbed until I thought I was going mad, but after meeting you that began to change. I began to change. I began to find my way home—my way back to me.”
She simply stared at him, her heart tender, her eyes stinging from unshed tears.
“I am a man who takes care of his woman,” he continued quietly. “I hated not being able to take care of you. And you are my woman. You’ve been mine from the moment you arrived in the Taygetos on that ridiculous donkey cart.”
Her lips quivered in a tremulous smile. “That was the longest, most uncomfortable ride of my life.”
“Elizabeth, latrea mou, I have loved you from the very first day I met you. You were horrible and wonderful and your courage won me over. Your courage and your compassion. Your kindness and your strength. All those virtues you talked about in Kithira. You told me appearances didn’t matter. You said there were virtues far more important and I agree. Yes, you’re beautiful, but I couldn’t see your beauty until today. I didn’t need your beauty, or the Stile name, or your inheritance to win me. I just needed you. With me.”
“Kristian—”
“I still do.”
Eyes filmed by tears, she looked up, around her small living room. Normally it was a rather austere room. She lived off her salary, having donated nearly all of her inheritance to charity, and it never crossed her mind to spoil herself with pretty things. But tonight the living room glowed, cozy and intimate with candlelight, the beautifully set table and strains of Greek music, even as the most delectable smells wafted from the kitchen.
The restaurant owner appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is ready,” he said sternly. “And tonight you both must eat.”
Elizabeth joined Kristian at the table, and for the first time in weeks she enjoyed food. How could she not enjoy the meal tonight? Everything was wonderful. The courses and flavors were beyond brilliant. They shared marinated lamb, fish with tomatoes and currants, grilled octopus—which Elizabeth did pass on—and as she ate she couldn’t look away from Kristian.
She’d missed him more than she knew.
Just having him here, with her, made everything feel right. Made everything feel good. Intellectually she knew there were problems, issues, and yet emotionally she felt calm and happy and peaceful again.
It had always been like this with him. It wasn’t what he said, or did. It was just him. He made her feel good. He made her feel wonderful.
Looking acr
oss the table at him, she felt a thought pop into her head. “You know, Cosima said—” she started to say, before breaking off. She’d done it again. Cosima. Always Cosima. “Why do I keep talking about her?”
“I don’t know. But you might as well tell me what she said. I might as well hear all of it.”
“It’s nothing—not important. Let’s forget it.”
“No. You brought it up, so it’s obviously on your mind. What did Cosima say?”
Elizabeth silently kicked herself. The dinner had been going so well. And now she’d done the same thing as at the castle in Kithira. Her nose wrinkled. “I’m sorry, Kristian.”
“So tell me. What does she say?”
“That before you were injured you were an outrageous playboy.” She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “That you could get any woman to eat out of your hand. I was just thinking that I can see what she meant.”
Kristian coughed, a hint of color darkening his cheekbones. “I’ve never been a playboy.”
“Apparently women can’t resist you…ever.”
He gave her a pointed look. “That’s not true.”
“So you didn’t have two dates, on two different continents, in the same day?”
“Geographically as well as physically impossible.”
“Unless you were flying from Sydney to Los Angeles.”
Kristian grimaced. “That was a one-time situation. If it hadn’t been for crossing the time zones it wouldn’t have been the same day.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly, rather liking Kristian in the hot seat. “Do you miss the lifestyle?”
“No—God, no.” Now it was his turn to smile, his white teeth flashing against the bronze of his skin. Sun and exercise had given him the most extraordinary golden glow. “Being a playboy isn’t a picnic,” he intoned mockingly. “Some men envied the number of relationships I had, but it was really quite demanding, trying to keep all the women happy.”
She was amused despite herself. “You’re shameless.”
“Not as shameless as you were last August, checking me out by the pool…despite us having a deal.”
“I wasn’t looking.”
“You were. Admit it.”
She blushed. “You couldn’t even see.”
