by Maya Blake
So why were my feet leaden as I followed him to the door? Why did my gaze avidly catalogue his every feature as he stepped out, turned and murmured, ‘I’ll be in touch’?
And why, when I tossed and turned and sleep wouldn’t come, when I should have been thinking about what was best for my child, my mother, my career, did I keep returning to that ever-growing knot of anxiety over whether Neo would take a lover outside of our marriage...or if there already was one?
‘Is there something I should know, Sadie?’
I’d expected the question. Frankly, I was surprised my mother had waited till morning to ask. Now she stared at me over her teacup, worry reflected in her eyes.
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m pregnant, Mum. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but—’
‘You wanted to tell the father first?’ she inserted gently, with no judgement and no surprise over the news. ‘I’m assuming Neo Xenakis is the father?’
‘Yes. I told him yesterday.’
Another sip of tea, then with a short nod she accepted my news. ‘And that’s why he wants to marry you?’ she asked, visibly holding her breath.
‘Yes.’
A smile bloomed across her face. ‘Oh, Sadie, that’s so romantic.’ Her eyes sparkled, much as they had last night, when she’d opened the door to Neo.
‘Please, Mum, don’t get carried away. This isn’t like one of your magazine love stories.’
‘Oh, pfft. A man like that wouldn’t offer marriage unless he was hell-bent on permanence. But is it what you want?’
Weariness dragged at me. ‘I don’t know.’
Her sparkle dimmed. Nevertheless, she reached across the small kitchen table and laid her hand over mine. ‘Whatever you decide, I’ll support you, sweetheart.’
My eyes prickled, my heart turning over with the knowledge that I loved my mother too much to remain blind to the dangerous road she was treading with her gambling.
About to broach the subject, I froze when the doorbell rang. With a curiously trepidatious expectancy, I answered the door.
A courier held a large, expensive-looking box in his hand. ‘Delivery for Sadie Preston from Xenakis?’ the young man asked, eyebrows raised.
Senses jumping, I signed for it.
In the living room, I set it on the coffee table, a reluctance to open it rippling through me. Because, more than not wanting whatever lay within the square box, I was terrified I would like whatever Neo had sent me. An expensive something, judging by the discreet logo signifying the endorsement of English royalty often attached to exclusive items.
When the suspense got too much, I tore it open.
The box was filled to the brim with packets of handmade biscuits, each exquisitely wrapped with a thin silver bow. On top of the first one lay a small white envelope, with a note within that read:
I’m told these help with morning sickness. Be so kind as to try not to forget to eat them.
Rolling my eyes seemed like the perfect counterfoil for the smile that insistently tugged at my lips. The man was insufferable.
And he thinks the baby you claim is his might not be.
My smile evaporated, my heart growing heavy as I plucked out one neatly wrapped packet and opened it. The scent of ginger was oddly pleasant, and not vomit-inducing like most smells these days. Apprehensively, I bit into the biscuit, stemming a moan at the heavenly taste. Experiencing no ill effects, I finished one small pack, and reached for another.
‘I see your Greek god means business. I bet he had these flown in on one of his private jets?’
I jumped and turned to see my mum in the doorway, beaming as her eyes lit on the box.
‘You know what he does for a living?’
‘Of course I know! You’d have to be living under a rock not to know about the Xenakis dynasty. Rumour is they’ve surpassed the Onassis family in wealth and stature. Shame what happened to your fella, though.’
I frowned. ‘He’s not “my fella”—and what are you talking about?’
Like a magician’s big reveal, she produced a tabloid magazine from behind her back. ‘I went digging the moment I left the living room last night. Aren’t you glad I keep all my magazines, instead of chucking them in the bin like you keep pushing me to?’
I didn’t answer, because my gaze was locked on the crimson headline.
Neo Xenakis Emerges from Three-Week Coma...Ends Year-Long Engagement.
Ignoring the fine tremor in my hands, I scoured the article, concluding very quickly that while the reporter had one or two facts, the majority of the piece was conjecture. But the bit that read, By mutual consent, Neo Xenakis and Anneka Vandenberg, the Dutch supermodel, have agreed to go their separate ways clearly had some truth to it.
The reality that I had very little knowledge about the man I was marrying attacked me again in that moment.
Then the very thought that I was leaning towards acceptance of this temporary arrangement slammed into me hard, making my heart lurch.
I told myself I was remedying the former when I retreated to the bedroom and dialled his number the moment my mother flicked on the TV and grew absorbed in the soap she was watching.
He answered immediately. ‘Sadie.’
The deep, sexy growl of my name sent sensation flaring through my body.
Tightening my grip on the phone, as if it would stop the flow of pure need, I launched straight into it. ‘You were engaged before?’
He inhaled sharply, then I heard the sound of footsteps as the background conversation and music faded.
His heavy silence brimmed with displeasure. ‘There are aspects of my past that have no bearing on what’s happening between you and I,’ he said eventually.
Unreasonable hurt lanced me. ‘According to you. You felt entirely comfortable digging into my life. I think quid pro quo earns me the same rights,’ I said, despite the sensation that I was treading on dangerous personal ground.
‘I furnished myself with details of your past only as far as it pertained to the welfare of my child. But if you must know, yes, the tabloids back then got that piece of information right.’
‘What else did they get right? What else do I need to know about you?’
Did you love her? Why did it end?
‘You want more personal details, Sadie? Then marry me.’
My breath caught, those two words tapping into a secret well I didn’t want to acknowledge. Because within that well dwelt a fierce yearning to belong. But to be worthy of consideration for myself, not like in the past, because it suited my father’s professional ladder climbing, or because I was carrying Neo’s child now.
‘Will you marry me, Sadie?’ he pressed, his voice low and deep.
‘It’s nice to be asked. Finally. And thanks for answering my question.’
‘No—efkharisto,’ he breathed heavily.
Yesterday he’d said that meant thank you. Surprise held me mute for a second. ‘For what?’
‘For going the extra mile to tell me about the pregnancy even when I made things...unpleasant.’
‘You’re welcome. But still...why?’
‘Because, as much as my brother is overjoyed at the existence of his son, the time he’s missed weighs on him. I wouldn’t have wished that for myself.’
‘Oh.’ I drew in a shaky breath as that unique place inside me threatened to soften.
Silence echoed down the line. When he ended it, his voice was tense. ‘Do you have an answer for me, Sadie?’
My heart lurched, then thundered as if I was on the last leg of a marathon. ‘That depends...’
‘On?’ he bit out.
‘On whether your status two months ago still holds true. I know this marriage will be in name only, but if I’m going to make someone “the other woman”, even for a short while, I’d like to be forewarned.’
The background noise had faded completely, leaving the steady sound of his breathing to consume every inch of my attention.
‘You have my word that there is no other woman, and nor will there be as long as this agreement between us stands.’
Even as the knot inside me inexplicably eased, that last addition sent a bolt of disquiet through me. I smashed it down, dwelling on the positives in all of this. My child would be getting the best possible start in life. My mother would receive the help she’d denied she needed. I could concentrate on finishing my degree and finally starting the career I’d yearned for.
But, best of all, the fervour with which Neo wanted his child meant there wouldn’t be a repeat of what my father had done to me. No postcard would ever land on my baby’s doorstep, with a few words telling him or her that they’d been abandoned in favour of a better life.
So what if every facet of this agreement made me feel surplus to requirements? That, although my child wouldn’t suffer the same fate, it felt as if I was reliving the past, and again others’ needs had been placed above my own?
I couldn’t deny that the benefits outweighed the momentary heartache. I would get over this. As long as I placed some firm rules of my own.
‘There will be no sex in this marriage. Do you agree to that?’
A sharp intake of breath. ‘What?’ he demanded tightly.
‘No sex. Or no deal.’
He uttered something long and terse in Greek. Time stretched, tight and tense. Then he growled, ‘If that’s your wish.’
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping for a miracle solution that didn’t involve committing myself to a far too magnetically captivating man for the foreseeable future.
You’ve already been given a miracle.
Whatever had happened to make him believe he couldn’t father children, our encounter had proved otherwise. We simply needed to make the best of the situation.
‘Sadie?’ His voice throbbed with authority that said he wouldn’t be denied.
With a deep breath, I gave my answer. ‘Yes. I’ll marry you.’
He exhaled, then said briskly, ‘Good. I will be in touch shortly.’
I blinked in surprise at the abrupt end to the call. But what had I expected? Trumpets and confetti?
He’s marrying you to secure his child. Get used to that reality.
‘Oh, Sadie.’ My mother stood in the doorway, unapologetic about eavesdropping or the emotional tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘I’m so thrilled for you, darling. You’re doing the right thing.’
I wanted to tell her not to get her hopes up. But the words stuck in my throat, as the enormity of what I’d committed to flooded every corner of my being. When she swamped me in a tight hug, I let her effervescence counteract the quiet dismay flaring to life that reeked of what-the-hell-have-I-done?
‘He won’t let you down. Not like your father did. I’m confident of it.’
Financially? Perhaps not. Emotionally...?
I skittered away from that thought, wondering when my emotional well-being had become a factor. The idea of Neo and me was so out of the realms of possibility it was laughable.
So why didn’t I feel like laughing? Why did the solid ground I should be stepping onto suddenly feel like quicksand?
That thought lingered, unanswered, throughout the dizzying set of events that followed.
Neo’s almost offhand offer to me of his Mayfair property—If you want to be more comfortable during the process—had felt like another silken trap, but with homelessness a grim reality it was a lifeline I hadn’t been able to refuse.
The property was a world away from the flat I’d left behind. The four-storey mansion sat on an exclusive street in an exclusive part of Mayfair, complete with a basement swimming pool and a stretch limo. A Rolls Royce Phantom and two supercars gleamed beneath recessed lights in the underground car park.
Within the house itself, every surface held breathtaking works of art and the kind of thoughtful blending of antique and contemporary decor that the wealthy either paid for through the teeth or put together with indulgent passion. Since Neo didn’t seem the decorating type, I could only assume a king’s ransom had been lavished on this place.
In the five immaculate suites, every last item of luxury had been provided—right down to the whirlpool baths and voice-controlled shower. An executive chef whose specialities included catering to expectant mothers presented herself within an hour of our arrival, then proceeded to whip up samples of exquisite meals for me to try.
And barely twenty-four hours after Neo’s superefficient moving team had installed us in his property, the wedding spectacle commenced.
As did my arguments with Neo.
He’d soon found out that leave it with me when it came to the wedding wouldn’t fly with me.
Three stages of wedding coordinator interviews were cut down to one, a dozen bids from the world-famous couture houses vying for the privilege of creating my wedding dress and trousseau, together with the present and upcoming seasons’ day and evening wear, were whittled down from five designers to two.
The moment I’d managed to pick my jaw off the floor when I saw the wedding guest list, and stopped my mother from swooning with delight at the ultra-five-star treatment, I dialled Neo’s number.
A heated twenty minutes later, we’d reached a compromise.
The wedding would be small, and the choice of dress mine alone. In turn, he would pick the venue—his private island in Greece—and the date—as soon as possible.
The only thing I didn’t quibble over, was even grateful for, was the psychologist who arrived on the doorstep—despite knowing that this was simply another box being ticked by Neo on the journey to getting what he wanted.
The gambling conversation with my mother had been hard and tearful, and her acknowledgement that she had a problem and was still having a hard time dealing with my father’s desertion had cracked my heart in two.
‘I guess I should look forward now,’ she’d said. ‘You need me. I have a role as the mother of the bride and then as a grandmother.’
But within minutes of wiping her tears she had reached for her phone and excused herself, and minutes later, when I’d approached her bedroom, I’d heard the distinct sound of electronic chips tumbling on a gaming site.
Heart heavy, I had retreated.
Neo called out of the blue an hour later. Still a little out of sorts, I answered my phone.
He immediately grew tense. ‘Is something the matter?’
I barely managed to stop a weary laugh from escaping. ‘The better question is “what isn’t?”’
Tight silence greeted me. ‘You are not having second thoughts.’
It wasn’t a question but more of an edict.
‘Am I not?’ I taunted, my nerves a little too frayed to play nice. ‘I can’t promise I won’t send the next person who asks me how many undernotes I like scenting my vintage champagne packing.’
‘That’s all that’s worrying you? Or is there something else? The prenup I sent over for your signature, maybe?’
The question was a little too tight, like a dangerously coiled spring, set to explode.
My gaze slid to a copy of the prenuptial agreement a sharply dressed lawyer had hand delivered a few hours before. I frowned at the curious note in Neo’s voice.
‘What about it? It’s already signed, if that’s what you’re calling about.’
A stunned silence greeted my response. ‘You signed it?’
‘Yes. Why are you surprised?’
‘I’m not,’ he drawled. And before I could call him out, he rasped, ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
I let the subject of his peculiar attitude over the prenup go as I toyed with sharing my worries about my mother with him. The reminder that the baby I was carrying was the only thing Neo was interested in stopped me.
>
‘I’m not changing my mind, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
He exhaled audibly, making me realise he’d been holding his breath. Had he been prepared to launch another vanquishing skirmish should I have responded differently?
‘That’s a wise course of action.’
For some reason that response hurt. I smothered the sting. ‘Was there something in particular you wanted?’
‘Yes. To give you the date for our wedding. It’ll happen two weeks from tomorrow. That gives you a week to finalise your affairs before you come to Greece.’
Since the internship was at the head office in Athens, I’d agreed to the move.
‘My mother’s coming with me. A change of scene will help with her outlook on life.’
‘I’m not a monster, Sadie. Regardless of where she chooses to stay, she’ll receive the counselling she needs. But you must accept that our agreement includes not overburdening yourself with tasks that are out of your control. I will not allow it.’
I knew he was dishing out the hard truth, and I wanted to hate Neo. But deep down I knew that had circumstances been different, had I been granted other choices, I still would have chosen this. An internship at Xenakis. A chance to live in a different country, experience another culture. All of it.
Except staying within the orbit of this man who turned my equilibrium inside out?
Maybe...
The objections I wanted to hurl at him died in my throat, and exactly two Saturdays later my breath caught, as it had been catching seemingly every other second, as the ten-seater luxury helicopter my mother and I were ensconced in circled over a large island in the middle of the Aegean in preparation to land.
The island was mostly flat, bursting with green and pink foliage and large stretches of stunning white beaches. But on the northernmost point a bluff rose sharply over the water, where towering waves crashed against menacing-looking rocks below.
Magnificent, mesmerising, awe-inspiring—but also dangerous in places.
