‘It wasn’t.’
He smiled. ‘Didn’t think so.’
He picked up the documents and put them in his briefcase, vowing not to go near them for the duration of their stay. But it was hard to break the habit of a lifetime—a way of living and working which had become second nature to him.
He’d been barely eighteen when his father had dropped dead and Xenon’s discovery that the business was in a parlous state hadn’t helped the family come to terms with their shock and grief. Suddenly, the world as he had known it was one he no longer recognised.
But he had turned everything around. He had thrown himself in at the deep end and worked every hour to learn about the business, from the bottom up. He had sweated blood to earn the respect of the disillusioned Kanellis workforce. And while most people would have been content simply to get the giant organisation back on its feet, Xenon was not most people. He didn’t want to be known as a man who had saved something, he wanted to be known as a man who had made something. That was why he had bought the newspaper.
The film had been something different. The film had touched something deep inside him. It had connected with his essential Greekness. He had backed it because he had loved it; the money and awards he had earned as a result had not been what had driven him. And Lexi had understood. She had loved that film, too.
‘I’m trying to learn how to delegate,’ he said and saw her turn her head to look at him, that lip-parted look of surprise still on her face. ‘Loukas and Dimitri are keen to share some of the responsibility but it’s hard to let go when I’ve lived this way for so long.’
‘What are you so scared of.’
The smile which greeted this remark was sardonic. ‘You think that I am scared? That Xenon Kanellis is scared of anything?’
‘Well, if you’re not—then why not just go ahead and do it? Free up more time for yourself. Enjoy some of the fruits of your labours.’ Her voice softened. ‘Didn’t you once tell me that you weren’t going to work yourself into an early grave, like your father?’
He stared into her eyes, which looked as silvery-cool as mercury. What would she say if he told her that these days the hours he worked filled an emptiness which nothing else seemed to touch? That sometimes he held onto work with the determination of a man clutching at a lifeline?
But introspection had never been his thing. He had always preferred the practical to the theoretical. He caught hold of her hand and turned it over. ‘Where’s your wedding ring?’
‘At home, somewhere.’
‘Or maybe you threw it away in a bid to forget me—isn’t that what bitter ex-wives do?’
‘Actually, it’s in a box on top of my dressing table, along with all the other jewellery I no longer wear. And I’m not bitter, Xenon.’
‘You should have brought it with you.’ He traced an imaginary ring with the tip of his finger. ‘What if my grandmother notices you aren’t wearing it?’
‘She’ll have to draw her own conclusions.’
‘I disagree. We’ll have to see about finding you another one.’
His words were distracting and so was his touch and Lexi was glad to pull her hand away and scrabble around in her bag for her passport and wallet.
Fast-tracked through customs, Xenon was treated like a homecoming king and greeted fondly by airport workers he’d known since he was a boy. Lexi had forgotten how he could lay on the charm and get people eating out of his hand—especially here in his homeland. He possessed an ability to blend in no matter what the company and could happily drink with socialites and lorry-drivers alike. Hadn’t he once managed to avert a dockers’ strike by the simple expedient of walking into the shipyard and talking to the union chief over a cup of coffee?
Outside the terminal a car was waiting and Xenon said something in Greek to the driver as they pulled away. They’d been driving for about ten minutes when Lexi realised they were going the wrong way.
‘This isn’t the way to your home.’
‘I know it isn’t. We’re going into Rhodes Town first.’
She’d begun to feel nervous at the thought of seeing his family again and the thought of a delay was only adding to her anxiety levels. ‘What for?’
‘Have patience, Lex. Just sit back and enjoy the scenery, and let me take care of it.’
Lexi glowered. There he was, doing that dominant macho thing again—and she was just letting him get away with it. And yet it was frighteningly easy to sink back into the soft leather seat and drink in the beautiful views which were flashing past the window. Before long they had reached Rhodes Town and, since Xenon’s driver was experienced enough to skilfully negotiate the busy streets, the car was soon sliding to a halt outside a small jeweller’s shop.
Lexi saw the glint of precious metals and diamonds glittering in the window and she frowned. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Simple. You’re missing a wedding ring, so we’re buying you a new one.’
‘No,’ she said desperately. ‘We’re not.’
But the driver was already opening her door and, other than creating a very public scene, what choice did she have other than to step out onto the hot pavement? How could she put into words without sounding stupidly vulnerable that she didn’t want a pretend ring. She didn’t want anything that was going to make an even bigger mockery of her failed marriage.
But Xenon was really in control mode by then, busy speaking in Greek to the shop’s owner who swiftly produced a velvet tray of rings—some plain, some embellished and all of them extremely costly, judging by the price-tags.
Did the man notice her marked lack of enthusiasm and wonder why she wasn’t happy or triumphant to have such an eligible man fussing over her? Did he notice her flinch as Xenon masterminded the whole operation, his gaze flicking over the tray with the eye of the connoisseur as he made suggestions about what kind of ring she’d prefer. But she couldn’t really walk out of there empty-handed and so in the end she chose the simplest of them all—a discreet band in eighteen-carat gold.
‘Try not to lose this one, darling,’ murmured Xenon in English. Picking up the ring, he slid it slowly onto her finger, his blue eyes narrowing behind the lush curtain of his lashes as if he had felt the automatic tensing of her hand.
As Xenon’s payment card was being processed, the shop owner leaned forward to admire the clunky silver bangle which was dangling from Lexi’s wrist.
‘This is beautiful,’ he said.
‘My wife makes jewellery,’ put in Xenon helpfully.
Lexi shot him a furious look, thinking that he was getting carried away. He didn’t need to play the proud husband in front of someone they were never going to see again.
The shopkeeper nodded. ‘You sell anything here on Rhodes?’
‘No. Only in England,’ she said, with a smile.
‘You want to bring me some pieces to look at? I’m always on the lookout for original work. Tourists like to spend money when they are on holiday.’
She opened her mouth to explain that her visit here was temporary, but once again Xenon butted in.
‘We have rather a busy schedule at the moment, don’t we, darling?’
Lexi wanted to drum her fists against his chest and tell him that she was not his darling. She wanted to tear the fake wedding ring from her finger and hurl it down on the counter, but she respected Xenon’s position within the local community, even if he didn’t respect her feelings. She began to wonder how on earth she was going to maintain this crazy façade for more than a minute when he seemed determined to get under her skin at every opportunity.
The