‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry.’ She wrapped the jacket around her body, folding her arms over it to secure it closed. ‘You’re not excited about the wedding?’
He paused as he calculated his best response. Time to put his cards on the table. ‘I’m concerned that they are rushing into this. They barely know one another. How long have they been together? Four months? The whole thing is unwise.’
‘But they are really happy. I’ve never seen a couple so in love...so right for one another. It truly was love at first sight for them both.’
The gentle wistfulness in her voice had him clenching his fists.
‘Really? Love at first sight?’
‘Yes—why not?’
Her idealism made him want to be cruel, to shake her out of her romantic bubble. ‘Lust at first sight, maybe.’
Silence followed his words and they stared at each other, the truth of his words, as applied to them, hanging in the space between them.
He forced himself to continue. ‘It takes a long time to get to know another person—if you ever can. People aren’t what they seem.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘My brother is an exceptionally wealthy man.’
She studied him with a mixed expression of disappointment and hurt. ‘That means nothing to Sofia, trust me.’
For a brief moment he hated himself for his cynicism, for causing that wounded expression. But then he remembered how he had been played for a fool before, and he asked with a bitter laugh, ‘Do you seriously believe that?’
Hard resolution entered her eyes. ‘Yes. Absolutely.’ She walked back to him, anger clear in her quick pace, in the way she glared at him.
Well, tough. He would remain convinced that Sofia was marrying Christos for his name and wealth until it was proved otherwise. And as for Grace Chapman... She seemed to know a lot about him. Was she really here just to organise the wedding flowers? Or did she perhaps hope for romance with the best man?
And that wasn’t his vanity speaking. He had a constant stream of women eager to date him—to date a Petrakis, date a billionaire. To date him for all the superficial reasons he hated. But it suited him, because no woman was ever getting close to knowing the real him again. And no way was he getting entangled with the chief bridesmaid when tradition dictated that they would see each other in the future.
He picked up her suitcase and said once again, ‘I’ll show you to your room.’
Her phone rang. She checked the screen and turned away. ‘Hi, Matt.’ A long giggle followed. ‘Of course I miss you.’
As he took her bags up into the villa he gritted his teeth at how happy she sounded. When was the last time someone had answered his call with such warmth and tenderness? And then anger surged through his veins. Was she already in a relationship? If so, why the hell was she allowing the chemistry between them to smoulder on?
* * *
‘I love you too.’
Grace hung up from Matt and stretched her neck back, easing the tension in her muscles a fraction.
She rolled her shoulders and took in once again the quiet serenity of her surroundings. Then she steeled herself. She walked into the villa and entered a large living room, seeing walls whitewashed in gentle curves, a recessed fireplace. The stillness of the room and its simple refined beauty, from the huge white sofas on white marble floors to the handcrafted teak furniture, were at odds with the sense of injustice raging in her heart.
Andreas had no right to make such horrible assumptions about Sofia. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Was Andreas just like her father? Cold and cynical? A man so obsessed with becoming wealthy he was blind to the magic of love and loyalty?
Whatever the truth, Sofia and Christos could not arrive to find the best man and chief bridesmaid at loggerheads. She and Andreas would have to learn to get on.
She found him in the kitchen, propped against the countertop, peeling an orange. She placed his jacket on the back of a chair. Unconsciously, she let her hand linger for a few moments on the soft wool, until she realised what she was doing.
Long elegant fingers expertly spiralled the peel off the orange, but he didn’t glance downwards once to watch his progress—instead he studied her.
She placed a bottle of champagne on the counter. In response to his frown she explained, ‘It’s a thank-you for having me to stay.’
She had thought it might be an appropriate gift, given the upcoming celebrations, but was rapidly revising that idea. She twisted the bracelet at her wrist, her fingers reaching for the two charms that sat at its centre. The tension in her body eased a fraction when she squeezed the silver metal with her thumb and forefinger.
‘I think we need to talk.’
He gave a tight nod and walked over to a cupboard. He opened the door on an array of crystal glasses. ‘What can I get you to drink? Wine? Beer?’
Not thirsty, she was about to refuse, but then realised that she should accept his offer as a small step forward towards developing some form of entente cordiale between them.
‘I have a long day tomorrow, so I’d like fruit juice, if that’s okay.’
He gestured for her to sit on one of the stools beneath the counter, but instead she leaned against the wall, next to an old-fashioned dresser filled with colourful ceramics which, though at odds with the sleek lines of Andreas’s modern kitchen, grounded the room with their reminder of history and other lives lived.
She jumped when her phone rang again. She grabbed it off the dresser. It was Lizzie. She let the call go to her voicemail, but that didn’t stop Andreas giving her a critical stare.
The cold apple juice was sharp and refreshing, and thankfully helped her refocus on the task at hand. ‘So, can we talk?’
He lifted his own glass of water and took a drink, his eyes never leaving her. ‘What about?’
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at his icy tone. ‘Sofia’s my best friend. This wedding means the world to her. I don’t want anything...or anybody...to upset her.’
‘Meaning me?’
She met his gaze and a wave of protectiveness for her friend had her returning his intimidating stare with conviction. ‘Yes. Sofia is marrying Christos because she loves him—not for any other reason.’
‘So you said before.’
His flippancy irked her and she asked sharply, ‘Why have you agreed to host the wedding here, to be best man, if you don’t approve?’
He held her gaze with a steady coolness, but his jaw tightened in irritation. ‘When Christos asked me to be his best man I told him my concerns. But I believe in family loyalty, so of course I agreed. It would not have been honourable to do otherwise. And as for this island—we spent our childhood summers here, and we always vowed that we would marry in the island chapel one day. I’m not going to deny Christos that wish, no matter what my misgivings are.’
He stared at her hard, as though defying her to ask any more questions. But there was something in his expression that was puzzling her. Was it a hint of wounded pride? Why did she feel as though she was missing some significant point in this conversation? Sofia had mentioned that Andreas had once been briefly married. Was he remembering his own marriage? Or was she just reading this all wrong? Grace had formed the impression from Sofia that he had easily moved on from that marriage to a string of other relationships.
She walked towards him and stopped a little distance away.