He took a sip of his drink. Was the old man worried that Sofia’s father would refuse to sell him the island after all—and would that be enough to make him cut Xan from his life for ever? His lips hardened into a humourless smile. What exquisite irony that would be—if an island coveted because of its precious links with his ancestors, should be the cause of alienating his father from his only son.
He looked around again, his eyes scanning the crowded lawn with dissatisfaction as he realised he was looking in vain for his wife. Xan scowled as he handed his half-drunk glass of champagne to a passing waiter, the memory of emerald eyes and fiery curls an image he couldn’t seem to shift from his mind.
It was all about sex, he reassured himself heatedly. Nothing but sex.
* * *
Tamsyn melted into the shadows, trying to gather her thoughts together. Yes, the party was loads easier than she’d imagined—but it was still stressful, which was why she had sought a moment of quiet refuge at the darkened side of the house, at the top of a gentle sloping incline, which gave a fabulous view of the glittering estate. Carefully smoothing down the rich silk of her dress, she sat down on a bench—tempted to kick off her silver sandals but knowing if she did so, she would be reluctant to put them on again. And tonight there would be no barefoot bride, looking like she’d wandered in from a nearby rock festival.
She sat back against the wooden bench and sighed. It had been strangely gratifying that Xan’s friends had seemed genuinely happy to meet her. Was that because she had taken charge of her own destiny, so that for once she actually felt as if she fitted in—in a way she’d never done before? Even at Hannah’s wedding she’d worn her fancy gowns with a distinct air of resentment—probably because she’d been forced to wear them. But tonight she was revelling in the fact that she looked like a bride her husband could be proud of. She’d felt like a grown up and sophisticated version of the newest member of the Constantinides family. And weren’t those thoughts dangerous?
A few times she’d found herself beguiled by the elusive possibility of something which could never happen, not in a million years. Of a life here, with Xan. A proper married life together—with a brood of babies and a golden future. And a shared love? Yes. Oh, yes. That was the ultimate dream. But Xan didn’t want that. He’d told her so enough times. He didn’t do love and he was okay with that. So she needed to be okay with it, too.
A sudden lump constricted her throat as she found herself thinking about her mother. About the paperwork which had been discovered after her death. Her mother had been a foolish dreamer, too—and where had it got her? All those stupid poems she’d written. And the letter addressed to her—the daughter she had abandoned. She mustn’t forget that. The letter which Hannah had only shown Tamsyn a long while afterwards, which had told her something it might have been better not to have known. Something which for a long time had made her feel rotten to the core—and still could, if she wasn’t careful.
She could see the powerful beam of headlights tracking along the road towards the house and from her secluded vantage point, could sense the excited bustle of the guests as a huge car drew to a halt and a man got out. Even from this distance, from the few photographs she’d seen of him, Tamsyn recognised the distinctive curved features of Andreas, Xan’s father. She watched as Xan moved purposefully towards the car, but you didn’t need to be a body language expert to notice the coolness between the two men. After a brief and business-like handshake, they began to walk towards the house, making no attempt to join the party.
Tamsyn sat on the bench, filled with indecision. She ought to go and meet him. Hadn’t that been part of the deal? Her heart was pounding as she moved through the shadows towards the back of the vast house, away from the main party which was mostly happening poolside. For a moment she stood in silence, until she located the sound of voices which were coming from behind the closed doors of Xan’s study. Tamsyn frowned. Xan and presumably Andreas were angrily talking over each other, the volume of their discussion getting louder and louder until she heard someone rasp out a curse. She meant to take a deep breath. To knock politely and walk in, but then she heard her own name and it halted her right in her tracks. Tamsyn froze. She almost wished they were speaking in Greek so she wouldn’t understand what they were saying, but Xan had told her that after winning his American scholarship, English had been the language he and his father had conversed in, the older man refusing to be outdone by his fluent son.
‘You know what kind of a woman she is?’ came the ragged accusation. ‘When you rang to tell me you’d married her, I had her investigated and discovered she’s a nobody who can’t even hold a job down. And she looks like a slut in every photo I’ve seen of her!’
Tamsyn flinched as she waited for Xan to reply and his next words came as such a shock that she had to put her hand against the wall to steady herself.
‘She’s no slut,’ Xan said. ‘She’s honest and decent and true. And I will not have you speaking about her that way. Do you understand?’
‘And you know her mother was no better than a whore?’ continued the older man. ‘That she has children by many different men?’
‘Yes, I know that,’ replied Xan slowly. ‘But that isn’t Tamsyn. She’s never really had a chance, but now she’s been given one, she’s come into her own. She’d uneducated but she’s bright. She reads. She plays with Gia’s little girl—and that child thinks she’s an angel. She’s funny. You should meet her. I think you’ll be surprised.’
‘Oh, I’m not denying she’s beautiful.’ His father gave an ugly kind of laugh. ‘But that’s the main reason she’s here, isn’t it? You turned down the chance to marry a woman like Sofia, for her? I’ve heard she’s hot, but so what? Whores usually are. You get what you pay for.’
There was a loud bang, which sounded like a fist being smashed against a desk and Tamsyn was vaguely aware of Xan’s furious response, but by then she had started to run. To run and run until she had left the house and been swallowed up by the dense shadow of a fragrant pine tree.
Her brow felt hot and sticky by the time she came to a halt and it took a long while before she had calmed down enough to be able to think straight. Time for her breathing to slow and her heart to stop feeling as if it were going to burst out of her chest. Something made her tidy up the strands of hair which must have escaped during her run and to extract a slim tube of lipstick from the concealed pocket of her dress, before applying it to her trembling lips with shaky fingers. Her dress was smooth and she needed her features to mimic that smoothness, so that to the other guests it would appear as if nothing had happened.
Because nothing had.
Xan’s father had simply told the truth—and he didn’t know the half of it. And although Xan had sprung to her defence and her heart had melted slightly at his defence of her—it had still been lacking in emotion. He had still somehow managed to make her sound like piece of rock which had been carved into a rough approximation of a human being.
And suddenly she knew she couldn’t endure any more. There was no way she could stay here, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. If she did that, then these crazy feelings would keep building and building until she was ready to explode. She needed to walk away with Xan never guessing what had happened. To escape, and quickly—but not tonight. Tonight she would continue to play the role expected of her. The shining and loyal wife, basking in her newly-wed golden glow. The woman lucky enough to have finally snared the elusive Greek billionaire.
She drank a glass of champagne before going back to the illuminated swimming pool to join the other guests, chatting brightly and forcing herself to smile as she accepted congratulations. But her stupid heart turned over with sorrow when Xan reappeared and began to walk towards her.
Did he read something untoward in her expression? Was that why a frown had creased his brow beneath the delicious tumble of his black hair?
‘You okay?’ he questioned.
She could tell him, of course. She could